The Marquis made a sign for the coachman to follow them, and conducted
Caroline on foot, chatting pleasantly with her about her sister and the
children; but, neither during this short walk, nor on the shaded avenues
of the "Swiss Valley" in the Jardin des Plantes, did he say one word
about himself. It was only when he stopped with her under the pendent
boughs of Jussieu's cedar, just as they were on the point of returning,
that he said, smiling, and in the most indifferent tone, "Do you know
that my official presentation to Mlle de Xaintrailles takes place
to-day?"
It seemed to the Marquis that he felt Caroline's arm trembling as it
rested on his own; but she replied, with sincerity and resolution, "No,
I did not know that it was to-day."
"If I speak to you at all about this," he resumed, "it is only because I
know my mother and my brother have kept you informed of this fine
project. I have never talked with you about it myself; it was not worth
while."
"Then you thought that I would not be interested in your happiness?"
"My happiness! How can it be in the hands of a lady I do not know? And
you, my friend, how can you speak so,--you who know me?"
"Then I will say the happiness of your mother,--since that depends upon
this marriage."
"O, that is another matter," replied M. de Villemer, quickly. "Shall we
rest a moment on this seat, and while we are alone here will you let me
talk a little about my position?"
They seated themselves. "You will not be cold?" continued the Marquis,
wrapping the folds of Caroline's mantle around her.
"No, and you?"
"O, as for me, my health is robust now, thanks to you, and that is why
they think seriously of making me the head of a family of my own. It is
a happiness which I do not need so much as they suppose. There are
already children in the world that one loves,--just as you love those of
your sister! But let us pass that over and suppose that I really dream
of descendants in a long line. You understand that I do not hold to this
as a point of family pride; you know my ideas about nobility; they are
not precisely those of the people around me. Unfortunately for the
people around me, I cannot change in this regard; it no longer depends
upon myself."
"I know that," replied Mlle de Saint-Geneix, "but your heart is too
comprehensive not to long after the warmest and holiest affections of
life."
"Suppose all that you please in that respect," replied the Marquis, "and
then understand that the choice of the mother of my children is the most
important affair of my life. Well, then, this great transaction, this
sacred choice, do you think any one else could attend to it in my place?
Do you admit that even my excellent mother can wake up some morning and
say, 'There is in society a young lady, whose name is illustrious and
whose fortune is large, and who is to be the wife of my son, because my
friends and I consider the match advantageous and proper? My son does
not know her, but no matter! Perhaps she will not please him at all;
perhaps he will displease her as much; no matter again! It would please
my eldest son, my friend the duchess, and all those who frequent my
little drawing-room. My son must be unnatural if he does not sacrifice
his repugnance to this fancy. And if Mlle de Xaintrailles should think
of such a thing as not calling him perfect, she will be no longer worthy
of the name she bears!' You see plainly, my friend, that all this is
absurd, and I am astonished that you have taken it seriously for one
moment."
Caroline struggled in vain against the inexpressible joy which this
assurance caused her; but she quickly remembered all the Duke had said,
and all that duty required her to say herself.
"You astonish me too," rejoined she. "Did you not promise your mother
and your brother to see Mlle de Xaintrailles at the appointed time?"
"And so I shall see her this evening; it is an interview arranged in
such a way as to appear accidental, and one which does not bind me in
any respect."
"That is an evasion which I cannot admit in a conscience like that of
the Marquis de Villemer. You have passed your word that you will do your
best toward recognizing the merit of this person, and making her
appreciate yours."
"O, I ask nothing better than to do my best in that direction," replied
the Marquis, with so merry and winning a laugh that Caroline was dazzled
by the look he fixed upon her.
"Then you are making light of your mother's wishes?" resumed she, arming
herself with all her reserve of resistance; "I never would have believed
you capable of that."
"No, no, I am not, indeed," replied M. de Villemer, recovering his
seriousness. "When they exacted this promise from me I did not laugh, I
assure you. I was in deep sorrow and seriously ill; I felt myself dying,
and I thought my heart was already dead. I yielded to tender and cruel
persuasions, in the hope that they would let me die in peace; but I have
been recalled, my friend; I have taken a new lease of life; I feel
myself full of youth again, and of the future. Love is astir within me,
like the sap in this great tree; yes, love,--that is, faith, strength, a
sense of my immortal being, which I must account for to God, and not to
human prejudice. I will be happy in my own way; I will live, and I will
not marry unless I can love with my whole soul!
