When at the end of another week the Duke also arrived, he was surprised
by this state of affairs. Deeply touched by his brother's letter from
Polignac, but believing that he detected in him rather a struggle
against himself than a resolution actually formed, his Grace had
intentionally delayed his appearance, so as to give time to the
isolation and freedom of the country to work upon the two hearts which
he believed to have been moved by his words, and which he expected to
find in accord. He had not foreseen the absence of coquetry or
imagination on the part of Caroline, the real dismay, serious
resistance, internal combat, on the part of the Marquis. "How is this
now?" the Duke asked of himself, as he saw that even their friendly
disposition one for the other seemed to have disappeared. "Is it a sense
of morality that has so soon quenched the fire? Has my brother been
making an abortive attempt? Is his access of sadness from fear or spite?
Is the girl a prude? No. Ambitious? No. The Marquis will not know how to
explain himself. Perhaps he has kept all the powers of his mind for his
books, when he should have bestowed them in the service of his growing
passion."
The Duke, nevertheless, did not hasten to discover the truth. He was the
prey of conflicting resolutions. He had succeeded in gaining a thorough
knowledge of the state of the Marquis's affairs. The income of the
latter was barely thirty thousand francs, twelve thousand of which were
given over as a pension to his spendthrift brother. The rest was applied
almost entirely to the support and service of the Marchioness, and the
Marquis himself lived in his own house without making any more expense
there on his private account than if he had been an unobtrusive guest.
The Duke was wounded by this state of affairs, which he had brought
about, and of which the Marquis did not appear to think at all. His
Grace had endured his own ruin in the most brilliant manner. He had
shown himself a veritable grandee, and if he had lost many companions of
his pleasures, he had recognized many faithful friends. He had grown in
the opinion of the world, and he was forgiven the trouble and scandal he
had caused in more than one family, when he was seen to accept with
courage and spirit the expiation of his wild and reckless life. He had
thus undauntedly assumed the part which was hereafter proper for him;
but there was a feeling of penitence which disturbed his mental balance,
and about which he agitated himself with less clearness of sight and
strength of resolution than he would have done if it had been a matter
concerning only himself. Thoroughly sincere and well disposed in his
lack of reason, he cast about him for the means of making his brother
happy. Sometimes he persuaded himself that love should be introduced
into Urbain's life of meditation and competence; at other times he
thought it his duty to inspire the Marquis with ambition, dealing
sharply with his repugnances and trying once more to suggest to him the
idea of a great marriage.
This latter was also the dream of the Marchioness, one that had always
been dear to her; and she now gave herself up to it more than ever,
believing that her maternal enthusiasm at the generosity of the Marquis
would be shared by some accomplished heiress. She confided to the Duke
that she was in treaty with her friend, the Duchess de Dunières, about
marrying the Marquis to a Xaintrailles, an orphan, very rich, and
reputed beautiful, who was weary of her studies at the convent, and who
nevertheless was very exacting as to merit and quality. From all
indications the thing was possible, but it was necessary that Urbain
should favor it, and he did not favor it, saying that he should never
marry, if the occasion did not come to find him, and that he was the
last man in the world to go and see an unknown woman with the intention
of pleasing her.
"Try then, my son," said the Marchioness to the Duke, the day after his
arrival, "to cure him of that wild timidity. As for me it is a sheer
waste of words."
The Duke undertook the task, and found his brother uncertain, careless,
not saying no, but refusing to take any step in the matter, and
observing merely that it was necessary to wait for the chance which
might lead him to meet the person; that, if she pleased him, he would
_afterward_ endeavor to learn whether she had no dislike for him.
Nothing could be done just then, since they were in the country; there
was no hurry about it; he was not more unhappy than usual, and he had a
great deal of work to do.
The Marchioness grew impatient at this compromising with time, and
continued to write, taking the Duke for secretary in this affair, which
was not in Caroline's department.
The Duke seeing clearly that for six whole months this marriage would
not advance one step, returned to the idea of bringing about a temporary
diversion of his brother's mind by a country romance. The heroine was at
hand, and she was charming. She was suffering perhaps a little from the
very apparent coldness of M. de Villemer. The Duke devoted himself to
learning the cause of this coldness. He failed utterly; the Marquis was
inscrutable. His brother's questions seemed to astonish him.
