you from many dangers. A certain mother, my mother, for example,--one of
the best women in the world,--hears that the richest heiress in France
is in the matrimonial market. My mother, dazzled by the advantages that
such a union would afford me, does not trouble herself in the least
about the character or personal appearance of this heiress. She has
never even seen her, for the rich orphan is still in a foreign land. But
that makes no difference; this enormous fortune must be secured for me
if possible, it matters not by what means. My mother, yielding to an
aberration of maternal love, hastens to the wife of this orphan's
guardian, and it is decided that, on the arrival of the heiress, an
inexperienced child of sixteen, weak and defenceless, and ignorant of
the ways of the world, she shall be so surrounded and influenced that
her choice is almost certain to fall upon me. This shameful bargain is
concluded; the way in which I am to first make her acquaintance,
apparently by chance, is decided upon, even to the more or less becoming
costume I am to wear on that occasion! Everything has been arranged,
though I hear and know nothing about it. The heiress, too, who is still
a hundred leagues from Paris, knows no more about it than I do. At last
she arrives. Then, for the first time, my mother informs me of her
plans, sure that I will accept with joy the piece of good fortune
offered me. Nevertheless, I decline it at first, saying that I have no
taste for married life, and that I should be certain to prove a bad
husband. 'What difference does that make?' says my mother. 'Marry her,
in spite of that--she is rich.' And yet my mother is as honourable and
as widely honoured as any woman. But you do not know the baneful, yes,
fatal, influence of money!"
"Can you hear what they are saying, my dear?" the duchess whispered to
Madame de la Rochaigue as this conversation was going on.
"No," replied that lady, likewise in a whisper, "but the child seems to
be listening with a great deal of interest. I just stole a glance at her
when she was not looking, and her face was positively radiant."
"I was sure of Gerald. He can be irresistible when he chooses!"
exclaimed the delighted duchess. "The girl is ours. And to think I was
simpleton enough to fly into a passion just because that miserable
Macreuse asked her to dance!"
"As I remarked a few minutes ago, I acted the part of an honourable man
and refused to think of this marriage at first," Gerald continued; "but
unfortunately my mother's entreaties, my fear of grieving her, and last,
though not least, my indignation on hearing of the nefarious schemes of
an unscrupulous rival, and possibly my own unconscious longing for such
colossal wealth, induced me to reconsider, and I finally decided to try
to marry the heiress, even at the risk of making her the most wretched
of women, for a mercenary marriage is sure to end disastrously."
"Well, monsieur, have you kept this resolution?"
"A subsequent conversation with two dear friends of mine, high-minded,
noble-hearted men, opened my eyes. I saw that I was pursuing a course
unworthy of me and of those who loved me. It was decided, however, that,
out of consideration for my mother's wishes, I should meet the heiress,
and if, after seeing her and knowing her, I loved her as much as I would
have loved a penniless and nameless young girl, I would do my best to
win her."
"Well, monsieur, have you seen this heiress?
"Yes, mademoiselle; but when I saw her it was too late."
"Too late?"
"A love as sudden as it was honourable and sincere for a person who was
worthy of it no longer permitted me to appreciate, as she, I am sure,
deserves, the young lady my mother wished me to marry."
On hearing this honest but delicately worded confession, Mlle. de
Beaumesnil could not repress a joyous movement. Gerald loved Herminie as
she deserved to be loved, and he had just given fresh proof of his
nobility of character by the generosity of his conduct towards
Ernestine.
The orphan's joyous start had not escaped the watchful eyes of Madame de
la Rochaigue, and that lady said, in a low tone, to the duchess:
"All is well! Look at Mlle. de Beaumesnil! See what a brilliant colour
she has, and how her eyes sparkle!"
"Yes," said the duchess, leaning slightly forward to peep at Ernestine,
"the poor little thing looks almost pretty, as she listens to Gerald."
"One of the greatest triumphs of love is its transfiguration of its
object, my dear duchess," answered Madame de la Rochaigue, smiling, "and
I am sure your son will not be blind to this triumph."
"M. de Senneterre," said Ernestine, "I thank you most sincerely for
your frankness and your wise counsels, of which I, perhaps, stand in
greater need than you think; but though I am too glad of your presence
here to be astonished at it, I should like to know--"
"Why I am here this evening, mademoiselle, in spite of my resolution? It
is because I wished to avail myself of this opportunity--the only one I
shall have, perhaps--to talk to you alone, and perhaps put you on your
guard against schemes similar to those to which I so narrowly escaped
becoming an accomplice, for not many men, I fear, will be as scrupulous.
Your guardian and his wife will lend themselves to any scheme that will
serve their interests. They care nothing about your future happiness and
welfare. All this is hard, mademoiselle, very hard, and it would be
cruel, indeed, in me to arouse this fear and distrust in your heart, if
I could not, at the same time, offer you, as a guide and protector, a
noble-hearted man who is as much feared by the base and unscrupulous as
he is loved by men of worth. Have confidence, perfect confidence, in
this man, mademoiselle, though strenuous efforts have been, and will be,
made to prejudice you against him."
"You refer to M. de Maillefort, do you not?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. Believe me, you will never find a more faithful and
devoted friend. If doubts assail you, turn to him. He is a wonderfully
shrewd and discerning man. Guided by him, you are sure to escape the
snares and pitfalls that surround you."
"I shall not forget this advice, M. de Senneterre. A strong liking for
M. de Maillefort has succeeded the animosity I formerly felt for him, an
animosity due entirely to the shameful slanders repeated to me in regard
to him."
"Our quadrille is nearly over, mademoiselle," said Gerald, forcing a
smile. "I have profited by the only opportunity at my disposal.
To-morrow, much as it pains me to disappoint my mother, she must know
the truth."
Ernestine's heart sank at the thought that Gerald would, doubtless, also
confess his love for Herminie on the morrow. How terribly angry Madame
de Senneterre would be to hear that her son preferred a penniless and
nameless orphan to the richest heiress in France! And though she had no
suspicion of the condition Herminie had attached to her marriage with
Gerald, Mlle. de Beaumesnil realised what well-nigh insuperable
difficulties must stand in the way of such a marriage, so she sadly
replied:
"You may be sure, M. de Senneterre, that, in return for the generous
interest you have manifested in me, you shall have my most fervent
wishes for your own happiness, and that of the woman you love. Farewell,
M. de Senneterre, I hope to be able to prove some day how grateful I am
for the generosity of your conduct towards me."
The quadrille having ended, several young ladies returned to their seats
near Mlle. de Beaumesnil; so Gerald rose, bowed to the orphan, and,
feeling both ill and fatigued, immediately left the ball-room.
Madame de Senneterre, delighted by the favourable indications which she,
as well as Madame de la Rochaigue, had observed, whispered to the
baroness:
"Try to find out what effect Gerald has produced."
So Madame de la Rochaigue, leaning towards Mlle. de Beaumesnil, said to
her:
"Ah, my dear child, is he not charming?"
"No one could be more agreeable or evince more noble and refined
feelings."
"Then, my dear child, you are the Duchesse de Senneterre. At least, it
depends solely upon yourself. Come, say yes, here and now!"
"You embarrass me very much, madame," responded Ernestine, casting down
her eyes.
"Oh, yes, I understand," replied Madame de la Rochaigue, thinking that
maidenly reserve alone prevented Ernestine from confessing that she
wished to marry Gerald.
"Well, my dear, he has quite turned her head, has he not?" asked Madame
de Senneterre, nudging the baroness slightly with her elbow.
"Completely, completely, my dear duchess. But give me your arm, and let
us go and find M. de Senneterre, to tell him of his success."
"The dear child is ours at last, and Gerald will be the largest
landowner in France. As for our little private compact, my dear
baroness," added Madame de Senneterre, in even more subdued tones, "I
scarcely need assure you that it shall be carried out with scrupulous
exactitude. I have said nothing to my son about it, understand, but I
will vouch for him."
"We will not talk of that now, my dear duchess; but as Madame de
Mirecourt has been so exceedingly kind, don't you think it would be in
excellent taste for him--"
"Oh, that is understood, of course," said Madame de Senneterre, hastily
interrupting the baroness. "Nothing could be more just, I am sure. But
let us make haste and find Gerald. Do you see him anywhere?"
"No, my dear duchess, but he is in the gallery, doubtless. Come, let us
look for him there."
Then turning to Ernestine, Madame de la Rochaigue said:
"We shall leave you only for a moment, my dear child. We are merely
going to make some one as happy as a king."
And without waiting for any reply from Ernestine, Madame de la Rochaigue
gave her arm to the duchess, and the two ladies hastened towards the
gallery.
M. de Maillefort, who seemed to have noted the departure of the two
ladies, now approached Ernestine, and, availing himself of one of the
privileges accorded a man of his years, took the seat beside the young
girl which Madame de la Rochaigue had just vacated.
CHAPTER XIV.
VILLAINY UNMASKED.
As M. de Maillefort seated himself beside Ernestine, he remarked, with a
smile:
"So you are no longer afraid of me, I see."
"Ah, monsieur," replied the girl, "I am so thankful for this opportunity
to thank you--"
"For my discretion? That will stand any test, I assure you. I give you
my word that no one knows or ever will know that I met you at the home
of the very best and noblest young woman I know."
"Is she not, monsieur? But if I know Herminie, monsieur, it is to you
that I am indebted for the honour."
"To me?"
"You remember, perhaps, that one evening in Mlle. Helena's presence you
said some very hard, but alas! only too true things about me."
"Yes, my poor child. I knew how much you disliked me. I could never find
an opportunity to see you alone, and, though I was watching over you, it
was necessary, imperatively necessary, that your eyes should be opened,
and that you should understand the object of the fulsome flattery of
which you might eventually become the dupe."
"Ah, well, monsieur, your words did open my eyes, and I saw very plainly
that those around me were deceiving me, and that I was already on the
verge of becoming a victim to their shameful flattery. I made a resolve
then and there, and, in order to discover the truth concerning myself,
I arranged with my governess to attend a little dancing party given by
one of her friends, where I was to be introduced as a poor orphan
relative of hers."
"And at this party you met Herminie. She told me so. I understand
everything now. So you wished to know your own intrinsic worth without
your fortune, eh?"
"Yes, monsieur, and the test was a very painful though profitable one.
It has taught me among other things to appreciate the value and the
sincerity of the attentions showered upon me this evening," she added,
meaningly.
And as the hunchback, hardly able to repress his emotion, gazed at
Ernestine in silence, deeply touched by the strength of character this
young and defenceless girl had displayed, she asked, timidly:
"Can you blame me, monsieur?"
"Blame you, my poor child, no, no. The only blame attaches to the
unscrupulous persons whose baseness almost compelled you to take such a
step--a step I not only approve but admire, for you yourself do not
realise how much courage and nobility of character you evinced."
A rather elderly man, approaching the divan upon which M. de Maillefort
was seated, leaned over the back of it, and said to the hunchback, in a
low tone:
"My dear marquis, Morainville and Hauterive are at your service. They
are standing by the window opposite you."
"Very well, my dear friend. A thousand thanks for your kindness and
theirs! You have informed them of the condition of affairs, have you
not?"
"Fully."
"And they make no objection?"
"How could they in a case like this?"
"Then all is well," responded the marquis.
Then turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, he asked:
"For which quadrille did M. de Mornand engage you?"
"For the next, monsieur," replied Ernestine, much surprised at the
question.
"You hear, my friend," said M. de Maillefort to the gentleman who had
just spoken to him.
"Very well, my dear marquis."
And M. de Maillefort's friend, after having made quite a detour,
rejoined Messrs. Morainville and d'Hauterive, and said a few words to
which both gave a nod of assent.
"My dear child," remarked the marquis, again turning to Mlle. de
Beaumesnil, "I have been watching over you for some time past without
appearing to do so, for though you never saw me at your mother's house
during your childhood, I was one of your mother's friends--most devoted
friends."