"Do not tell me," continued he, without giving Caroline time to reply,
"that I have other duties in opposition to this. I am not a weak,
irresolute man. I am not satisfied with words consecrated by usage, and
I do not propose to become the slave and the victim of ambitious
chimeras. My mother desires to recover our wealth! She is at fault in
that. Her true happiness and her true glory are in having renounced it
all to save her eldest son. She is richer now--since I have arranged for
her support at the price of nearly all I have left--than she was ten
years ago, submitting with terror to a doubtful situation, and one which
she believed must grow worse. See, then, if I have not done for her all
that I could do! I have certain strong opinions, the fruit of the study
and thought of my whole life. I have held them in silence. I have
suffered terribly from griefs which she has never suspected. I have been
in real torture from my own heart, and I have spared her the pain of
seeing my agony. I have even suffered at her hands and have never
complained. Have I not seen, from childhood, that she had an
irresistible preference for my brother, and did I not know, besides,
that she thought this due to the oldest and most highly titled of her
sons? I have conquered the vexation of this wound, and when my brother
at last permitted me to love him, I did love him devotedly; but before
that time how many secret affronts and bitter jests I have brooked from
him, and from my mother too, in league with him against the seriousness
of my thought and life! I bore them no ill-will for this; I understood
their mistakes and prejudices; but without knowing it, they did me much
harm.
"In the midst of so many vexations, only one thing could tempt a
solitary man like me,--the glory of letters. I felt within me a certain
fire, an impulse towards the beautiful, which might draw around me
manifold sympathies. I saw that this glory would wound my mother in her
beliefs, and I determined to keep the most strict incognito, that the
paternity of my work might not even be suspected. You alone, you only in
the whole world, have been intrusted with a secret which is never to be
disclosed. I will not add, during my mother's lifetime, for I have a
horror of these mental reservations, these parricidal schemes, which
seem like calling death down upon those whom we ought to love better
than ourselves. I have said 'never' in this matter, so as never to
entertain the idea of any state of things in which a personal
gratification could lessen my grief at losing my mother."
"Very well! in all this, I like you as much as I admire you," replied
Mlle de Saint-Geneix; "but it strikes me, that with respect to your
marriage, it can all be arranged as it ought, with due regard to your
own wishes and to those of your family. Since they say that Mlle de
Xaintrailles is entirely worthy of you, why, at the moment of assuring
yourself of this, do you say beforehand that it is neither possible nor
probable! This is where I do not comprehend you at all, and where I
doubt if you have any serious or respectable reasons that I could be
brought to accept."
Caroline spoke with a decision which at once changed the resolution of
the Marquis. He was on the point of opening his heart to her at all
hazards; he had felt himself guided onward by a glimmer of hope, of
which she had now deprived him, and he became sad, and seemingly quite
overcome.
"Well, you see," resumed she, "you can find no answer to this."
"You are not wrong," said he; "I had no right to tell you that I should
certainly be indifferent to Mlle de Xaintrailles. I know it myself; but
you cannot be a judge of the secret reasons that give me this certainty.
Let us say no more about her. I expect you to be thoroughly convinced of
my independence and clear conscience in this matter. I would not have a
thought like this remaining in your mind, M. de Villemer is to marry for
money, for position, and for a name. O my friend, never believe that of
me, I beg of you. To fall so low in your esteem would be a punishment
which I have not merited through any fault, by any wrong against you or
against my family. I expect, likewise, that you will not reproach me, if
I should happen to find myself obliged openly to oppose my mother's
wishes with regard to my marriage. I have felt it my duty to tell you
all that justifies me in a pretended eccentricity. Be so good as to
absolve me beforehand if, sooner or later, I have to show her and my
brother that I will give them my blood, my life, my last franc and even
my honor, if need be, but not my moral freedom, not my truth to myself.
No, never! These are my own, these are the only possessions I reserve,
for they come from God, and man has no claim upon them."
As he spoke thus, the Marquis laid his hand upon his heart with a
forcible pressure. His face, at once energetic and charming, expressed
his enthusiastic faith. Caroline, bewildered, was afraid of having
understood aright and yet equally afraid lest she might have deceived
herself; but what mattered that which, thus against her will, passed in
her mind? She must pretend not to suppose that the Marquis could ever
think of her. She had great courage and invincible pride. She answered
that it was not for her to decide upon the future: but that, for her own
part, she had loved her father so much that she would have sacrificed
her own heart even, if, by a complete renunciation of herself, she could
have prolonged his life. "Take care," said she with spirit, "whatever
you may decide upon to-day or afterward, always remember this; that when
beloved parents are no more, all that we might have done to render their
lives longer or happier will come before us with terrible eloquence. The
slightest short-coming then assumes enormous proportions; and there will
never be a moment of peace or happiness for one who, even while using
all his rightful freedom, gains the memory of having seriously grieved a
mother who is no more."
The Marquis pressed Caroline's hand silently and convulsively; she had
hurt him deeply, for she had spoken the truth.
She rose, and he conducted her to the carriage again. "Be content," said
he, breaking the silence as he was about leaving her. "I will never
openly wound my mother. Pray for me, that I may have eloquence to
convince her when the time comes. If I do not succeed--Well, what is
that to you? It will be so much the worse for me."
He flung the address to the coachman and disappeared.