The fact is that the idea of making love to Mlle de Saint-Geneix had
never entered his mind. He would have made it a very grave case of
conscience with himself, and he did not compound with his conscience. He
had insensibly submitted to the strong and real attraction of Caroline,
given himself up to it unreservedly; then his brother, in seeking to
excite his jealousy, had caused him to discover a more pronounced
inclination in this sympathy without a name. He had suffered terribly
for some days. He had demanded of himself if he were free, and he
considered himself placed between a mother who desired him to make an
ambitious marriage, and a brother to whom he owed the wreck of his
fortune. He had foreseen, besides, invincible resistance in the proud
scruples of Mlle de Saint-Geneix. He already knew enough of her
character to be certain that she would never consent to come between his
mother and himself. Equally resolved not to commit the folly of being
uselessly importunate, and to be guilty of the baseness of betraying the
good faith of a fine soul, he worked and struggled to conquer himself,
and appeared to have succeeded miraculously. He played his part so well
that the Duke was deceived by it. Such courage and delicacy exceeded
perhaps the notion which the latter had formed of a duty of this kind.
"I have been mistaken," he thought, "my brother is absorbed in the study
of history. It is of his book that I must speak to him."
Thereafter the Duke demanded of himself in what way he could employ his
own imagination for the next six months of comparative inaction.
Hunting, reading novels, talking with his mother, composing a few
ballads,--these were hardly sufficient for so fantastic a spirit, and
naturally he began to think of Caroline as the only person who could
throw a little poetry and romance about his life. He had decided to pass
the half of the year at Séval, and that was a noble resolution for a
man who did not like the country except with a great establishment. He
intended, by living on the most modest footing with his brother for six
months of every year, to refuse six thousand francs of his yearly
allowance; and if the Marquis should reject the proffered sacrifice, he
purposed to employ that sum in restoring and repairing the manor-house;
but he must have a little flirtation to crown all this virtue, and there
stopped the virtue of the brave Duke.
"How shall I do," said he to himself, "now that I have pledged my word
to her, as well as to my mother, to have nothing of the kind to do with
her! There is but one way, simpler perhaps than all the ordinary and
worn-out ways: that is, to pay her little attentions, but with the
appearance of entire disinterestedness; respect without gallantry, a
friendly regard, perfectly frank, and which will inspire her with real
confidence. Since, with all this I am in no way prevented from being as
clever and gracious as I can be, and as perfectly amiable and devoted as
I should be in showing my pretensions, it is very probable that she will
be sensible of them, and that of her own accord she will relieve me
little by little of my oath. A woman is always astonished that at the
end of two or three months of affectionate intimacy one does not say a
word of love to her. And then she will find it tedious here, too, since
my brother's eyes speak to her no longer. Well, we will see. It will,
indeed, be something quite new and spicy to conquer a heart which is
held in alarm, without seeming to do it, and to bring about a
capitulation without seeming to have been a besieger. I have seen this
sort of artifice practised with coquettes and prudes; but I am curious
to see how Mlle de Saint-Geneix, who is neither coquette nor prude, will
undertake to bring about this evolution."
Thus occupied by a puerility of self-conceit, the Duke no longer gave
way to tedium. He had never liked brutal debauch, and his dissoluteness
had always preserved a certain stamp of elegance. He had used and abused
so much of life that he was sufficiently used up himself to make
self-restraint no very difficult matter. He had said he was not sorry to
renew for himself his health and youth, and even at times he flattered
himself that he had perhaps found again the youth of the heart, of which
his manners and language had been able to keep up the appearance. From
the fact that his brain was still busy upon a perverse romance, he
concluded that he could still be romantic.
He manœuvred so skilfully that Mlle Saint-Geneix had the modesty to be
completely deceived by his feigned honesty. Seeing that he never sought
to be alone with her, she no longer avoided him. And while without
losing her from his eyes, he brought about in the most natural and
apparently the least foreseen ways occasions to meet her in her walks,
he took his advantage of these meetings by appearing not at all desirous
to prolong them, and by himself withdrawing with an air of discretion
and just the shade of regret which reconciled amiable politeness with
provoking indifference.