"Ah, monsieur, I ought to have mistrusted that sooner, for you have been
so grossly maligned to me."
"That was very natural under the circumstances. Now, a word or two upon
a more important matter. M. de la Rochaigue has often spoken of M. de
Mornand as a suitor for your hand, has he not? and has also assured you
that you could not make a better choice?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"My poor child!" said the marquis, compassionately; then he continued,
in his usual sarcastic tone:
"And Mlle. Helena, in her turn, saintly, devout creature that she is,
has said the very same thing about M. Celestin de Macreuse, another
extremely devout and saintly personage."
But the orphan, noting the bitter and cynical smile that played about
the lips of the marquis as he spoke of the saintliness of the abbe's
disciple, ventured to say:
"You have a poor opinion of M. de Macreuse, perhaps, marquis?"
"Perhaps? No, my opinion on that subject is very decided."
"I admit that I, too, distrusted M. de Macreuse," began Mlle. de
Beaumesnil.
"So much the better," interrupted the marquis, hastily. "The wretch
caused me far more anxiety than any of the others. I was so afraid that
you would be duped by his pretended melancholy and his hypocrisy, but
fortunately such persons not unfrequently excite the instinctive
distrust of the honest and ingenuous."
"But you need feel no such apprehensions, I assure you," resumed
Ernestine, triumphantly. "I must undeceive you on that point."
"Undeceive me?"
"In regard to M. de Macreuse? Yes."
"And why, pray?"
"Because there are no real grounds for any distrust. M. de Macreuse is a
sincere and honourable man, plain-spoken almost to rudeness, in fact."
"My child, you frighten me," exclaimed M. de Maillefort, in such accents
of alarm that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was thunderstruck. "Do not conceal
anything from me, I beseech you," continued the hunchback. "You can have
no conception of the diabolical cunning of a man like that. I have seen
such hypocrites deceive the shrewdest people,--and you, my poor innocent
child!"
Mlle. de Beaumesnil, impressed by M. de Maillefort's evident anxiety,
and having perfect confidence in him now, proceeded to give him the gist
of her recent conversation with the pious young man.
"He mistrusted your motive, my child," said the hunchback, after a
moment's reflection, "and, seeing that he had been caught in a trap,
audaciously resolved to turn the tables on you by pretending that he had
been putting you to a similar test. I tell you that such men positively
appall me."
"Good Heavens! is it possible, monsieur?" exclaimed the terrified girl.
"Oh, no, he cannot be so utterly base! Besides, I am sure you would
think very differently if you had seen him. Why, the tears positively
came to his eyes when he spoke of the bitter grief the loss of his
mother had caused him."
"The loss of his mother!" repeated the marquis. "Ah, you little know--"
Then suddenly checking himself, he added:
"There he is now! Ah, it was certainly Heaven that sent him here just at
this moment. Listen and judge for yourself, my poor dear child. Ah, your
innocent heart little suspects the depths of degradation to which
avarice reduces such souls as his."
Then elevating his voice loud enough to make himself distinctly heard by
those around him, he called out to Macreuse, who was just then crossing
the ballroom in order to steal another glance at Mlle. de Beaumesnil:
"M. de Macreuse, one word, if you please."
The abbe's protege hesitated a moment before responding to the summons,
for he both hated and feared the marquis, but seeing every turned eye
upon him, and encouraged by the success of his late ruse with Ernestine,
he straightened himself up, and approaching M. de Maillefort, said
coldly:
"You did me the honour to call me, M. le marquis."
"Yes, I did you that honour, monsieur," replied the marquis,
sardonically, and without taking the trouble to rise from his seat; "and
yet you are not at all polite to me, nor to the other persons who happen
to have the pleasure of your company."
On hearing these words, quite a number of persons gathered around the
two men, for the satirical and aggressive spirit of the marquis was well
known.
"I do not understand you, M. le marquis," replied M. de Macreuse, much
annoyed, and evidently fearing; some disagreeable explanation. "So far
as I know I have not been lacking in respect towards you or any other
person present."
"I hear that you have had the misfortune to lose your mother, monsieur,"
said the marquis, in his rather shrill, penetrating voice.
"Monsieur," stammered M. de Macreuse, apparently stupefied by these
words.
"Would it be indiscreet in me to ask when you lost madame, your
mother--if you know."
"Monsieur!" faltered this model young man, blushing scarlet. "Such a
question--"
"Is very natural, it seems to me, besides being rendered almost
necessary by the lack of respect of which I complain, not only in my own
name, but in the name of all your acquaintances."
"Lack of respect?"
"Certainly. Why did you not politely inform your acquaintances of the
sad loss which you have had the misfortune to sustain, etc?"
"I do not know what you mean, M. le marquis," replied Macreuse, who had
now recovered his composure, in a measure.
"Nonsense! I, who am a great church-goer, as every one knows, heard you
ask a priest at St. Thomas d'Aquin the other day to say a certain number
of masses for the repose of your mother's soul."
"But, monsieur--"
"But, monsieur, there can be no doubt of the truth of my statement, as
you were quite overcome with grief and despair, apparently, while
praying for this beloved parent in the Chapel of the Virgin,--so
completely overcome, in fact, that your good friends, the beadles, were
obliged to carry you in a dead swoon to the sacristy,--a piece of
shameful deception on your part that would have amused if it had not
revolted me."
Staggered for a moment by this unexpected attack, the abbe's protege
had now recovered all his native impudence.
"Every one will understand why I could not and should not answer such an
extraordinary--such a truly distressing question. The secret of one's
prayers is sacred--"
"That is true!" cried several voices, indignantly. "Such an attack is
outrageous!"
"Did any one ever hear the like of it?"
As we have remarked before, M. de Macreuse, like all persons of his
stamp, had his partisans, and these partisans very naturally had a
strong antipathy for M. de Maillefort, who hunted down everything false
and cowardly in the most pitiless fashion, so a still louder murmur of
disapproval was heard, and such expressions as: "What a distressing
scene!" "Did you ever hear anything as scandalous!" and "How brutal!"
were distinctly audible. But the marquis, no whit disconcerted, allowed
the storm to spend itself, until Macreuse, emboldened by his opponent's
silence said, boldly:
"The interest so many highly esteemed persons manifest in me makes it
unnecessary for me to prolong this interview, and--"
But the marquis, interrupting him, said, in accents of withering
contempt:
"M. de Macreuse, you have lied atrociously. You have not lost your
mother, M. de Macreuse; your sainted mother is living, as you know very
well, and your sainted father also. You see that I am sufficiently well
informed concerning your antecedents. You have played an infamous part!
You have cast odium upon a sentiment that even the most degraded
respect,--the sentiment of filial love. The object of all this duplicity
is known to me, and if I refrain from disclosing it, you may be sure
that it is only because names are involved which are so honoured that
they should not even be mentioned in the same breath with yours--if you
possess one."
M. de Macreuse's frightful pallor and utter consternation proved the
truth of these charges so conclusively that even the warmest admirers of
this model young man dared not rally to his defence, while those who had
always felt an instinctive dislike for the founder of the St. Polycarpe
Mission, loudly applauded the marquis.
"Monsieur," cried Macreuse, terrible to behold in his suppressed
rage,--for he felt that his villainy was certain to be unmasked
now,--"for such an insult as this--"
"Enough, monsieur, enough. Leave this house at once. The mere sight of
you is offensive to respectable people, and Madame de Mirecourt will be
infinitely obliged to me for punishing you as you deserve. It is
absolutely necessary that scoundrels like you should be made an example
of now and then, and, distasteful as the role of executioner is to me, I
have assumed it to-night, and my task is not yet ended by any means."
This announcement increased the confusion and excitement very
considerably.
The model young man, anticipating another attack, and thinking he had
had quite enough of it, straightened himself up, as a snake straightens
itself up from beneath the foot that is crushing it, and said,
insolently:
"After these gross insults, I will not remain another minute in this
house, but I venture to hope that, in spite of the difference in our
ages, M. le Marquis de Maillefort will be so kind as to accede to-morrow
to a request which I shall make through two of my friends."
"Go, monsieur, go! The night brings counsel, and after a little
reflection you will abandon your absurd and sanguinary pretensions."
"So be it, monsieur, but in that case you may rest assured that I shall
resort to other means," retorted the model youth, casting a venomous
look at the hunchback, as he turned to depart.
[Illustration: "_'Enough, monsieur, enough._'"
Original etching by Adrian Marcel.]
Madame de Mirecourt, recollecting what Madame de Senneterre had said in
relation to M. de Macreuse, was not sorry to see that gentleman's
villainy exposed, but to put an end to the excitement and confusion this
strange scene had created, she requested several men she knew very well
to form a quadrille as soon as possible.
In fact, the young men were already starting out in search of partners.
This exposure of M. de Macreuse filled Mlle. de Beaumesnil's heart with
gratitude and also with terror when she thought that she might have
yielded to the interest M. de Macreuse had at first inspired, and
perhaps married a man capable of such an infamous act--an act that
revealed an utterly depraved nature.
While engaged in these reflections, the orphan saw that Madame de
Senneterre and Madame de la Rochaigue, who had been for a time unable to
force their way through the crowd that had gathered around the two men,
had returned and resumed their seats beside her. The marquis then rose
and stepped around back of the divan, after which he leaned over Madame
de la Rochaigue and said, almost in a whisper:
"Ah, well, madame, you see I am not a bad auxiliary, after all. I
discover many strange and villainous things from my post of observation,
as I told you some time ago."
"I am utterly astounded, my dear marquis," replied the baroness. "I
understand everything now, however. This explains why my odious
sister-in-law has been dragging the poor dear child off to the Church of
St. Thomas d'Aquin every morning. With her apparent stupidity and her
religious zeal, Helena is a most perfidious creature. Did any one ever
hear of such deceitfulness and treachery?"
"The end is not yet, my dear baroness. You have not only been sheltering
a viper in your house, but a veritable serpent as well."
"A serpent?"
"Yes, an enormous one, with long teeth," said the marquis, with a
meaning glance at M. de la Rochaigue, who happened to be standing in the
doorway, showing his teeth after his usual fashion.
"What! my husband?" exclaimed the baroness. "What do you mean?"
"You will soon know. Do you see that stout man advancing towards us with
such a triumphant air?"
"Of course. That is M. de Mornand."
"He is coming to ask your ward to dance."
"Oh, that doesn't matter. We can let her dance with anybody now, for we
were right in our suppositions. The dear child is charmed with M. de
Senneterre, my dear marquis."
"I am sure of it."
"So behold the Duchesse de Senneterre," said Madame de la Rochaigue,
triumphantly, "and that without the slightest trouble."
"The Duchesse de Senneterre!" repeated the hunchback. "Not quite."
"Of course not, but the matter is virtually settled."
"So at last you are satisfied with Gerald, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and me,
are you not, my dear baroness?"
"Delighted, my dear marquis."
"That is all I want to know. Now I can devote my attention to that stout
man and your serpent of a husband, whose coils--"
"What! M. de la Rochaigue has dared--"
"Ah, my poor baroness, your ingenuousness rends my heart. Look, listen
and profit thereby, poor credulous woman that you are!"
As the marquis uttered these words, M. de Mornand was already bowing low
before Mlle. de Beaumesnil to remind her of the engagement she had made
to dance with him.
CHAPTER XV.
THE PROSPECTIVE MINISTER'S DEFEAT.
"Mademoiselle has not forgotten that she promised me this dance, I
trust," said M. de Mornand, complacently. "Will she do me the honour to
accept my arm?"
"That cannot be, M. de Mornand," interposed M. de Maillefort, who was
still leaning over the back of the sofa on which Ernestine was seated.
M. de Mornand straightened himself up hastily, and, perceiving the
marquis, demanded with great hauteur:
"What can not be, monsieur?"
"You can not dance with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur," answered the
hunchback, still in the same quiet tone.
