Caroline had reason to be alarmed by the inquiries M. de Villemer was
making at her sister's. He had already returned twice to Étampes, and,
fully aware that delicacy forbade anything like a system of
cross-questioning, he confined himself to watching the demeanor of
Camille, and drawing his own inferences from her silent evasions.
Thenceforth he might take it for granted that Madame Heudebert knew her
sister's hiding-place and that Caroline's disappearance gave her no real
uneasiness. Camille held in reserve the letter which said Caroline had
found employment away from France, and did not produce it. She saw such
anguish and distress in the features of the Marquis, which were already
much changed, that she dared not inflict this last blow on the
benefactor, the protector of her children. Besides Madame Heudebert did
not share all Caroline's scruples or comprehend all her pride. She had
not ventured to blame her, in this regard; but she herself would not
have held it so great a crime to brave the displeasure of the
Marchioness a little, and become her daughter-in-law notwithstanding.
"Since the intentions of the Marquis were so serious," thought she, "and
his mother loves him so that she dares not oppose him openly, and,
finally, since he is of age and master of his own fortune, I don't see
why Caroline could not have used her influence over the old lady, her
powers of persuasion, and the evidence of her own worth, and so led her
gently to admit the propriety of the marriage.--There! poor Caroline,
with all her valiant devotedness, is too romantic, and will go away and
kill herself in order to support us; while, with a little patient tact,
she might be happy and make us all happy too."
Here is another common-sense opinion which may be set over against that
of Peyraque and Justine. Of these two lines of reasoning the reader is
free to adopt the one that he prefers; but the narrator must, of
necessity, hold an opinion also, and he avows a little partiality for
that of Caroline.
The Marquis perceived that Madame Heudebert made, now and then, some
timid allusions to the state of things, and felt sure she knew the
whole. He threw himself on her mercy a little more than he had done
hitherto; and Camille, encouraged, asked him, with a sufficient want of
tact, whether, in case the Marchioness proved inexorable, he was fully
resolved to make Caroline an offer of his hand. She seemed on the point
of betraying her sister's secret, if the Marquis would pledge his word
of honor.
The Marquis replied without hesitation: "If I was sure of being loved,
if the happiness of Mlle de Saint-Geneix depended on my courage, I would
contrive to do away with my mother's prejudices, at any cost; but you
give me no encouragement. Only give me that, and you will see!"
"I give you encouragement!" exclaimed Camille, amazed and confused. She
hesitated to reply. She had indeed divined Caroline's secret; but the
latter had always guarded it proudly, not by falsehood, but by never
allowing herself to be questioned, and Madame Heudebert had not the
daring to inflict a severe wound on her sister's dignity, by taking it
upon herself to compromise her. "That is something I am no wiser about
than you," said she. "Caroline has a strong character,--one which I
cannot always fathom."
"And this strength of hers is so great," said the Marquis, "that she
would never accept my name without my mother's sincere benediction. This
I know better even than you do. So tell me nothing; it is for me alone
to act. I ask of you only one thing more, and that is to let me watch
over you and your children until something new shall occur, and
even--yes, I will venture to say it--I am haunted by the fear that Mlle
da Saint-Geneix may find herself without resources, exposed to
privations which it makes me shudder to think of. Spare me this dread.
Let me leave you a sum which you can return, if there is no use for it,
but which, in case of need, you will remit to her as coming from
yourself.'
"O, that is quite impossible," replied Camille: "she would divine the
source, and never forgive me for having taken it!"
"I see you are really afraid of her."
"Just as I am of all that commands respect."
"Then we feel alike," replied the Marquis as he took leave. "I am so
thoroughly afraid of her that I dare not seek her any farther, and yet I
must find her again or die."
Shortly afterward the Marquis drew an explanation from his mother, which
was painful enough to both of them. Although he saw her suffering, sad,
regretting Caroline a hundred times more than she admitted, and although
he had resolved to await a more propitious moment for his inquiries, the
explanation came, in his own despite and in despite of the Marchioness,
through the fatality of circumstances. The anxiety of the situation was
too intense; it could not be prolonged. Madame de Villemer confessed
that she had conceived a sudden prejudice against the character of Mlle
de Saint-Geneix, and that at the very moment of fulfilling her promise
she had let Caroline feel the exceeding pain it caused her. Gradually,
under the eager questioning of the Marquis, the conversation grew more
animated, and Madame de Villemer, pushed to extremity, allowed the
accusation against Caroline to escape her. The unfortunate girl had
committed a fault pardonable in the eyes of the Marchioness when acting
as her friend and guardian, but one which made it quite out of the
question even to think of receiving her as a daughter.
Before this result of calumny the Marquis did not flinch one instant.
"It is an infamous lie," he cried, beside himself,--"a base lie! And you
could believe it? Then it must have been very artful and very audacious.
Mother, you must tell me all, for I am not disposed to be taken in so
myself."
"No, my son, I shall tell you no more," replied Madame de Villemer
firmly; "and every word you add to those you have just uttered, I shall
consider a breach of filial affection and respect."
So the Marchioness remained impenetrable; she had promised not to betray
Léonie; and, besides, nothing in the world would tempt her to sow the
seeds of discord between her two sons. The Duke had so often told her,
in Urbain's presence, that he had never sought or obtained a single kind
look from Caroline! This, in the opinion of the Marchioness, was a
falsehood the Marquis would never pardon. She knew, now, that he had
taken the Duke into his confidence, and that Gaëtan, touched by his
grief, had persuaded his wife into taking measures for seeking Caroline
in all the Parisian convents. "He does not speak," said the Marchioness
to herself; "he will not dissuade his wife and brother from this folly,
when he ought, at the very least, to have confessed the past to the
Marquis, in order to cure him of it. It is too late now to risk such
avowals. I cannot do it without leading my two sons to kill each other
after having loved so warmly."