He employed all this art without Caroline's having the least suspicion
of it. Her own frankness prevented her from divining a plan, of that
nature. In the course of a week she was as much at her ease with him as
if she had never mistrusted him, and she wrote to Madame Heudebert:--
"The Duke is greatly changed for the better since the family event which
brought him to himself, or indeed he never merited the accusations of
Madame de D----. The latter perhaps is the truth, for I cannot believe
that a man of such refined manners and sentiments has ever desired to
ruin a woman for the sole pleasure of having a victim to boast of. She
(Madame de D----) maintained that he has done so with all his conquests,
out of sheer libertinism and vanity. Libertinism--I am not too sure that
I know what that is, in the life of a man of high rank. I have lived
among virtuous people, and all I have seen of debauchery has been among
poor laborers, who lose their reason in wine and beat their wives in
paroxysms of mortal frenzy. If the vice of great lords consists in
compromising the women of society, there must be many women of society
who easily allow themselves to be compromised, since so great a number
of victims has been attributed to the Duke d'Aléria. For my part, I do
not see that he concerns himself with women at all, and I never hear him
speak ill of any woman in particular. Quite the contrary, he praises
virtue, and declares that he believes in it. He seems never to have had
anything in the way of perfidy to reproach himself with, because he
establishes a very marked difference between those who consent to be
ruined and those who do not consent to it. I do not know if he is
imposing upon me, but he would appear to have loved with respect and
sincerity. Neither his mother nor his brother seems to doubt that, and I
certainly like to believe that this is a sincere but inconstant nature,
which it was necessary to be very credulous or very vain to have hoped
to fix upon one object. That he has been liberal in excess, a gamester,
forgetful of his duty to his family, intoxicated with luxury and with
trivial pursuits unworthy of a serious man, I do not doubt, and it is in
these things that I see the feebleness of his judgment and his vanity;
but they are the faults and misfortunes of education and of a life which
began in too much privilege. His class is not usually made aware of duty
by necessity, being taught everything that is just the opposite of
providence and economy. Did not our own poor father ruin himself too,
and who would dare say he was to blame for it? As to foppishness or
self-conceit in the Duke, after seeking for it patiently, I have not
detected the least trace. His conduct here is as unaffected as that of
a country squire. He goes in the plainest and cheapest attire, and wins
all hearts by his good-nature and simplicity. He never makes the
slightest allusion to his past triumphs, and he never boasts of any of
his gifts, which are nevertheless real, for he is charmingly clever; he
is always handsome, he sings delightfully, and even composes a
little,--not very well but with a certain elegance. He talks
marvellously well, though not very profoundly, for he has read or
retained only things of a light nature; but he confesses this with
candor, and serious topics are far from being displeasing to him, since
he questions his brother on every subject and listens to him
intelligently and respectfully.
"As regards the latter, he is always the same spotless mirror, the model
of all the virtues, and modesty itself. He is very busy upon a great
historical work of which his brother says marvellous things, and that
does not astonish me. Nature would have been very illogical, if she had
denied him the faculty of expressing the world of weighty ideas and true
sentiments with which she has endowed his soul. He carries about with
him a sort of religious meditation of his work which causes him to be
more reserved with me, and more communicative with his mother and
brother than he used to be. I rejoice for them, and, as to myself, I am
not offended; it is very natural that he should not expect any light
upon such grave subjects from me, and that he should be led to question
persons who are more mature and who are better instructed in the science
of human actions. At Paris he manifested a good deal of interest in me,
especially the day when his brother thought himself at liberty to tease
me; but because he has not since showed that particular interest, I have
not come to the conclusion that it no longer exists, and that it may not
on occasion be again apparent. There will be, however, no such future
occasion, since the Duke has so thoroughly improved; but I shall not be
the less grateful for being able to count upon so estimable a
protector."
We see that, if Caroline was really affected by the change in the manner
of M. de Villemer, she was so without knowing it herself, and without
wanting to yield to a vague wound. Her woman's self-love did not enter
into the question at all. She felt sure that she had done nothing to
forfeit his esteem, and as she did not expect or desire anything more,
she attributed everything to a worthy preoccupation.