M. de Mornand shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, then, turning to
Ernestine, repeated:
"Will mademoiselle do me the honour to accept my arm?"
Embarrassed and bewildered, Ernestine turned to M. de Maillefort as if
to ask his advice, and again the marquis repeated in the same quiet but
impressive tone, emphasising each word strongly:
"Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand."
Ernestine was so impressed by M. de Maillefort's grave, almost solemn
manner that, turning to M. de Mornand, she said, casting down her eyes:
"I must beg you to excuse me, monsieur, for I feel too fatigued to keep
the promise I made you."
M. de Mornand bowed low before Ernestine without uttering a word, but as
he straightened himself up he cast a meaning glance at the hunchback.
That gentleman answered it by pointing to one of the doors of the
gallery towards which he, too, directed his steps, leaving Mlle. de
Beaumesnil in a state of great mental perturbation.
This little scene had passed unnoticed, the few words interchanged
between the marquis and M. de Mornand having been uttered in subdued
tones and in the midst of the confusion that always accompanies the
forming of a quadrille, so no one but Madame de la Rochaigue and the
Duchesse de Senneterre had the slightest suspicion of what had occurred.
M. de Mornand on his way to the gallery was accosted successively by M.
de la Rochaigue and M. de Ravil, who had watched with mingled wonder and
uneasiness their protege's futile efforts to induce the heiress to keep
her engagement.
"What! you are not going to dance?" inquired De Ravil.
"What has happened, my dear M. de Mornand?" asked the baron, in his
turn. "I thought I saw you talking with that accursed hunchback, whose
insolence and audacity really exceed all bounds."
"You are right, monsieur," replied the prospective minister, his face
darkening. "M. de Maillefort seems to think he can do anything he
pleases. Such insolence as his must be put a stop to. He actually had
the impertinence to forbid your ward's dancing with me."
"And she obeyed him?" exclaimed the baron.
"What else could the poor girl do after such an injunction?"
"Why this is abominable, outrageous, inconceivable!" exclaimed the
baron. "I will go to my ward at once, and--"
"That is useless now," said M. de Mornand. Then, turning to Ravil, he
added:
"Come with me. I must have an explanation with M. de Maillefort. He is
waiting for me in the gallery."
"I, too, will accompany you," added the baron.
As the three gentlemen approached the hunchback, they saw Messrs. de
Morainville and d'Hauterive standing beside him, as well as five or six
other men who had been assembled at the request of the marquis.
"M. de Maillefort, I have a few words of explanation to ask of you,"
said M. de Mornand, in coldly polite tones.
"I am at your service, monsieur."
"Then, if agreeable to you, you and I will go to the picture-gallery.
Ask one of your friends to accompany you."
"I am not disposed to comply with your request, monsieur, for I intend
to have our explanation as public as possible."
"Monsieur?"
"I do not see why you should fear publicity if I do not."
"So be it, then," responded M. de Mornand, "so I ask you here before
these gentleman, why, when I had the honour to invite a certain young
lady to dance a few minutes ago, you took the liberty of saying to that
young lady, 'Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de
Mornand.' Those were your very words."
"Those were my very words, monsieur. You have an excellent memory. I
hope it will not play you false, presently."
"And I wish to say to M. de Maillefort," interposed the baron, "that he
arrogates to himself an authority, a right, and a surveillance which
belong to me exclusively, for in telling my ward that--"
"My dear baron," said the marquis, smilingly, interrupting M. de la
Rochaigue, "you are a model, paragon, and example for all guardians,
past, present and future, as I will prove to you later, but permit me
now to reply to M. de Mornand, whom I have just had the honour to
congratulate upon his excellent memory, and to ask him if he recollects
something I said to him at a certain _matinee dansante_ given by the
Duchesse de Senneterre,--something in relation to a slight scratch that
was intended to fix in his memory a date which I might have occasion to
remind him of at some future day."
"That is true, monsieur," said M. de Mornand, "but that affair has not
the slightest connection with the explanation I just demanded of you."
"On the contrary, monsieur, this explanation is the natural consequence
of that affair."
"Be more explicit, if you please, monsieur."
"I will. At that entertainment at the house of Madame de Senneterre, in
the garden, under a clump of lilacs, in the presence of several
gentlemen, and notably M. de Morainville and M. d'Hauterive here, you
had the audacity to calumniate Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil in the
most shameless manner."
"Monsieur!"
"Without either compassion or consideration for an unfortunate lady who
was then lying at the point of death," continued the hunchback,
interrupting M. de Mornand, indignantly, "you insulted her in the most
cowardly manner and even went so far as to say that no honourable man
would ever marry the daughter of such a mother as Madame de Beaumesnil."
And at a hasty movement on the part of M. de Mornand, who was white with
rage, the marquis, turning to Messrs. de Morainville and d'Hauterive,
asked:
"Is it not true that M. de Mornand made that remark in your presence,
gentlemen?"
"M. de Mornand did make that remark in our presence," they replied. "It
is impossible for us to deny the fact."
"And I, myself, unseen by you, heard you make it, monsieur," continued
the hunchback, "and, carried away with just indignation, I could not
help exclaiming, 'Scoundrel!'"
"So it was you!" cried Mornand, furious to see all his hopes of future
wealth thus rudely blighted.
"Yes, it was I, and that is why I just told Mlle. de Beaumesnil that she
could not and should not dance with you, monsieur,--a man who had
publicly defamed her mother; and I leave it to these gentlemen here if I
have not done perfectly right to interfere in this matter."
A silence that was anything but complimentary to M. de Mornand followed
the words of the hunchback.
De Ravil alone ventured to speak. It was in an ironical tone.
"M. le marquis must be trying to pose as a paladin or knight-errant to
inflict a wound upon a gallant gentleman, as a sort of memento, merely
to prevent him from dancing a quadrille with Mlle. de Beaumesnil some
day."
"Or rather to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil,
monsieur," corrected the marquis, "for your friend is as mercenary as
Mlle. de Beaumesnil is rich, which is saying a good deal, and in the
conversation I overheard at Madame de Senneterre's dance, M. de Mornand
betrayed his intentions even at that early day. By defaming Madame de
Beaumesnil's character, and making the disgraceful effects of his
calumnies extend to the daughter, and even to any man who might wish to
marry her, M. de Mornand hoped to drive away all rivals. This infamous
conduct exasperated me beyond endurance. In my indignation the word
'Scoundrel!' escaped me. I subsequently devised a way to offer M. de
Mornand the reparation due him, however. Hence the wound which was to
serve as a sort of memento, and hence my resolve to prevent M. de
Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I have succeeded, for I
defy him now to venture into the presence of the richest heiress in
France, even if he delivers a dozen more philanthropical speeches on the
cod fisheries, or even under your protection, baron,--you the most
exemplary, admirable, and high-minded of guardians, who were not only
willing, but eager, to sacrifice your ward's happiness and welfare to
your absurd ambition."
And as no one made any attempt to reply, the hunchback continued:
"Ah, gentlemen, these villainies are of such frequent occurrence in
society that it would be well to make an example of at least one
offender. Because such shameful things often occur among respectable
people, is that any reason they should go unpunished? What! there is a
prison cell for poor devils who make a few louis by cheating at cards,
and there is no pillory in which to place people who, by means of false
pretences and foul lies, endeavour to secure possession of an enormous
fortune, and plot in cold blood to enchain for ever an innocent child,
whose only crime is the possession of a colossal fortune, which,
unbeknown to her, excites the most shameless cupidity in those around
her! And when these men succeed, people praise them and envy them and
welcome them to their houses. People praise their shrewdness and go into
ecstasies over their good fortune! Yes, for thanks to the wealth
acquired by such unworthy means, they will entertain magnificently, and
their gold not only enables them to gratify their every wish, but to
attain any official position, no matter how exalted. The unfortunate
woman who has enriched them, and whom they have so basely deceived,
weeps her life away or plunges into a career of dissipation in order to
forget her misery. Ah, gentlemen, I have at least had the satisfaction
of bringing two scoundrels to grief, for M. de Macreuse, whom I drove
from this house a few minutes ago, had devised a similar scheme."
"You are outwitted like the fool that you are, and it has been very
cleverly done," De Ravil whispered in the ear of his friend, who stood
as if petrified. "I will never forgive you as long as I live for having
made me lose my percentage on that dowry."
Noble and generous sentiments exert such an irresistible influence
sometimes that, after the hunchback's scathing words, M. de Mornand felt
that he was censured by every one. Not a voice was lifted in his
defence, but fortunately the termination of the quadrille brought quite
a crowd of people into the gallery, and the prospective minister was
thus afforded an opportunity to make his escape, pale and agitated, and
without having been able to find a word to say in refutation of M. de
Maillefort's grievous charges.
The marquis then rejoined Madame de la Rochaigue, who was as entirely in
the dark concerning what had just taken place as Ernestine.
"It is absolutely necessary that you take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at
once," M. de Maillefort said to the baroness. "Her presence here is no
longer desirable. Yes, my dear child," added the marquis, turning to
Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "the unpleasant curiosity you excite is increasing,
instead of diminishing. To-morrow I will tell you all, but now take my
advice and go home at once."
"Oh, gladly, monsieur," replied Ernestine, "for I am in misery."
So the young girl rose and took the arm of Madame de la Rochaigue, who
said to the hunchback, in a tone of the liveliest gratitude:
"I understand the situation now, I think. M. de Mornand had also entered
the lists, it seems."
"We will talk all this over to-morrow. Now, in Heaven's name, take Mlle.
de Beaumesnil away at once!"
"Ah, you are certainly our guardian angel, my dear marquis," whispered
Madame de la Rochaigue. "I was wise to confide in you!"
"Yes, yes, but for pity's sake, get Mlle. de Beaumesnil away."
The orphan cast a quick glance of gratitude at the hunchback, then,
agitated and almost terrified by the exciting events of the evening, she
left the ballroom in company with Madame de la Rochaigue; but M. de
Maillefort remained, unwilling to appear to leave under cover of the
sort of stupor his daring act had caused.
De Ravil, like a true cynic, had no sooner witnessed the ruin of his
friend Mornand's hopes than he abandoned him then and there. The future
minister had thrown himself into a cab, but Ravil wended his way
homeward on foot, reviewing the events that had just occurred, and
comparing the overthrow of M. de Mornand with that of M. de Macreuse.
As he turned the corner of the street on which Madame de Mirecourt's
house stood, De Ravil saw in the bright moonlight a man a short distance
ahead of him, walking now slowly, now with feverish haste.
The agitated bearing of this man excited the cynic's curiosity. He
quickened his pace, and soon recognised M. de Macreuse, who could not
tear himself away from the house where the marquis lingered,--the
marquis whose heart Macreuse would have torn from his breast, had he
been able to do it.
Yielding to a truly diabolical impulse, Ravil approached Macreuse, and
said:
"Good evening, M. de Macreuse."
The abbe's protege raised his head, and the evil passions that filled
his heart could be read so plainly in his face that De Ravil
congratulated himself upon his idea.
"What do you want?" Macreuse demanded, brusquely, not recognising De
Ravil at the first glance. Then looking at him more attentively, he
said:
"Ah, it is you, M. de Ravil; excuse me."
He made a movement as if about to walk on, but De Ravil checked him by
saying:
"M. de Macreuse, I feel sure that we are likely to understand and be of
service to each other."
"In what way, monsieur?"
"We hate the same man, that is something."
"Whom?"
"M. de Maillefort."
"So you, too, hate him?"
"With a deadly hatred."
"Well, what of it, monsieur?"
"Well, having the same animosity, we may have the same interests."
"I do not understand you, M. de Ravil."
"M. de Macreuse, you are a much too gifted and energetic man to allow
yourself to be discouraged by one setback."
"What setback, monsieur?"
"So I will take you into my confidence. I had a fool of a friend, known
to you as M. de Mornand, who had designs upon the same heiress that you
did."
