If Martial had faithfully reported to Mlle. Blanche all that he heard in
the Marquis de Courtornieu’s cabinet, he would probably have astonished
her a little.
He, himself, if he had sincerely confessed his impressions and his
reflections, would have been obliged to admit that he was greatly
amazed.
But this unfortunate man, who, in days to come, would be compelled to
reproach himself bitterly for the excess of his fanaticism, refused
to confess this truth even to himself. His life was to be spent in
defending prejudices which his own reason condemned.
Forced by Mlle. Blanche’s will into the midst of a discussion, he was
really disgusted with the ridiculous and intense greediness of M. de
Courtornieu’s noble guests.
Decorations, fortune, honors, power--they desired everything.
They were satisfied that their pure devotion deserved the most
munificent rewards. It was only the most modest who declared that he
would be content with the epaulets of a lieutenant-general.
Many were the recriminations, stinging words, and bitter reproaches.
The Marquis de Courtornieu, who acted as president of the council, was
nearly exhausted with exclaiming:
“Be calm, gentlemen, be calm! A little moderation, if you please!”
“All these men are mad,” thought Martial, with difficulty restraining
an intense desire to laugh; “they are insane enough to be placed in a
mad-house.”
But he was not obliged to render a report of the _seance_. The
deliberations were soon fortunately interrupted by a summons to dinner.
Mlle. Blanche, when the young marquis rejoined her, quite forgot to
question him about the doings of the council.
In fact, what did the hopes and plans of these people matter to her.
She cared very little about them or about the people themselves, since
they were below her father in rank, and most of them were not as rich.
An absorbing thought--a thought of her future, and of her happiness,
filled her mind to the exclusion of all other subjects.
The few moments that she had passed alone, after Marie-Anne’s departure,
she had spent in grave reflection.
Martial’s mind and person pleased her. In him were combined all the
qualifications which any ambitious woman would desire in a husband--and
she decided that he should be _her_ husband. Probably she would not have
arrived at this conclusion so quickly, had it not been for the feeling
of jealousy aroused in her heart. But from the very moment that she
could believe or suspect that another woman was likely to dispute the
possession of Martial with her, she desired him.
From that moment she was completely controlled by one of those
strange passions in which the heart has no part, but which take entire
possession of the brain and lead to the worst of follies.
Let the woman whose pulse has never quickened its beating under the
influence of this counterfeit of love, cast the first stone.
That she could be vanquished in this struggle for supremacy; that there
could be any doubt of the result, were thoughts which never once entered
the mind of Mlle. Blanche.
She had been told so often, it had been repeated again and again, that
the man whom she would choose must esteem himself fortunate above all
others.
She had seen her father besieged by so many suitors for her hand.
“Besides,” she thought, smiling proudly, as she surveyed her reflection
in the large mirrors; “am I not as pretty as Marie-Anne?”
“Far prettier!” murmured the voice of vanity; “and you possess what your
rival does not: birth, wit, the genius of coquetry!”
She did, indeed, possess sufficient cleverness and patience to assume
and to sustain the character which seemed most likely to dazzle and to
fascinate Martial.
As to maintaining this character _after_ marriage, if it did not please
her to do so, that was another matter!
The result of all this was that during dinner Mlle. Blanche exercised
all her powers of fascination upon the young marquis.
She was so evidently desirous of pleasing him that several of the guests
remarked it.
Some were even shocked by such a breach of conventionality. But Blanche
de Courtornieu could do as she chose; she was well aware of that. Was
she not the richest heiress for miles and miles around? No slander can
tarnish the brilliancy of a fortune of more than a million in hard cash.
“Do you know that those two young people will have a joint income of
between seven and eight hundred thousand francs!” said one old viscount
to his neighbor.
Martial yielded unresistingly to the charm of his position.
How could he suspect unworthy motives in a young girl whose eyes were so
pure, whose laugh rang out with the crystalline clearness of childhood!
Involuntarily he compared her with the grave and thoughtful Marie-Anne,
and his imagination floated from one to the other, inflamed by the
strangeness of the contrast.
He occupied a seat beside Mlle. Blanche at table; and they chatted
gayly, amusing themselves at the expense of the other guests, who were
again conversing upon political matters, and whose enthusiasm waxed
warmer and warmer as course succeeded course.
Champagne was served with the dessert; and the company drank to the
allies whose victorious bayonets had forced a passage for the King to
return to Paris; they drank to the English, to the Prussians, and to the
Russians, whose horses were trampling the crops under foot.
The name of d’Escorval heard, above the clink of the glasses, suddenly
aroused Martial from his dream of enchantment.
An old gentleman had just risen, and proposed that active measures
should be taken to rid the neighborhood of the Baron d’Escorval.
“The presence of such a man dishonors our country,” said he, “he is a
frantic Jacobin, and admitted to be dangerous, since Monsieur Fouche
has him upon his list of suspected persons; and he is even now under the
surveillance of the police.”
This discourse could not have failed to arouse intense anxiety in M.
d’Escorval’s breast had he seen the ferocity expressed on almost every
face.
Still no one spoke; hesitation could be read in every eye.
Martial, too, had turned so white that Mlle. Blanche remarked his pallor
and thought he was ill.
In fact, a terrible struggle was going on in the soul of the young
marquis; a conflict between his honor and passion.
Had he not longed only a few hours before to find some way of driving
Maurice from the country?
Ah, well! the opportunity he so ardently desired now presented itself.
It was impossible to imagine a better one. If the proposed step was
taken the Baron d’Escorval and his family would be forced to leave
France forever!
The company hesitated; Martial saw it, and felt that a single word from
him, for or against, would decide the matter.
After a few minutes of frightful uncertainty, honor triumphed.
He rose and declared that the proposed measure was bad--impolitic.
“Monsieur d’Escorval,” he remarked, “is one of those men who diffuse
around them a perfume of honesty and justice. Have the good sense to
respect the consideration which is justly his.”
As he had foreseen, his words decided the matter. The cold and haughty
manner which he knew so well how to assume, his few but incisive words,
produced a great effect.
“It would evidently be a great mistake!” was the general cry.
Martial reseated himself; Mlle. Blanche leaned toward him.
“You have done well,” she murmured; “you know how to defend your
friends.”
“Monsieur d’Escorval is not my friend,” replied Martial, in a voice
which revealed the struggle through which he had passed. “The injustice
of the proposed measure incensed me, that is all.”
Mlle. de Courtornieu was not to be deceived by an explanation like this.
Still she added:
“Then your conduct is all the more grand, Monsieur.”
But such was not the opinion of the Duc de Sairmeuse. On returning to
the chateau some hours later he reproached his son for his intervention.
“Why the devil did you meddle with the matter?” inquired the duke. “I
would not have liked to take upon myself the odium of the proposition,
but since it had been made----”
“I was anxious to prevent such an act of useless folly!”
“Useless folly! Zounds! Marquis, you carry matters with a high hand. Do
you think that this d----d baron adores you? What would you say if you
heard that he was conspiring against us?”
“I should answer with a shrug of the shoulders.”
“You would! Very well; do me the favor to question Chupin.”