Nevertheless, in spite of all her efforts, she began to feel that the
time passed tediously with her. She was careful not to write this fact
to her sister, who could have imparted no new courage, and whose letters
were indeed always loving, yet full of condoling and complaints about
her absence and the manner of her self-sacrifice. Caroline humored this
tender and timid soul, for whom she had habitually exerted a maternal
care, and whom she forced herself to sustain by appearing always as
strong and as much at ease as the force of her character enabled her
generally to be; but she had her hours of profound weariness, in which
her heart was oppressed with a dread of being alone. Although she was
more of a captive, more really subjected during a part of the day than
she had ever been in her family, she had her mornings and the last hour
of the night in which to taste the austerity of solitude and to question
herself of her own destiny,--a dangerous liberty which she had never
been allowed when she had four children and a necessitous household upon
her hands. At times she took refuge in certain poetical musings and
found in them an enchanting tenderness; at times, too, a bitterness
without cause and without aim made nature hateful to her, her walks
fatiguing, and sleep oppressive.
She struggled with herself courageously, but these attacks of melancholy
did not escape the eager attention of the Duke d'Aléria. He remarked,
on certain days, a bluish shade, which made her eyes look sunken, and a
sort of involuntary resistance in the muscles of her face when she
smiled. He thought that the hour was approaching, and he proceeded with
the plan which he had adopted. He was more kind and more attentive, and
when he saw that she recognized the change in his manner, he hastened to
remind her delicately that love had nothing to do with it. This grand
game, however, was all to no purpose. Caroline was so simple-natured
that all skill of this kind could hardly fail to be lost on her. When
the Duke surrounded her with delicate and charming attentions, she
attributed them to his friendship, and when he endeavored to goad her on
by withdrawing them she rejoiced the more that they sprang only from
friendship. The Duke's self-esteem prevented him from seeing clearly in
this second phase of his enterprise. Confidence had come; but, in
reality, Caroline might open her eyes with no other pain than that of
profound astonishment and a pitying disdain. The Duke hoped every
returning day to see the growth of spite or impatience in her. He could,
however, detect only a little sadness, for which he ingenuously gave
himself the credit, and which was mildly pleasurable, though by no means
satisfactory to him. "I would have believed her more sensitive," thought
he; "there is a trifle of torpidity in her sorrow, and more mildness
than warmth."
Gradually this mildness charmed him. He had never seen anything equal to
this supposed resignation. He saw in it a hidden modesty, a hopelessness
of pleasing, a tender submission, which deeply touched him. "She is good
above all others," he said to himself again,--"good as an angel. One
could be very happy with that woman, she would be so grateful and so
little disposed to quarrel. Truly she does not know what it is to cause
suffering; she keeps it all for herself."
By dint of waiting for his prey, the Duke found himself fascinated, and
the feeling grew upon him. He was forced to acknowledge that he was ill
at ease in her presence, and that his own cruelty troubled him a great
deal. At the end of a month he began to lose patience, and to say to
himself that he must hasten the catastrophe; but that all at once
appeared to him extremely difficult. Caroline yet had too much virtue in
his eyes, to permit him to forfeit his word, for in being abrupt he
might lose everything.
Entering his mother's apartment one day, the Duke said, "I have just
been greatly amusing myself riding one of your farm colts. He resembles
a wild boar and a trotting errand-boy at the same time. He has fire and
speed, and is very gentle besides. Mlle de Saint-Geneix might ride him
if she happens to be fond of the exercise."
"I am very fond of it," she replied. "My father required it of me, and I
was not grieved to satisfy him in that regard."
"Then I will wager you are an excellent rider?"
"No, I can sit upright and have a nimble hand, like all women."
"Like all women who ride well, for generally women are nervous and would
like to lead men and horses after the same fashion; but that is not your
character."
"As far as men are concerned, I know nothing at all about it. I have
never attempted to lead any one."
"O, you will attempt that, too, some day?"
"It is not probable."
"No," said the Marchioness, "it is not probable. She does not wish to
marry, and in her position she is greatly in the right."
"O, certainly," rejoined the Duke. "Marriage without fortune must be a
hell!"
He looked at Caroline to see if she were moved by such a declaration.
She was quite passive; she had renounced marriage sincerely and
irrevocably.
The Duke, wishing to judge whether she was armed against the idea of an
irreparable fault, added, in order to compromise nothing too gravely,
"Yes, it must be a hell except in the case of a great passion which
gives the heroism to undergo everything."
Caroline was still just as calm and apparently a stranger to the
question.
"Ah! my son, what nonsense are you preaching now? There are days when
you talk like a child."