"M. de Mornand?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, a few minutes after your hasty departure, that d--d
marquis exposed him as he had exposed you. That is to say, he has
rendered my imbecile friend's marriage with the little Beaumesnil an
impossibility."
"But what difference does it make to you whether the heiress does or
does not marry your friend?"
"The devil! A great deal of difference! I went into the affair with the
expectation of getting a handsome percentage on the dowry, so that
accursed hunchback ruined me in ruining Mornand. Do you understand now?"
"Perfectly."
"Mornand is too much of a milksop--too blubbery, in short, to make any
attempt to recover from his setback or even to console himself by
revenge."
"Revenge? Upon whom?"
"Upon that little ninny of an heiress, and indirectly upon that d--d
hunchback. But let me assure you that I am not one of those blockheads
who thirst for revenge alone; it is a profitable revenge I am after
every time."
"Profitable?"
"Yes, very profitable, and I can furnish the materials for it, too."
"You? And what are your materials, pray?"
"Excuse me. I possess a very valuable secret."
"In relation to Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"
"The same. I can work up this valuable secret alone, however, just as
well."
"And yet you offer--"
"To go shares with you? Nothing of the kind. You would think me a
simpleton if I did, and you've no fondness for simpletons."
"Then, monsieur, to what purpose--?"
"You did not embark in such an important enterprise--as my imbecile
friend the politician would say--you did not embark in such an important
enterprise as your marriage with the greatest heiress in France without
backers, without powerful intermediaries and without strong
probabilities of success. One does not make such a blunder as that when
one is the founder of the St. Polycarpe Mission,--a work, by the way,
which has convinced me that you are a remarkably able man, and gained
you my sincere admiration. This being the case, you are too
high-spirited to submit quietly to such a setback to the atrocious
treatment you have received from M. de Maillefort. You may, perhaps,
have some means of retrieving your lost ground, or of obtaining your
object in some other way, and so long as the little Beaumesnil remains
single, a man like you does not abandon hope."
"Well, so be it, monsieur; suppose I have not given up all hope, what
then?"
"If you admit that, I will propose that we pool, you, your means of
success, and I, my secret. If your hopes are realised, we will not make
use of my secret; if they are not realised, my secret will remain a
luscious, juicy pear to quench our thirst. In short, if you marry the
heiress, you will give me a small percentage on her dowry; if you do not
marry her, I will give you a part of the money my secret will gain for
me, that is, if the aforesaid secret can not be made to render you
valuable assistance in your new attempt."
"All this is worthy of attention," answered Macreuse, after a moment's
reflection, for he, too, was beginning to think that he and De Ravil
were, indeed, congenial spirits. "But it would be well for me to know
what this secret is, and what its influence is likely to be."
"Give me your arm, my dear M. de Macreuse, I am going to state the case
plainly to you, for I have nothing to gain by deceiving you, as you will
soon see for yourself."
The two men walked on arm in arm and were soon lost in the shadow of the
tall houses that bordered one edge of the sidewalk.
CHAPTER XVI.
DISINTERESTED AFFECTION.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil had promised Herminie that she would come and see
her Friday morning, or, in other words, on the day immediately following
the ball which the richest heiress in France had attended at Madame de
Mirecourt's house, and where M. de Macreuse and M. de Mornand had seen
their villainous projects exposed by the Marquis de Maillefort.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil had left the ballroom deeply distressed and
terrified by the discoveries she made in relation to her suitors,
discoveries which had been completed by Gerald's frank confession
concerning the manner in which an heiress was married off; and feeling
quite as much contempt as aversion, now, for her guardian and his
family, the young girl realised the necessity of taking some decisive
action in the matter, her present relations with the Rochaigues having
become intolerable.
It was consequently necessary for her to ask the protection and counsel
of some person outside of this family of sage advisers.
Ernestine knew only two persons whom she could trust,--Herminie and M.
de Maillefort.
In order to open her heart to Herminie Mlle. de Beaumesnil would be
obliged to confess who she really was, but though she had no intention
of deferring this revelation much longer, she did long to enjoy once
more the inexpressible happiness of receiving those evidences of tender
friendship which the duchess supposed she was lavishing upon a poor
orphan girl who had to work for her living.
"Heaven grant that she will love me just as much when she knows that I
am rich!" thought the heiress, anxiously. "Heaven grant that this
discovery may not impair the friendship that a person of Herminie's
proud and sensitive nature feels for me!"
Faithful to her promise, and rejoiced to know how entirely worthy Gerald
was of Herminie's love, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, accompanied by Madame
Laine, who was to wait for her in the cab, as usual, started early
Friday morning for the home of the duchess, for it is needless to say
that, after M. de Macreuse's humiliation of the evening before, Mlle.
Helena did not come to take her brother's ward to church as usual.
As she neared her friend's home, Ernestine became very uneasy, for
though, since her conversation with M. de Senneterre the evening before,
the young girl knew for a certainty how perfectly honourable Gerald's
intentions were, and how passionately he loved Herminie, Mlle. de
Beaumesnil foresaw only too plainly the many difficulties to be overcome
before a marriage between the young duke and a penniless music teacher
could be brought about.
When Ernestine reached her friend's house, Herminie sprang forward to
meet her and embraced her tenderly.
"Ah, I was sure you would not forget your promise, Ernestine," she
cried, "for did I not tell you what a comfort your coming would be to
me?"
"I trust it may prove so, indeed, my dear Herminie. Have you regained a
little of your wonted courage? Are you not more hopeful?"
The duchess shook her head sadly.
"Alas! I can not say that I see any reason to hope," she replied, "but
don't let us talk of my troubles now, Ernestine. We will discuss them
again when the subject that is now on my mind has ceased to divert my
thoughts from them."
"To what subject do you refer?"
"It is a matter that concerns you, Ernestine."
"Me?"
"It is a matter that may exert a very happy influence over your future,
my poor, lonely child."
"What do you mean, Herminie?"
"I am not the proper person to explain this mystery to you. I was asked
to do so, but fearing I might influence you by the manner in which I
presented the case, I refused, wishing your decision to be unbiased by
any outside influence, though I will express my opinion afterwards if
you wish."
"Good Heavens! What you say, Herminie, mystifies me more and more. What
is this very important project?"
"The last time you were here, and while Commander Bernard was again
expressing his fervent gratitude to you, M. Olivier begged me to see him
the next day on a very important matter, he said. I complied with his
request, and the matter was indeed one of grave importance, so grave, in
fact, that he asked me to act as his intermediary with you, which I
refused to do for reasons I have already explained."
"Ah, then the matter has some connection with M. Olivier?"
"Yes, and I thought it would be better for him to make his wishes known
himself, in my presence, if you have no objection."
"And you advise me to grant M. Olivier a hearing, my dear Herminie?"
"I do, Ernestine, because whatever happens and whatever your decision
may be, you will, I am sure, be both proud and happy to have heard what
he has to tell you."
"Then I am to see M. Olivier. But when, Herminie?"
"To-day, now, if you desire it."
"Where is he?"
"Out in the garden. Counting upon a visit from you this morning, I said
to him: 'Come Friday morning. You will not mind waiting in the garden
awhile, and if Ernestine consents to see you, I will send for you.'"
"Very well, then, Herminie, have the goodness to send M. Olivier word
that I should be pleased to see him."
A moment afterwards M. Olivier Raymond was ushered into the room by
Madame Moufflon, the concierge.
"M. Olivier," said Herminie, "Ernestine is ready to listen to you. You
know my friendship for her. You know, too, how highly I esteem you, so I
trust my presence will prove no restraint."
"I particularly desire your presence, Mlle. Herminie, as I shall,
perhaps, find it necessary to appeal to your memory in support of some
of my statements," replied Olivier. Then, turning to Mlle. de
Beaumesnil, he continued, without making any attempt to conceal his
emotion:
"Mademoiselle, permit me to say, first of all, that I must have perfect
confidence in the rectitude of my intentions to venture upon the rather
peculiar step I am about to take."
"I am certain, in advance, M. Olivier, that this step is worthy of you,
of me, and of the friend that is listening to us."
"I think so, too, mademoiselle, so I am going to speak to you in all
sincerity, for you may recollect that once before you expressed yourself
as grateful to me for my frankness."
"I was certainly deeply touched by it, as Herminie will tell you, M.
Olivier."
"Mlle. Herminie can also testify to the deep interest you inspired in my
heart, mademoiselle, I will not say from the time of the charity dance,"
added Olivier, with a faint smile, "but rather from the time of the
conversation I had with you that evening."
"It is perfectly true, my dear Ernestine," said Herminie, "that, after
your departure, M. Olivier seemed to be deeply touched by the strange
mixture of melancholy, frankness, and originality, that he had noticed
in your conversation, and his interest seemed to be greatly increased
when I told him, without committing any breach of confidence, I trust,
that I felt sure your life was far from happy."
"The truth is never a breach of confidence, my dear Herminie. Though one
ought, of course, to conceal one's unhappiness from the indifferent, one
should at least have the consolation of confessing it to one's friends."
"Then you may be able to understand, mademoiselle," said Olivier, "that,
by reason of the very peculiar circumstances of our first interview,
there sprang up in my heart, not one of those sudden and violent
emotions one sometimes experiences,--I should be uttering an untruth if
I asserted this,--but an emotion full of sweetness and charm, together
with a lively solicitude for you, a solicitude which memory and
reflection rendered more and more keen. Such were my feelings,
mademoiselle, when you, at the risk of your own life, saved the uncle
whom I love as a father from a horrible death. Then, gratitude and the
admiration which so noble an act richly merited were added to the
sentiments I already entertained for you, but I should, probably, never
have dared to give expression to these feelings had it not been for the
unexpected good fortune that has befallen me."
After pausing an instant, as if uncertain whether he had better go on,
Olivier added:
"And now, mademoiselle, I find myself again obliged to remind myself and
to remind you that you love sincerity above all things."
"Yes, M. Olivier, I do both love and appreciate sincerity above all
things."
"Well, mademoiselle, to speak frankly, you are not happy, and the
persons with whom you live are not congenial to you. Is this not so?"
"Yes, M. Olivier. The only happiness I have known since my parents'
death dates from the hour of my entrance into Madame Herbaut's house."
"I do not wish to sadden you, mademoiselle," continued Olivier, kindly,
even tenderly. "I am loath, too, to remind you how hard and precarious
the life of a young girl who is dependent upon her own exertions is, and
yet, mademoiselle, however courageous and industrious you may be, you
cannot forget that you are an orphan, surrounded by selfish,
hard-hearted persons, who would cruelly desert you, perhaps, if want or
sickness should be your portion, or manifest a humiliating pity towards
you which would be even more hard to bear than heartless desertion."
"You are perfectly right, monsieur. Privations, disdain, desertion,
these are all I have to expect from the persons around me if I should
become really destitute."
"You exposed to disdain and privations, never!" exclaimed Olivier. "No,
you must not, you shall not, be treated thus," he continued. "I know
that you can count upon Mlle. Herminie's devoted friendship; but poor
and honest people like ourselves must not deceive ourselves. Mlle.
Herminie may need your aid herself some day. Besides, two devoted
friends are better than one, so I would gladly offer myself as well, if
I only knew that you had half as much confidence in me as I have true
and faithful affection for you."
"Monsieur," said Ernestine, trembling, and casting down her eyes, "I do
not know--I am not sure that I ought--"
"Listen one moment, mademoiselle. If I were still a common soldier, for
to be a common soldier and a non-commissioned officer really amount to
the same thing, I should not have spoken to you on this subject. I
should have tried to forget, not my gratitude, but the sentiment that
renders it doubly dear to me. Whether I should have succeeded or not, I
cannot say. But now I am an officer, and that means a competence to me.
Will you allow me to offer this competence to you?"
"Such a future far exceeds my wildest hopes," replied Ernestine, only
partially concealing the intense joy Olivier's words caused her.
