His debts were easily reckoned. He owed eight hundred thousand francs to
the Credit Foncier; four hundred thousand to Paul Landry; more than
one hundred thousand to various jewellers and shopkeepers; twenty-five
thousand to the Duc de Montgeron. It was necessary to sell the chateau
and the property at one million four hundred thousand francs, and the
posters advertising the sale must be displayed without delay.
Then he must say farewell to Fanny Dorville. Nothing should disturb a
sensible mind; the man who, with so much resolution, deprives himself
of his patrimonial estates should not meet less bravely the separation
imposed by necessity.
As soon as Henri appeared in Fanny’s boudoir, she divined that her
presentiments of the previous night had not deceived her.
“You have lost heavily?” she asked.
“Very heavily,” he replied, kissing her brow.
“And it was my fault!” she cried. “I brought you bad luck, and that
wretch of a Landry knew well what he was about when he made me cut the
cards that brought you misfortune!”
“No, no, my dear-listen! The only one in fault was I, who allowed
myself, through false pride, to be persuaded that I should not seem to
fear him.”
“Fear him--a professional gambler, who lives one knows not how!
Nonsense! It is as if one should fight a duel with a fencing-master.”
“What do you wish, my dear? The evil is done--and it is so great--”
“That you have not the means to pay the sum? Oh, but wait a moment.”
And taking up a casket containing a superb collar of pearls, she said:
“This is worth fourteen thousand francs. You may well take them from me,
since it was you that gave them to me.”
No doubt, she had read De Musset, and this action was perhaps a
refection of that of Marion, but the movement was sincere. Something
of the stern pride of this other Rolla was stirred; a sob swelled his
bosom, and two tears--those tears that rise to a soldier’s eyes in the
presence of nobility and goodness--fell from his eyes upon the hair of
the poor girl.
“I have not come to that yet,” he said, after a short silence. “But we
must part--”
“You are about to marry?” she cried.
“Oh, no!”
“Ah, so much the better!”
In a few words he told her of his approaching departure, and said that
he must devote all his remaining time to the details of the mobilization
of troops.
“So--it is all over!” said Fanny, sadly. “But fear nothing! I have
courage, and even if I have the evil eye at play, I know of something
that brings success in war. Will you accept a little fetich from me?”
“Yes, but you persist in trying to give me something,” he said, placing
on a table the sealed envelope he had brought.
“How good you are!” she murmured. “Now promise me one thing: let us dine
together once more. Not at the Provencaux, however. Oh, heavens! no! At
the Cafe Anglais--where we dined before the play the first time we--”
The entrance of Heloise cut short the allusion to a memory of autumn.
“Ah, it is you,” said Fanny nervously. “You come apropos.”
“Is there a row in the family?” inquired Heloise.
“As if there could be!”
“What is it, then?”
“You see Henri, do you not?”
“Well, yes, I do, certainly. What then?”
“Then look at him long and well, for you will not see him again in many
a day. He is going to Mexico!”
“To exploit a mine?”
“Yes, Heloise,” the officer replied, “a mine that will make the walls of
Puebla totter.”
“In that case, good luck, my General!” said the duenna, presenting arms
with her umbrella.
Fanny could not repress a smile in spite of her tears. Her lover seized
this moment to withdraw from her arms and reach the stairs.
“And now, Marquis de Prerolles, go forth to battle!” cried the old
actress to him over the banisters, with the air of an artist who knows
her proper cue.