"But you know well enough that I am very much of a child," said the
Duke; "and I hope to be so for a long time to come."
"It is being altogether too much so to rest the chances of happiness in
misery," said the Marchioness, who courted discussion. "There is no such
thing; misery kills all, even love."
"Is that your opinion, Mlle de Saint-Geneix?" rejoined the Duke.
"O, I have no opinion on the subject," she replied. "I know nothing of
life beyond a certain limit, but I should be led in this instance to
believe with your mother rather than with you. I have known misery, and
if I have suffered it was in seeing its weight upon those whom I loved.
There is no need, therefore, of extending and complicating one's life
when it is already so perplexing. That would be to go in search of
despair."
"Bless me! everything is relative," exclaimed the Duke. "That which is
the misery of some is the opulence of others. Would you not be very rich
with an income of twelve thousand francs?"
"Certainly," replied Caroline, without remembering and perhaps even
without knowing that to be the exact amount of her questioner's yearly
allowance.
"Well, then," continued the Duke, who endeavored to inspire a hope with
one word that he might crush it with the next,--still intent upon his
plan of agitating this placid or timid heart,--"if any one should offer
you such a modest competence as that, together with a sincere love?"
"I could not accept," Caroline rejoined. "I have four children to
support and rear; no husband would accept such a past as that."
"She is charming," cried the Marchioness; "she speaks of her past like
a widow."
"Ah! I did not speak of the widow, my poor sister. With myself and an
old woman-servant, who is attached to us, and who shall share the last
morsel of bread in the house, we are seven, neither more nor less. Now
do you know the young man to marry with his twelve thousand francs a
year? I think decidedly he would make a very bad bargain."
Caroline always spoke of her situation with an unaffected cheerfulness,
which showed the sincerity of her nature.
"Well, in point of fact, you are right," said the Duke. "You will get
through life better all alone with your fine, brave spirit. I believe,
indeed, that you and I are the only persons in the world who are really
philosophers. I regard poverty as nothing when one is responsible only
to his own free will, and I must say that I was never before so happy as
I am now."
"So much the better, my son," said the Marchioness, with an almost
imperceptible shade of reproach, which the Duke, however, perceived in
an instant, for he hastened to add,--
"I shall be completely happy the day my brother makes the marriage in
question, and he will make it, will he not, dear mother?"
Caroline was on the point of going to examine the clock.
"No, no, it is not slow; it is just right," said the Marchioness. "We
have no secrets from you hereafter, dear little one, and you must know
that I have to-day received good news relative to a great project which
I have for my son. If I have not made use of your pretty hand in
negotiating this matter, it is for reasons altogether different from
that of distrust. Here, read us this letter, of which my elder son as
yet knows nothing."
Caroline would have gladly refrained from looking thus in advance into
the secrets of the family, and especially into those of the Marquis. She
hesitated; "M. de Villemer is not here," she said; "I do not know that
he, for his part, will approve of the entire confidence with which you
honor me--"
"Yes, he will, certainly," answered the Marchioness. "If I had a doubt
of it, I would not beg you to read it. Come, now begin, my dear."
There was nothing further to be said to the Marchioness. Caroline read
as follows:--
"Yes, dear friend, it must and will succeed. True, the fortune of Mlle
de X---- is upwards of four millions at least, but she knows it, and is
no prouder on that account. On the contrary, after a new attempt on my
part, she said to me no later than this morning, 'You are right, dear
godmother; I have the power and the privilege to enrich a man of true
merit. All you tell me of your friend's son gives me an exalted idea of
him. Let me complete the time of my mourning at the convent, and I will
consent to see him at your house the coming autumn.'
"It is well understood that in all this affair I have named no one, but
your history and that of your two sons are so well known, that my dear
Diana has divined. I did not think I ought to let pass the chance to
make the excellent conduct of the Marquis do valuable service in the
attainment of our object. The Duke, his brother, has himself proclaimed
it everywhere, with a feeling which does him honor. Do not, therefore,
prolong your retreat at Séval too far into the bad season. Diana must
not see too much society before the interview. Society takes away, even
from the most candid natures, that first freshness of faith and
generosity, which I admire, and which I do my best to preserve in my
noble godchild. You will continue my work, I know, when she is your
daughter, my worthy friend. It is my most earnest wish to see your dear
son recover the place in the world which is his due. To have lost it
without a frown is fine in him, and the only finer thing which a person
of lineage can do is to restore it to him. It is the duty of the
daughters of gentle blood to give these grand examples of pride to the
upstarts of the day, and as I am one of these daughters, I shall be
satisfied with nothing short of success in this matter, putting all my
heart in it, all my religion, all my devotion for you.