"Ah, mademoiselle, if you should make me happy by an acceptance of this
offer, far from feeling that I was released from a sacred obligation, I
should realise that I had only contracted another,--for I should owe the
happiness of my life to you, though this debt, at least, I should be
certain to pay by my love and devotion. Yes, for why should I not say
it, there can be no love deeper or more honourable than mine. There is
no cause more holy and generous than that which lies so near my heart."
On hearing Olivier utter these words, in tones of intense earnestness
and profound sincerity, Mlle. de Beaumesnil experienced a rapturous
emotion hitherto unknown to her, and a vivid blush dyed her throat and
brow as she cast a timid glance at Olivier's handsome, manly face, now
radiant with love and hope.
So Ernestine had not been mistaken as to the meaning of Olivier's look
when he heard, in her presence, of his promotion. The girl saw and felt
that she was loved, ardently loved. The proofs of it were so
unmistakable, the causes that had produced it were so noble, that she
could not doubt its reality.
And to believe, understand, and appreciate all that is noble, tender,
and charming in such a love, is that not equivalent to sharing it, above
all when one has lived, like Mlle. de Beaumesnil, a prey to
apprehensions which recent events had more than justified, and to a
distrust which had threatened to destroy all her hopes of future
happiness?
And what inexpressible joy it was for her to be able to say to herself:
"It is I, the poor, nameless, penniless orphan, that he loves, because I
have proved myself to be sincere, brave, and generous. And I am so truly
loved that he offers a life of comparative ease, and an honourable
position to me, who seemed destined to a life of poverty, if not
absolute want."
And Mlle. de Beaumesnil, agitated by a thousand new emotions, blushing
and smiling at the same time, seized the hand of Herminie, by whom she
was sitting, and, thus avoiding the necessity of any direct reply to
Olivier's proposal, exclaimed:
"You were right, Herminie; I have, indeed, good reason to be proud of M.
Olivier's offer."
"And do you accept this offer, Ernestine?" asked Herminie, certain what
her friend's reply would be.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil, with a graceful, almost childish movement, threw
her arms around the neck of the duchess, kissed her tenderly, and said,
almost in a whisper:
"Yes--I accept it."
But she still kept her face almost hidden on her friend's bosom, while
Herminie, scarcely able to restrain her tears of sympathetic emotion,
turned to the young officer, who was himself deeply moved by this
charming scene, and said:
"Ernestine accepts, M. Olivier. I am delighted both on your account and
hers, for from this time I feel that her happiness is certain."
"Ah, yes, mademoiselle," cried Olivier, his face radiant with joy, "for
from this moment I have the right to devote my life to Mlle. Ernestine."
"I believe in you, and in my future happiness, M. Olivier," said
mademoiselle, shyly, raising her head until it rested on Herminie's
shoulder. Then, with cheeks slightly flushed, and her beautiful eyes
sparkling with purest joy, the girl timidly extended her little hand to
the young man.
Olivier trembled, as he touched this hand which he dared not carry to
his lips, but he pressed it tenderly with mingled love and deference.
Then, without trying to conceal the tears that filled his eyes, he said:
"By this dear hand so generously given, mademoiselle, I swear to you,
and ask your friend to bear witness to my vow, I swear that my life
shall be consecrated to your happiness."
CHAPTER XVII.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
After the vows thus plighted by Mlle. de Beaumesnil and Olivier Raymond
in Herminie's presence, the three actors in the scene maintained an
almost solemn silence for several minutes.
All three fully realised the gravity of the obligation assumed.
"How delightful it is to be rich," thought Olivier, "for I am rich in
comparison with this dear child who has only her own labour to depend
upon. What happiness it gives me to be able to assure her an existence
superior even to her wildest dreams."
His features were radiant with the delight of this thought, as he broke
the silence by saying to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:
"Until I became sure of your consent, mademoiselle, I did not care to
broach the subject to your relative, though I have every reason to hope
she will accede to my request. Do you not think so? As for my uncle,
need I tell you that his joy will almost equal mine, when he knows that
he can call you his daughter? If you think proper, mademoiselle, he had
better be the one, perhaps, to go to your relative and make known my
request."
This proposal threw Ernestine into a state of deep perplexity. Yielding
to an outburst of irresistible confidence, that told her that every
possible guarantee of safety and happiness would be found in Olivier,
she had never once thought of the many difficulties that were sure to
arise from the maintenance of the incognito which she dared not throw
off at once, however.
But already somewhat familiar with the sudden dilemmas resulting from
the position in which she had placed herself, Mlle. de Beaumesnil
replied, after a moment's reflection:
"I am hardly able to say to-day whether it had better be M. Bernard or
Herminie who goes to my relative to inform her of your intentions--and
of my consent. I will think the matter over, and let you know my
decision the next time I see you."
"Ernestine is right, M. Olivier," remarked Herminie; "from what I have
heard of her relative's disposition, it would be advisable to act with
prudence, as--as the consent of this parent is indispensable to
Ernestine's marriage."
"I shall be guided entirely by Mlle. Ernestine and by you, Mlle.
Herminie, in this matter. Sure of Mlle. Ernestine's consent, I can wait
with patience. If you knew with what happiness I think of the
future--our future, I can say now! And my brave, kind uncle, how happy
he will be surrounded by our care, for it will not be at all unpleasant
to you to live with him, will it, Mlle. Ernestine? He is so good and
kind, and it would make him so happy to have us with him!"
"Did you not tell me that he would call me his daughter, M. Olivier? I
shall be very proud of that title and try to deserve it."
"Tell me, Mlle. Herminie," asked Olivier, addressing the duchess, "after
such a reply, can there be a happier man in the world than I?"
"No, M. Olivier," replied the duchess, smothering a sigh as she thought
how she, too, might have enjoyed the same felicity if Gerald's position
had been as modest as Olivier's; "no, I do not believe there can be any
greater happiness than yours, nor any that is more richly deserved."
"We shall not be high and mighty seigneurs, Mlle. Ernestine," said
Olivier, smiling, "for a second lieutenant is no great things, but even
a single epaulette honourably worn levels all conditions. Besides, I am
young, and I shall soon have two epaulettes instead of one, some day I
shall become a major, perhaps even a colonel."
"Beware of ambition, M. Olivier," said Ernestine, smiling in her turn.
"That is true. It seems to me that I am devoured with ambition now. It
would give me such happiness to see you enjoy the consideration with
which the wife of a colonel is surrounded! My poor uncle, too, how proud
he would be to see me hold that rank. Then, think of it, Mlle.
Ernestine, we should be millionaires on a colonel's pay. And what
pleasure it would give me to surround you with comforts and even
luxuries enough to make you forget the hardships of your youth, and to
at last see my poor uncle placed above the reach of want, for he is
sometimes subjected to great privations!"
"Yes, in spite of your generous assistance, M. Olivier," said Ernestine,
with deep emotion, "and in spite of the hard work you have been doing
all through your furlough."
"Ah, you have been tattling, Mlle. Herminie," said Olivier, gaily.
"At all events, I was entirely disinterested," she retorted; "for when I
told Ernestine all the good I knew of you, M. Olivier, I was far from
suspecting that you would corroborate my statements so soon."
"And I must tell M. Olivier, with that frankness on which he sets such
store, that he misjudges me very much if he thinks I am pining for the
luxury he promises me," said Ernestine, smiling.
"And I," said Olivier, "shall reply with equal frankness that I am
terribly selfish, and that, in hoping to be able to surround Mlle.
Ernestine with luxury, I am thinking only of the pleasure it will give
me."
"And I, who am Reason personified," said Herminie, with a melancholy
smile, "I shall tell Mlle. Ernestine and M. Olivier that they are two
foolish children to indulge in these golden visions. The present should
content them."
"Yes, I admit it is wrong," responded Olivier, gaily. "Just see where
ambition leads one! I am dreaming of becoming a colonel, instead of
saying to myself that my worthy uncle and myself--thanks to my pay as a
second lieutenant--have never been so rich before. Think of it, nearly
six thousand francs a year--for us two. What happiness to be able to
say, 'For us three, Mlle. Ernestine!'"
"Six thousand francs a year? Why, that is an enormous amount," exclaimed
the richest heiress in France. "How can any one spend all that money?"
"Poor child!" Olivier said to himself, exulting in his new-found
prosperity, "I thought as much. She has been so poor up to this time,
that it seems an immense fortune to her."
But he said aloud:
"We shall manage to spend our three thousand francs, all the same, I
expect, Mlle. Ernestine. In the first place, I shall always insist upon
your being nicely dressed, in simple but elegant toilets. Our rank
requires it, you know, mademoiselle. An officer's wife--why, the army
regulations require her to be well dressed, you understand."
"If the dignity of your rank is at stake, why, I submit, of course,"
replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, laughing, "but only on condition that your
dear uncle shall have a pretty garden, as he is so fond of flowers."
"That is understood, Mlle. Ernestine. We can easily find a snug little
apartment with a garden in a quiet part of the town, for as I shall
belong to the garrison we can not live in the Batignolles any longer.
But--great Heavens--"
"What is the matter, M. Olivier?"
"Are you a Bonapartist, Mlle. Ernestine?" inquired the young officer,
with comical seriousness.
"Why certainly, M. Olivier. I admire the emperor very much. But why do
you ask that question?"
"Then we are lost, mademoiselle, for my poor uncle shelters beneath his
roof the most implacable enemy of the great Napoleon that ever lived."
"Indeed!"
"You will shudder to hear her frightful stories of his atrocities; but
seriously, Mlle. Ernestine, I shall be obliged to ask your indulgence,
and your affection as well, for a very worthy woman, my uncle's
housekeeper, who during the ten years she has been in his employ has
never allowed a day to pass without lavishing every attention upon him,
and without quarrelling with him in the most outrageous manner on the
subject of the Corsican ogre."
"Very well, M. Olivier, I will disclose my admiration for the great
emperor only to your dear uncle, and play the hypocrite before this
worthy woman. Oh, you shall see; I am very politic, and she will love me
in spite of my Bonapartism."
Madame Moufflon, the concierge, having rapped at the door, interrupted
the conversation by handing a letter to Herminie, who, recognising the
handwriting as that of M. de Maillefort, told the portress to ask the
messenger to wait, as there might be an answer required.
So Olivier, fearing that a longer stay would be indiscreet, and being
also in a hurry to find Commander Bernard, and report the success of his
wooing, said to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:
"I came here in a very anxious frame of mind, Mlle. Ernestine. Thanks to
you, I am going away the happiest and most contented of men. I need not
tell you how impatiently I shall await your decision in regard to your
relative. If you think it advisable for my uncle to approach her on the
subject, please let me know as soon as possible."
"I will do so at our next interview, which had better take place here,
M. Olivier."
"May I not be permitted to bring my uncle?" asked Olivier. "There is so
much that he wishes to say to you. He will be so anxious to see you,
too, that it would hardly be fair to deny him the favour, for there is
nothing he wouldn't be capable of doing in order to reach you, and tell
you of his joy and gratitude."
"Herminie and I will not force your dear uncle to any extreme measures,
for I, myself, am very impatient to see him again, so _a bientot_, M.
Olivier."
"_A bientot_, mademoiselle."
And Olivier departed, leaving the two girls alone together.
Herminie then opened M. de Maillefort's letter. It read as follows:
* * * * *
"It is still to-morrow, Saturday, my dear child, that I shall call to
take you to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, only, if agreeable to you, I will come
at three in the afternoon, instead of at noon as we agreed.
"A cousin-germain of mine, the Prince Duc de Haut-Martel, the head of
our house, has just died in Hungary.
"I received this news through the Austrian ambassador, upon whom I must
call early to-morrow morning for some necessary formalities, which, to
my great regret, will prevent me from fulfilling my engagement with you
as early as I promised.
"I shall see you, then, to-morrow, my dear child,
"Affectionately,
"MAILLEFORT."