"DUCHESS DE DUNIÈRES,
née DE FONTARQUES."
The Duke could have scrutinized Caroline after the reading of this
letter, in which her voice never once grew weak: he would not have
detected in her the least effort, the least personal feeling which was
not in harmony with the satisfaction felt by himself; but he never
thought of observing her! In presence of a family affair so important,
poor Caroline held a place quite secondary and accidental in his mind,
and he would have reproached himself for thinking of her at all, when he
saw in the future of his brother the providential reparation of the evil
which he had caused. "Yes," he cried, joyfully kissing the hands of his
mother,--"yes, you will be happy again, and I shall cease to blush. My
brother shall be the man, the head of the family. The whole world shall
know his rare worth, for without fortune, in the eyes of the majority,
talent and virtue are not sufficient. He will then be master of
everything, this dear brother, glory, honor, credit, power, and all in
spite of those little fine gentlemen of the citizen court, and without
bending at all before the pretended necessities of politics. Mother,
have you shown this letter to Urbain?"
"Yes, my son, to be sure."
"And he is satisfied? Things are already so far under way, the lady
prepossessed in his favor, accepting in advance, and asking only to see
him--"
"Yes, my friend, he has promised to allow himself to be introduced."
"Victory!" cried the Duke. "Then let us be gay, let us do something
foolish! I want to jump up to the ceiling, I want to embrace some one,
it makes no matter whom! Dear mamma, will you let me go and embrace my
brother?"
"Yes, but do not congratulate him too much; he is startled at anything
new, you understand?"
"O, never fear; I know him."
And the Duke, still very nimble in spite of his tendency to stoutness
and the more or less damaged state of his joints, went out gambolling
like a school-boy.
X
He found the Marquis absorbed in his work. "Do I disturb you? So much
the worse!" cried the Duke. "I must embrace you. My mother has just read
me the letter from the Duchess de Dunières."
"But, my friend, the marriage is not yet arranged," replied the Marquis,
while he submitted to the fraternal hugging.
"It is arranged if you wish it, and you cannot be opposed to it."
"My friend, I might perhaps wish it ever so much. I would still have to
be simply charming to sustain the brilliant reputation which that old
Duchess has made for me, a great deal too much at your expense, I am
inclined to think."
"The Duchess has done just right, except only that she has not said
enough. I should like to go to her and let her know everything. He
believes that he is not charming! See how little he knows himself!"
"I know myself too well," rejoined M. de Villemer; "I am not mistaken."
"The deuce take! Do you consider yourself a bear? You were attractive
enough to Madame de G----, the most reserved person in the world."
"Ah! I pray you do not speak of her; you remind me of all I suffered
before I could inspire her with confidence in me,--all I afterwards
suffered lest that confidence should from moment to moment be withdrawn.
Look here!" added the Marquis, slightly forgetting himself; "people who
are subject to strong passion have no reason. You do not know that, for
you attract at first sight, and besides you do not seek for an exclusive
love which shall endure for a lifetime. I know but one word to say to a
woman,--_I love_, and if she does not understand that my whole soul is
in that word, I could never add another."
"Well, then, you will love Diana de Xaintrailles, and she will
understand that supreme word of yours."
"But suppose I should not love her?"
"O my dear fellow, she is charming. I saw her when she was quite little;
she was a very cherub."
"Every one, I know, calls her charming; but what if she does not please
me? Do not tell me that it is not necessary to adore one's wife,--that
it suffices to esteem her and know her to be agreeable. I do not want to
argue on that subject; it would be throwing away time. Let us confine
ourselves to the question of my pleasing her. If I do not love, I do not
know how to make myself loved, and therefore I shall not marry."
"One would indeed think you expect and depend upon that!" exclaimed the
Duke with real sorrow. "Ah! our poor mother, who is so happy in her
hope! And I, who believed myself absolved by destiny! Urbain, must it be
then that we are under a curse, all three of us?"