* * * * *
"Ernestine, you will excuse me to write a few words in answer to this
letter, will you not?" asked Herminie, seating herself at the table.
So, while the duchess was writing to M. de Maillefort, Mlle. de
Beaumesnil reflected with growing satisfaction upon the engagement she
had just contracted with Olivier.
The duchess wrote M. de Maillefort that she would expect him at three
the following afternoon, then rang for Madame Moufflon, and asked her to
deliver the note to the messenger.
When the portress had left the room, Herminie returned to Mlle. de
Beaumesnil, and, kissing her affectionately, asked:
"You are very happy, are you not, Ernestine?"
"Yes, very happy, Herminie," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "and it was
here in your home that this happiness came to me, my dear friend. How
generous M. Olivier is! How much he must esteem and love me for him to
desire to marry me, when his position is so superior to mine! That, in
itself, is enough to make me adore him, and to make me place implicit
faith in his promises. With what a feeling of security I can now face
the future, however trying may be the circumstances in which I find
myself to-day!"
"Yes, Ernestine, you are indeed certain of happiness. Your life cannot
fail to be pleasant and fortunate. To love and to be loved worthily is,
indeed, a fate to be envied."
And as the contrast between her own future and that of her friend struck
her, the poor duchess could not help bursting into tears.
"It is, indeed, true that happiness is always selfish!" cried Ernestine.
"Oh, Herminie, forgive me, forgive me! How much you must have suffered!
Every word of our conversation with M. Olivier must have pierced your
soul! You heard us talk of our mutual love, of our hope of a blissful
future, and all the while you felt that you, perhaps, would have to
renounce all such joys. Ah, our thoughtlessness must have pained you
deeply, my dear Herminie."
"No, no, Ernestine," said the poor duchess, drying her eyes, "on the
contrary, your happiness has been a great consolation to me. Has it not
enabled me to forget my own grief and despair all the morning?"
"Despair? But why do you say that? M. de Senneterre is worthy of you,"
cried Ernestine, thoughtlessly, remembering only her conversation with
the young duke the evening before. "He loves you as you deserve to be
loved, I know it."
"You know it, Ernestine? How do you know it?"
"I mean that--that I am sure of it, Herminie," replied Ernestine, much
embarrassed. "All you have told me about him convinces me that you could
not have placed your affections more wisely. The obstacles to your union
are great, I admit, but by no means insurmountable."
"But they are, Ernestine. I have never told you before, but my own sense
of dignity will not permit me to marry M. de Senneterre, unless his
mother comes here and tells me that she consents to my marriage with her
son. Without that, nothing could induce me to enter this aristocratic
family."
"Oh, Herminie, how much I admire your pride!" exclaimed Ernestine. "And
what does M. de Senneterre say?"
"When M. Olivier told him my resolution, far from appearing either
surprised or shocked, Gerald replied: 'What Herminie asks is only just.
Her dignity, as well as mine, requires it. Despair is cowardly and
foolish. It is for me to find the means of compelling my mother to
acknowledge the worth of the woman to whom I shall be proud to give my
name.' Noble and touching words, were they not, Ernestine?"
"You are right, Herminie."
"My mother loves me devotedly,' added M. de Senneterre, 'and nothing is
impossible to an ardent lover. I shall find a way to convince my mother
of the wisdom of my choice, and to induce her to make the advances
Herminie has a right to expect. How I shall do it, I cannot say, but I
shall do it, for Herminie's happiness and mine are at stake.'
"And does not this courageous resolve inspire you with some hope?" asked
Ernestine.
The duchess shook her head sadly as she replied:
"Gerald is sincere in his determination, but he deceives himself. All I
have heard of his mother convinces me that this haughty woman will
never--"
"Never! why do you say never?" cried Ernestine, interrupting her friend.
"Ah, Herminie, you have no idea how much the love of a man like M. de
Senneterre can accomplish. His mother is a very proud woman, you say; so
much the better. She would show herself pitiless to any cowardly
humility, while your eminently proper pride will be sure to impress her,
as she, too, is proud; so she will at least be obliged to esteem and
respect you. That will be one great advantage gained; her love for her
son will do the rest, for you do not know how she idolises him. She
loves him so devotedly, in fact, that she has so far forgotten herself
as to mix herself up in a shameful conspiracy in order to secure him an
immense fortune by an act unworthy of him. Why, then, is her maternal
love likely to fail when a worthy, commendable act on her part is alone
needed to assure her son's happiness? Believe me, Herminie, no one ever
need despair when there is a mother's heart to appeal to."
"Really, Ernestine, you amaze me. You speak of M. de Senneterre and his
family as if you knew them."
"Well, I may as well admit, my dear Herminie," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil,
unable to resist her desire to allay her friend's fears and to encourage
her to hope, "that, knowing how unhappy you were, I managed to make some
inquiries about the Senneterre family through my relative."
"But how?"
"She knows one of Mlle. de Beaumesnil's servants."
"Your relative does?"
"Yes, and she discovered in this way that Madame de Senneterre has been
mixed up in an unfortunate scheme to bring about a marriage between her
son and Mlle. de Beaumesnil, that rich heiress."
"Gerald was to marry Mlle. de Beaumesnil?" exclaimed Herminie.
"Yes, but he nobly refused. Her immense fortune has no attraction for
him, because he loves you,--loves you devotedly, Herminie."
"Is this true?" exclaimed the duchess, delightedly. "Are you sure of
what you say, Ernestine?"
"Perfectly sure."
"It is not so much that this disinterestedness on Gerald's part
astonishes me," said Herminie, "as that--"
"That you are proud of this new proof of his love. Am I not right?"
"Yes, yes," exclaimed the duchess, her hopes reviving in spite of
herself. "But once more, I can not help asking if you are perfectly sure
of what you say? My poor child, you are so anxious to see me happy that
I am afraid you have lent too ready an ear to these reports, for
servants' gossip, you know, is proverbially unreliable. Do you know
whether Gerald has ever met Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"
"Once or twice, I think my relative told me. But why do you ask that
question, Herminie?"
"Because it seems to me that I shall feel very uncomfortable to-morrow,
knowing that there has been some talk of a marriage between Gerald and
Mlle. de Beaumesnil."
"Why, what is to happen to-morrow, Herminie?"
"I am to give Mlle. de Beaumesnil her first music lesson."
"To-morrow?" exclaimed Ernestine, without concealing her surprise.
"Read this letter, my dear," replied the duchess. "It is from that
gentleman, the hunchback, you remember, that you once met here."
"M. de Maillefort probably had his reasons for not warning me of his
intentions," Ernestine said to herself, as she perused the missive. "I
am glad that he is hastening the denouement, however, for my powers of
dissimulation are nearly exhausted. What a relief it will be to confess
all!"
As she returned the letter, Ernestine asked:
"What difference does it make to you, Herminie, if there has been some
talk of a marriage between M. de Senneterre and Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"
"I do not know, but I somehow feel that it places me in a false, almost
painful position towards that young lady, and if I had not promised M.
de Maillefort--"
"What would you do?"
"I would abandon this visit, which now causes me a sort of vague
uneasiness."
"But you have promised, Herminie, and you can not break your word.
Besides, is not Mlle. de Beaumesnil the child of the lady whom you loved
so much, and who so often talked to you about her dear daughter? Think
of it, Herminie; would it not be wrong to give up going to see her? Do
you not at least owe that to her mother's memory?"
"You are right, Ernestine. I shall have to go, and yet--"
"Who knows, Herminie, but your acquaintance with this young girl will
prove of benefit to both of you. I scarcely know why, but I prophesy
good from this visit, and I certainly prove my disinterestedness by
doing so, for devoted friendship is naturally jealous. But it is growing
late, my friend, and I must go. I will write to you to-morrow."
The duchess sat silent and evidently absorbed in thought for a moment.
"Ah, Ernestine," she exclaimed at last, "I can not tell you all the
strange thoughts that are passing through my mind. Gerald's noble
disinterestedness, my approaching interview with Mlle. de Beaumesnil,
your disclosures in relation to the character of Madame de Senneterre,
who, being proud herself, can, perhaps, better understand the demands of
my pride,--all this agitates me deeply. Nevertheless, though I was so
full of despair a few minutes ago, I now hope, in spite of myself, and
thanks to you, my dear friend, my heart is much less heavy than when you
came."
Consideration for M. de Maillefort's plans alone prevented Ernestine
from putting an end to her friend's anxiety and increasing her hope by
giving her further proofs of Gerald's love as well as of his nobility of
character, but remembering that all this mystery would soon be cleared
up, she carried her secret away with her when she parted from Herminie.
The following afternoon, according to promise, M. de Maillefort called
for the duchess, and the two immediately started for Mlle. de
Beaumesnil's residence.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A QUESTION OF IDENTITY.
Before going to Herminie's, Friday morning, Mlle. de Beaumesnil had had
no conversation with M. de la Rochaigue and Mlle. Helena on the subject
of M. de Macreuse and M. de Mornand.
On her return from the ball the night before, Ernestine had pleaded
fatigue as an excuse for at once retiring to her room, and she had left
the house early the next morning, in company with Madame Laine.
One can easily imagine the bitter reproaches and recriminations that
were interchanged between the baron and his wife and sister after
returning from the entertainment, where their secret plans had been so
ruthlessly unveiled.
Madame de la Rochaigue, still confident of the speedy marriage of M. de
Senneterre and Mlle. de Beaumesnil, was pitiless in her triumph, which
she scarcely took the pains to conceal now, and quite overwhelmed the
baron and his sister by her reproaches and sarcasms.
The devotee replied, sweetly and patiently, that "the success of the
proud and the wicked was fleeting, but that the just, though laid low
for a time, would soon rise again, radiant in glory."
The baron, who was less versed in Biblical diction, declared that his
wife did not know him yet, and that, though he could not compel Mlle. de
Beaumesnil to marry M. de Mornand, after the deplorable scene of the
evening before, he should nevertheless completely, absolutely, and
irrevocably refuse his consent to any other marriage until mademoiselle
attained her majority.
Ernestine, on her return from Herminie's, had been tenderly welcomed by
Madame de la Rochaigue, who informed her that the baron had declared his
intention of opposing any marriage whatever until his ward became of
age, but that all this did not make the slightest difference, as he
would change his mind within twenty-four hours if he discovered that
there was any possibility of Mlle. de Beaumesnil's marriage with M. de
Senneterre.
But when the baroness added that it would be advisable for Ernestine to
receive Gerald's mother on the following day, as that lady wished to
come to some definite understanding in relation to her son's marriage
with the heiress, the young girl replied that, while she fully
appreciated M. de Senneterre's merits, she would like to have a few days
longer for reflection, hoping in this way to secure time to consult with
M. de Maillefort and Herminie concerning her plans for the future. The
baroness tried in vain to change Ernestine's decision, but the young
girl was obdurate.
Considerably surprised, and not a little irritated by this refusal, the
baroness remarked to the orphan, as she was leaving her:
"I forgot to inform you yesterday, my dear child, that after a talk with
M. de Maillefort, who is now one of my best friends, and yours as well
(you know how highly he speaks of M. de Senneterre), we decided to give
you an opportunity to perform a truly charitable act. The idea
originated with me, even prior to your arrival in Paris. There is a
poor, but honest young girl, who was employed to play and sing to your
poor dear mother during her last illness. This young girl is very proud,
in spite of her poverty; so we thought you might assist her pecuniarily
under the pretext of taking a few music lessons, and if you are willing
to do so, the marquis will bring her to you to-morrow."
The reader can imagine Ernestine's response, and the impatience with
which she awaited the coming of Herminie and her escort.
At last the long-looked-for hour arrived.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil had put on the same dress she had worn on her first
visit to her friend's house,--a simply made gown of inexpensive lawn.
Soon a footman threw open the folding doors that led into the small
drawing-room where the heiress usually sat, and announced, in a loud
voice:
"M. le Marquis de Maillefort."
Herminie was with the hunchback, and for some reason or other seemed to
be greatly agitated by the prospect of this meeting with Mlle. de
Beaumesnil, and as the duchess, whose bosom was heaving visibly, kept
her eyes fixed upon the floor, the footman had time to close the door
and make his escape before Herminie recognised Ernestine.
The marquis, who was enjoying this little scene immensely, gave Mlle. de
Beaumesnil a meaning glance just as Herminie, surprised at the long
silence, ventured to raise her eyes.
"Ernestine, you here!" she exclaimed, taking a step towards her friend,
then, intensely surprised, looked wonderingly at the marquis, as Mlle.
de Beaumesnil, throwing herself upon Herminie's neck, embraced her
tenderly, while tears of joy rolled down her cheeks.
"You are weeping, Ernestine!" said Herminie, more and more astonished,
but still without the slightest suspicion of the truth, though her heart
was throbbing with unwonted violence. "What is the matter with you,
Ernestine?" she continued. "How do you happen to be here? You do not
answer me. Good Heavens! I cannot imagine why I tremble so!"
And again the duchess turned inquiringly to the hunchback, whose eyes
were dim with tears.
"I do not know, but it seems to me something extraordinary is going on
here, M. le marquis; tell me what all this means, I beseech you."
"It means, my dear child, that I was a true prophet when, in talking
with you about your approaching interview with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, I
told you that I felt sure this meeting would afford you much more
pleasure than you anticipated."
"Then you knew that I would find Ernestine here, monsieur?"
"I was certain of it."
"You were certain of it?"
"Yes, there could be no doubt of it."
"Why do you say that?"
"For the simple reason that--"
"That what, monsieur?"
"Is it possible you don't suspect?"
"No, monsieur."
"That the two Ernestines are one and the same person."
The duchess was so far from suspecting the truth that she utterly failed
to understand the import of the hunchback's reply at first, and repeated
mechanically, gazing at him wonderingly all the while:
"The two Ernestines are one and the same person?"
Then seeing her friend gazing at her with an expression of ineffable joy
and happiness, and with arms outstretched as if to embrace her, she
exclaimed, overwhelmed with astonishment, and almost terror:
"Mlle. de Beaumesnil! Can it be--my God! can it be that you are Mlle. de
Beaumesnil?"
"Yes," exclaimed the hunchback, "she is Mlle. de Beaumesnil, the
daughter of the lady who loved you so much, and to whom you were so
deeply attached."
"Ernestine is my sister," thought the duchess.
This startling revelation, and the recollection of the strange way in
which she had made Mlle. de Beaumesnil's acquaintance, as well as of the
events which had occurred since their first meeting, gave Herminie a
sort of vertigo. Her brain seemed to whirl; she turned pale, and
trembled so violently, that Ernestine was obliged to assist her to a
neighbouring armchair.
There, kneeling beside her, and gazing up in her face with all a
sister's tenderness, Mlle. de Beaumesnil took Herminie's hands in hers,
and kissed them almost reverently, while the marquis stood contemplating
this touching scene in silence.
"Pardon me," faltered Herminie, "but the surprise,--the trying position
in which I find myself, mademoiselle--"
"Mademoiselle! Oh, do not call me that," exclaimed Mlle. de Beaumesnil.
"Am I no longer your Ernestine, the orphan to whom you promised your
friendship because you thought she was so unhappy? Alas! M. de
Maillefort, your friend and mine, will tell you that I am indeed very
unhappy, and that I am in even greater need of your tender affection
than ever. What if I am no longer the poor little embroideress! The rich
have their sorrows as well as the poor. In pity remember the words of my
dying mother, who so often talked to you of me, and continue to love me
for her sake."
"Have no fears on that score. You will always be dear, doubly dear to
me," replied Herminie; "but you see I have scarcely recovered from my
bewilderment. It seems like a dream to me, and when I think of the way
in which I became acquainted with you, Ernestine, and of a thousand
other things, I have to see you here close beside me, to believe that it
is not really all a dream."
"Your surprise is very natural, my dear child," remarked the marquis,
"and I myself, when I met Mlle. de Beaumesnil at your home a few days
ago, was so overwhelmed with astonishment that, if something had not
diverted your attention for a moment, you would have perceived my
amazement; but Ernestine begged me to keep her secret, and I did."
When Herminie had recovered from the shock sufficiently for her mind to
become clear again, the first words she uttered were:
"But, Ernestine, how did you happen to come to Madame Herbaut's? What is
the meaning of all this mystery? Why did you wish to attend that
reunion?"
Ernestine, smiling sadly, took from a table the journal she had been
writing, the journal dedicated to the memory of her mother, and, handing
it to Herminie open at the page where were enumerated the divers reasons
which had forced the richest heiress in France to resort to the painful
test she had endured so heroically, the young girl said to the duchess:
"I anticipated these questions, Herminie, and, as I am anxious that you
should deem me worthy of your affection, I beg you to read these pages.
They speak the truth, for it is to the memory of my mother that they are
dedicated. M. de Maillefort, I would like you to peruse their contents
at the same time, so you can see that, though I unfortunately believed,
for a time, the base slanders told me concerning you, your wise, though
severe, lesson was not lost upon me, but gave me the courage to resort
to a test that may, perhaps, seem strange to you, my dear Herminie."
The duchess took the book from Ernestine's hands. It was an interesting
scene to see Herminie holding the open journal, while the marquis,
leaning over the back of the armchair in which she was seated, read with
her and like her, in silence, Mlle. de Beaumesnil's artless story.
That young girl watched both Herminie and the hunchback intently during
the reading, evidently anxious to know if they would approve her
motives.
All doubts on this subject were soon allayed, however, for touching and
sympathetic exclamations speedily testified to the approval of both.
When the perusal was ended, the duchess, her eyes filled with tears of
love and compassion, exclaimed:
"Ah, it is not friendship alone that I feel for you now, Ernestine, but
respect and admiration. Great Heavens! how these frightful doubts must
have tortured you! What an immense amount of courage it must have
required to take such an important step alone--to face an ordeal from
which even the bravest heart would have shrunk! Ah, I can at least offer
you an affection which has been proved as disinterested as it is
sincere. Thank God, I have been able to convince you beyond a doubt that
you can and should be loved for yourself alone."
"Ah, yes, and it is this fact that makes your affection so precious to
me," replied Ernestine, with effusion.
"Herminie is right. Your conduct has been worthy of all praise," said
the marquis, who seemed deeply moved. "The few words you let drop on
this subject night before last, at the ball, only partially enlightened
me in regard to the real facts of the case. You are a noble girl."
But suddenly the duchess, remembering the promise Ernestine had made
Olivier, exclaimed anxiously:
"But, Ernestine,--the promise you made M. Olivier yesterday, in my
presence!"
"That promise I shall keep," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, quietly.
CHAPTER XIX.
ERNESTINE'S APPEAL.
On hearing Mlle. de Beaumesnil speak of a promise which she had made to
M. Olivier, and which she intended to keep, M. de Maillefort seemed both
surprised and uneasy, especially when the duchess repeated:
"What! the promise made to M. Olivier--"
"Yes, this promise, I repeat, I intend to keep, my dear Herminie. Did
you not approve my acceptance of M. Olivier's offer? Did you not regard
it as a sure guarantee of happiness to come? Did you not appreciate the
great generosity of his offer as much as I did?"
"Yes, Ernestine, but it was to the little embroideress that this offer
was made."
"Ah, well, why should M. Olivier's generosity seem less great and less
noble now, my dear Herminie? Why should not the guarantee of happiness
to come be just as certain?"
"I do not know how to answer you, Ernestine. I feel that you are right,
and yet I am conscious of a vague uneasiness in spite of myself. But you
must have no secrets from M. de Maillefort. You must tell him all."
"I will, and I am sure that M. de Maillefort will approve my decision."
The marquis had been listening silently but thoughtfully.
"Is this M. Olivier the young man who invited you to dance out of
charity, and to whom frequent allusion is made in your journal?"
"Yes, M. de Maillefort."
"And it was M. Olivier's uncle that Ernestine saved from almost certain
death the other day," added Herminie.
"His uncle?" exclaimed the hunchback, quickly.
Then, after a moment's reflection, he added:
"I understand. Gratitude, combined with another and more tender
sentiment which had its birth at her first meeting with this young man
at Madame Herbaut's house, led him to propose to Ernestine when he
believed her to be poor and unprotected."
"And a brilliant match it seemed for one of my supposed position,"
remarked Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "for M. Olivier had just been made an
officer, so it was an enviable social position as well as comparative
affluence that he offered a penniless and obscure girl who laboured for
her daily bread."
"Is his name Olivier Raymond?" exclaimed the hunchback, as if a new idea
had suddenly occurred to him.
"That is his name. Do you know him, monsieur?" asked Ernestine.
"Olivier Raymond, formerly a non-commissioned officer of hussars,
decorated in Africa, is it not?" continued the marquis.
"The same."
"Then it was for him, though not at his request, nor even with his
knowledge, that I requested his promotion the other day in company with
my dear young friend, Gerald de Senneterre, who loves the young man like
a brother," added the hunchback, thoughtfully.
Then, turning to Ernestine, he continued:
"My child, it is your mother's devoted friend, almost a father, that
speaks. All this seems very serious to me, and I tremble lest the
natural generosity of your character should cause you to go too far.
Have you engaged yourself to Olivier Raymond?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And do you love him?"
"As profoundly as I esteem him, my dear M. de Maillefort."
"I can very well understand, my dear child, why, after the shocking
revelations at the ball, night before last, you should have felt the
need of sincere and disinterested affection more than ever. I can
understand, too, why you should find a wonderful charm, and even see a
certain guarantee of future happiness, in M. Olivier Raymond's generous
offer, but this should not have prevented you from exercising more
prudence. Remember how short your acquaintance with M. Olivier has
been!"
"That is true, monsieur, but it did not take me long, when my eyes had
once been opened, to realise the fact that your heart was full of the
tenderest solicitude for me, and that Herminie was the noblest creature
that ever lived, so you may be sure that I am no more deceived in M.
Olivier."
"I hope you are right, my child, Heaven knows! This young man is Gerald
de Senneterre's most intimate friend, which is a very strong
recommendation, I must admit. Besides, before interesting myself in
Gerald's protege, as I feared his affection for a former comrade might
have blinded him somewhat, I made numerous inquiries about M. Olivier."
"Well?" exclaimed Ernestine and Herminie, in the same breath.
"Well, the best proof of my satisfaction at the result of these
inquiries was the fact that I brought the full force of an influence I
rarely exert to bear on M. Olivier's advancement."
"Then why should you feel any apprehensions, M. de Maillefort?" urged
Ernestine. "How could I have made a better choice? M. Olivier's birth
is honourable, his profession honoured. He is poor, but am I not, alas!
only too rich? And then think of my position as an heiress continually
exposed to machinations like those you exposed and punished, night
before last! Remember, too, that, in order to protect me from such
shameless cupidity, you yourself aroused in me a distrust which has
become well-nigh incurable. A prey henceforth to the dreadful thought
that I am sought only for my wealth, whom can I trust? Is it strange
that, under circumstances like these, I should appreciate
disinterestedness and unselfishness? And where could I ever find greater
disinterestedness than that of which M. Olivier has given convincing
proof? For in the offer that he made me, when he believed me to be poor
and unprotected, was it not he who had everything to give?"
There was a half smile on the lips of the marquis as he turned to
Herminie and said:
"Your friend, the little embroideress, has quick wit and a ready tongue.
There is a good deal of sense and justice in what she says, I must
admit, and I should find it very difficult to prove that she is wrong."
"I think so, too," replied Herminie, "for though I have been trying to
discover some objections to her keeping her promise, I can find none."