"No," replied the Marquis, deeply moved; "let us not despair. I am
working to modify my timid, unsociable character. Upon honor, I am
working with all my power for that end. I want to put an end to this
agitated, sterile existence. Give me the summer to triumph over my
memories, my doubts, my apprehensions; true, I want to make you happy,
and God perhaps will come to my aid."
"Thank you, brother; you are the best of beings!" responded the Duke,
embracing him again. And as the Marquis was much agitated, he led him
forth to walk, in order to divert his mind from his work and to fortify
him in his good intentions.
The Duke did then what Urbain had done to conquer him on the day of
their first real intimacy. He represented himself weak and suffering as
a means of restoring his brother's strength and courage. He gave vivid
expression to his remorse and spoke feelingly of the need he had of
moral support. "Two unhappy people can do nothing for each other," he
said; "your melancholy has its fatal rebound on me, and overcomes me.
The day when I see you happy, real energy and the joy of living will
return to me."
Urbain, touched by these words, renewed his promise, and, as it cost him
dearly, he forced it from his mind by leading his brother's talk to
lively subjects; this did not take long, for the Duke required but
little encouragement to return to the theme which had lately been
absorbing so much of his time and thought.
"Come," he said, seeing his brother smile, "you will bring me happiness
in everything. I am reminded now that for some days I have had a
vexation intense enough in all conscience; it has made me sullen,
awkward; my mind has been clouded; I could not see my way clearly. I
have been frightfully stupid. I am sure that I shall now recover my
faculties."
"Again some story of a woman?" asked the Marquis, mastering a vague and
sudden uneasiness.
"And what would you want it to be? That little De Saint-Geneix occupies
my mind more perhaps than she ought."
"It is exactly what she ought not to do," quickly replied the Marquis.
"Have you not given your oath to our mother? She told me you had. Have
you deceived mother?"
"No, not at all; but I should like very much to be compelled to deceive
her."
"Compelled? I have no idea what you mean."
"Dear me! Well, this is just what I mean." And the Duke gave his brother
a detailed account of how he had at first told a falsehood when he
announced himself in love with Caroline, from the commendable motive of
getting Urbain himself in love with her; how, seeing that he had not
succeeded, he had conceived the plan of making her love him, without
loving her; and how at last he had fallen sincerely in love with her
himself, without a surety that his feeling was returned. Nevertheless,
he added that he counted upon victory if he could only have the courage
not to declare himself; and he said all this in terms so delicate or so
ambiguous that the Marquis could not give him a moral lecture about it
without making himself ridiculous. Then, when the latter, recovering
from his stupefaction, attempted to speak of the repose of his mother
and the dignity of their domestic life, not daring in his distress to
say anything whatever of the respect due to Caroline, the Duke, becoming
impressed with a sudden fear that his brother might think it his duty,
to give her warning, swore that he would do nothing to tempt her, but
that if of her own accord she threw herself bravely into his arms at any
given moment, without conditions and without calculation, he was ready
to marry her. Was he sincere then? Yes, probably, as he had always been,
when eagerness had given the appearance of possibility to what passion
had afterward caused him to evade.
As his brother spoke from a kind of conviction, the Marquis dared not
express himself against this unlooked-for repetition of offence in the
strange project. He knew that their mother did not expect to make an
advantageous marriage for the one of her sons who no longer offered a
guaranty of character, and the Duke proved to him by arguments cogent
enough that he alone was the master of his future, to whom ambition was
no longer permitted. "You see," he said, in conclusion, "that all this
is very serious. I attempted once more to lay a snare, I will confess to
you, but I did not expect to profit by it; it was merely a game without
results. I was taken in my own net, and I suffer for it a great deal. I
do not ask you to aid me, but I prohibit you in the name of our
friendship from influencing any one about us; for, if you frighten Mlle
de Saint-Geneix, you will exasperate me perhaps, and I no longer answer
for anything; or, if you succeed in making me renounce her, it is she
who, exasperated, will perhaps commit some folly in the estimation of my
mother. Since things are so situated that they can be cleared up only by
some unforeseen circumstance, do not interfere in any way, and be
certain that I shall conduct myself, come what may, in a manner to
reassure your delicacy and to conflict neither with our mother's peace
nor with the proprieties of the hospitality which you extend to me."