"Nor can I, my dear children," said the hunchback; "but, unfortunately,
human reason is not infallible, neither does right always make might;
besides, even if this should prove to be a suitable marriage for
Ernestine, the consent of her guardian is necessary to this marriage,
and with ideas like his, it is not at all likely that he will ever
consent to such a union. Ernestine would consequently be obliged to wait
several years. Nor is this all. M. Olivier will discover sooner or later
that his little embroideress is the richest heiress in France, and from
what you have said of him, as well as from what Gerald himself has told
me of his friend's extreme sensitiveness in money matters, there is
good reason to fear that M. Olivier will shrink from the possibility of
being accused of mercenary motives in wedding so rich an heiress when he
himself is poor; so, in spite of his love and gratitude, he may be
capable of sacrificing everything to his scruples."
On hearing these words, which she felt were only too true, mademoiselle
shuddered. A pang of real anguish pierced her heart, and she exclaimed,
bitterly:
"Ah, my accursed wealth! Shall I never escape the torments it causes
me!"
Then, in an entreating voice, and gazing at the hunchback with eyes
swimming in tears, she added:
"Ah, M. de Maillefort, you were my mother's devoted friend, you love
Herminie devotedly,--save me and save her! Come to our assistance. Be
our guardian angel, for I feel that my life will be blighted for ever by
the suspicions and the distrust you have awakened in my heart. The only
chance of happiness left for me is to marry M. Olivier, and Herminie
will die of grief if she does not marry M. de Senneterre, so once more I
beseech you, my dear M. Maillefort, to take pity on us."
"Oh, Ernestine," cried the duchess, reproachfully, blushing scarlet in
her confusion, "that secret was confided to you alone!"
"Gerald!" exclaimed the marquis, in his turn astounded by this
revelation. "Gerald! is it possible that you love Gerald?" he continued,
with a searching look at Herminie. "Then it was to this irresistible
passion that he alluded when I was praising him yesterday for his
generous conduct towards Mlle. de Beaumesnil. He told me, then, that he
lived only for a young girl who was worthy of his adoration. Yes, I
understand everything now, my poor, dear children, and I tremble for
your future."
"Forgive me, oh, forgive me, Herminie," pleaded Ernestine, for her
friend's tears were flowing fast. "Do not be angry with me for having
betrayed your confidence. But in whom can we have any hope and
confidence if not in M. de Maillefort? Who else can guide and comfort
and sustain us in these trying hours? Alas! as he himself remarked just
now, right does not make might. He admits that, in the trying position
in which my accursed wealth places me, I could not have given my
affections more wisely, and yet there are great, if not insurmountable,
difficulties in the way of my marriage. It is the same with you,
Herminie. M. de Maillefort is certainly convinced that there can be no
happiness for you and for M. de Senneterre save in your union, which
seems even more uncertain than mine."
"Ah, my children, if you knew what kind of a woman the Duchesse de
Senneterre is! I told you the other day, Herminie, when you asked me
about her. I understand your motive now. But I tell you now, as I told
you then, that no woman ever lived who was more absurdly vain of her
rank."
"And yet Herminie says she will never marry Gerald unless Madame de
Senneterre comes and tells her that she consents to this marriage. This
only shows a proper pride in Herminie, though. You think so, too, do you
not, M. de Maillefort?"
"She has made that resolve? Ah, what a brave and noble-hearted girl she
is!" exclaimed the marquis. "This is still another proof of the laudable
pride that makes me love her so much. Most assuredly I approve her
decision. I admire it, too, for such a resolve could be born only of a
noble soul. I no longer wonder at Gerald's ardent devotion."
"You hear what M. de Maillefort says, Herminie," said Ernestine. "Are
you angry with me now for having betrayed your secret?"
"No, Ernestine," replied the duchess, gently. "I blame you only for one
thing, and that is for grieving M. de Maillefort by telling him of
misfortunes which he cannot remedy."
"But why may he not be able to remedy them?" retorted Ernestine. "You do
not know him. You do not know the great influence he exerts in the
world,--how much noble-hearted people love and admire him, and how
abjectly afraid cowards and evil-doers are of him. And, then, he is so
good, so kind to all who are in trouble; he loved my mother so dearly!"
And as M. de Maillefort, overwhelmed with emotion, averted his face to
conceal his tears, Mlle. de Beaumesnil continued, in even more
beseeching tones:
"Oh, is it not true that you feel all a father's solicitude for us, M.
de Maillefort? Are we not sisters in your eyes, and in the tenderness
and attachment we feel for you? Oh, do not, I beseech you, in mercy, do
not desert us!"
And Ernestine seized one of the hunchback's hands, while Herminie,
involuntarily following her friend's example, possessed herself of the
other, saying, in entreating tones:
"Ah, M. de Maillefort, you are our only hope!"
The hunchback was deeply affected. One of these young girls was the
child of a woman he had loved devotedly, though secretly, for years.
The other, too, was, perhaps, her child, for very frequently the
conviction that Herminie was Madame de Beaumesnil's daughter returned.
But however that might be, M. de Maillefort had received from this dying
mother the sacred trust of watching over and protecting Ernestine and
Herminie. He had sworn to fulfil this trust, and, unable to make even a
pretence of concealing his emotion any longer, he clasped both the young
girls passionately to his breast, and, in a voice broken with sobs,
exclaimed:
"Yes, yes, my poor, dear children. I will do all the most loving of
fathers could do for you!"
It is impossible to describe the touching scene and the eloquent silence
that followed, which Ernestine, now radiant with hope, was the first to
break, by exclaiming:
"Herminie, we are saved! You will marry M. Gerald, and I, M. Olivier!"
CHAPTER XX.
AN ALLIANCE OFFENSIVE AND DEFENSIVE.
On hearing Ernestine's joyful exclamation, M. de Maillefort shook his
head, and said, with a faint smile:
"One moment, young ladies, don't go and indulge in all sorts of wild
hopes that will worry me almost as much as your despair. Let us look at
the situation calmly and sensibly. All this excitement is not going to
help matters; on the contrary, it unnerves one. One weeps and laments,
or exults, as the case may be, and that is all it amounts to."
"But, M. de Maillefort, these are tears of happiness," replied
Ernestine, wiping her eyes. "I have no reason to regret them."
"No, but they should not be indulged in again. They impair one's vision,
and it is necessary to see our situation clearly, very clearly."
"M. de Maillefort is right," said Herminie. "Let us be calm and
sensible."
"Yes, yes, we will!" cried Ernestine. "Sit down here between us, M. de
Maillefort, and let us talk the matter over calmly and sensibly, as you
say."
"Very well," replied the hunchback, seating himself on the sofa between
the two girls, and taking a hand of each in his. "Which one of you shall
we consider first?"
"Herminie," replied Ernestine, promptly.
"So be it," responded the marquis. "Very well, Herminie and Gerald love
each other devotedly, and are worthy of each other, that is understood;
but, with a pride that I both admire and approve,--because there is no
possibility of either love or happiness without dignity,--Herminie will
not consent to marry Gerald unless the Duchesse de Senneterre calls on
her and gives her consent to this marriage. The question is, therefore,
to devise a means of compelling this haughtiest of duchesses to make
these overtures."
"But nothing is impossible to you, M. de Maillefort," said Ernestine,
naively.
"Just hear this wheedler with her 'Nothing is impossible to you, M. de
Maillefort,'" said the marquis, smiling. Then he added with a sigh: "Ah,
my dear child, if you knew what hard things vanity and selfishness are
to fight! And those two words describe Madame de Senneterre exactly. But
though I am not the great necromancer you say, I shall have to devise
some way of taming this two-headed monster, I suppose."
"Ah, if you can ever accomplish that feat, monsieur," said Herminie, "my
whole life--"
"I count upon that, my child. Yes, I hope and trust that you will love
me during your whole life, even if I should fail in what I am about to
undertake, for in that case I believe I should be quite as unhappy as
you are, and stand in almost equal need of consolation. Now it is your
turn, my dear Ernestine!"
"It seems to me that my prospects are even gloomier than Herminie's,"
said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, sadly.
"I don't know about that, but I must warn you, my poor child, that I can
do nothing for you until after I have satisfied myself beyond a doubt of
M. Olivier Raymond's worth."
"Why, doesn't what you already know satisfy you, M. de Maillefort?"
"It is perfectly satisfactory so far as his life as a soldier is
concerned, but as a man can be a very brave officer and a very bad
husband, I shall make some further inquiries concerning him."
"But M. de Senneterre speaks very highly of M. Olivier, you say."
"Yes, my dear child, but a man may be an admirable friend and an
excellent comrade, and yet make his wife very unhappy."
"How suspicious you are! You forget that M. Olivier thinks me a poor
girl--and that--"
"That his gratitude, generosity, and love impelled him to offer you a
more brilliant future than one in your supposed position had a right to
expect, perhaps. It was a very generous and noble impulse, I admit, and
a little while ago I was so touched by it that I allowed myself to
become almost as enthusiastic as you and Herminie."
"And has your opinion changed, now?" asked Ernestine, anxiously.
"Now, my child, I judge not only with my heart but with my head; and
reason tells me that, though M. Olivier's impulse was highly
commendable, it was only an impulse. I do not doubt for an instant that
M. Olivier will keep the promise he made you, and that he will act
honourably in the matter, but I want to be sure--that is, as sure as one
can be of anything in this world--that, in case M. Olivier married you,
his whole life would harmonise with the impulse which I admire as much
as you do."
Ernestine could not conceal a sort of sorrowful impatience as she
listened to these wise and prudent words, and noting this fact, the
marquis continued, in a tone that was both grave and affectionate:
"My poor child, the confidence you have in me, the affection I felt for
your mother, the very interest I take in your future, all compel me to
say this, though it may disappoint and grieve you. But I promise you
that, if I find M. Olivier is worthy of you, I will devote myself body
and soul to overcoming the obstacles that stand in the way of your
marriage."
"Ernestine, we must trust M. de Maillefort implicitly, blindly,"
Herminie said to her friend. "The responsibility he assumes is so great,
we must not hamper him in any way. Besides, instead of opposing the
inquiries he intends to make, you should urge him to make them as
searching as possible, for, believe me, they will only prove still more
conclusively that M. Olivier is worthy of you."
"That is true, Herminie; and you, M. de Maillefort, will forgive me, I
trust," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil. "I was wrong, but, alas! with my only
chance of happiness at stake, you can perhaps understand my terror and
my wretchedness at the thought that I may lose it."
"On the contrary, it is to make your chance of happiness more certain
that I speak as I do. But even supposing that M. Olivier should be found
to possess all the attributes we desire, it will, first of all, be
necessary to persuade your guardian to consent to this marriage; then,
what will prove an even more difficult task, I fear, we shall have to
convince M. Olivier that he can, with honour, marry the richest heiress
in France, inasmuch as he loved her when he thought her penniless and
unprotected."
"In this, alas! I agree with you, M. de Maillefort," said Ernestine,
despondently. "I, too, am afraid that M. Olivier will refuse to marry
me. And yet this refusal would show such nobility of soul that, even
though it made me miserable, I could not help admiring it. Alas, alas!
what are we to do, M. de Maillefort?"
"I do not know, my dear child. I will think the matter over to-night,
and try to devise some means of accomplishing our object. I have a
vague, shadowy idea of one expedient," added the hunchback,
thoughtfully. "Yes, why not? But I must reduce this chaotic mass of
ideas to a little order first, and, above all, don't let us give way to
despair."
"Do you think Ernestine might see M. Olivier again soon?" inquired
Herminie.
"Not for several days."
"Oh, dear, what will he think of me?" sighed Mlle. de Beaumesnil.
"So far as that is concerned, Ernestine, you remember you told him that
the relative with whom you were living was so peculiar that you would
need several days to decide whether it had better be M. Olivier or
Commander Bernard who should go to her to ask your hand in marriage."
"That is true."
"And this pretended relative is your governess, I suppose, my dear
child?" said the marquis.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Can you rely upon her discretion?"