THE TEST.
Dagobert was right in defending his children, as he paternally called
Rose and Blanche, and yet the apprehensions of the marshal with regard to
the coldness of his daughters, were unfortunately justified by
appearances. As he had told his father, unable to explain the sad, and
almost trembling embarrassment, which his daughters felt in his presence,
he sought in vain for the cause of what he termed their indifference. Now
reproaching himself bitterly for not concealing from them his grief at
the death of their mother, he feared he might have given them to
understand that they would be unable to console him; now supposing that
he had not shown himself sufficiently tender, and that had chilled them
with his military sternness; and now repeating with bitter regret, that,
having always lived away from them, he must be always a stranger to them.
In a word, the most unlikely suppositions presented themselves by turns
to his mind, and whenever such seeds of doubt, suspicion, or fear, are
blended with a warm affection, they will sooner or later develop
themselves with fatal effect. Yet, notwithstanding this fancied coldness,
from which he suffered so much, the affection of the marshal for his
daughters was so true and deep, that the thought of again quitting them
caused the hesitations which were the torment of his life, and provoked
an incessant struggle between his paternal love and the duty he held most
sacred.
The injurious calumnies, which had been so skillfully propagated, that
men of honor, like his old brothers in arms, were found to attach some
credit to them, had been spread with frightful pertinacity by the friends
of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. We shall describe hereafter the meaning
and object of these odious reports, which, joined with so many other
fatal injuries, had filled up the measure of the marshal's indignation.
Inflamed with anger, excited almost to madness by this incessant
"stabbing with pins" (as he had himself called it), and offended at some
of Dagobert's words, he had spoken harshly to him. But, after the
soldier's departure, when left to reflect in silence, the marshal
remembered the warm and earnest expressions of the defender of his
children, and doubt crossed his mind, as to the reality of the coldness
of which he accused them. Therefore, having taken a terrible resolution
in case a new trial should confirm his desponding doubts, he entered, as
we before said, his, daughters' chamber. The discussion with Dagobert had
been so loud, that the sound of the voices had confusedly reached the
ears of the two sisters, even after they had taken refuge in their
bedroom. So that, on the arrival of their father, their pale faces
betrayed their fear and anxiety. At sight of the marshal, whose
countenance was also much agitated, the girls rose respectfully, but
remained close together, trembling in each other's arms. And yet there
was neither anger nor severity on their father's face--only a deep,
almost supplicating grief, which seemed to say: "My children, I suffer--I
have come to you--console me, love me! or I shall die!"
The marshal's countenance was at this moment so expressive, that, the
first impulse of fear once surmounted, the sisters were about to throw
themselves into his arms; but remembering the recommendations of the
anonymous letter, which told them how painful any effusion of their
tenderness was to their father, they exchanged a rapid glance, and
remained motionless. By a cruel fatality, the marshal at this moment
burned to open his arms to his children. He looked at them with love, he
even made a slight movement as if to call them to him; but he would not
attempt more, for fear of meeting with no response. Still the poor
children, paralyzed by perfidious counsels, remained mute, motionless,
trembling!
"It is all over," thought he, as he gazed upon them. "No chord of
sympathy stirs in their bosom. Whether I go---whether I remain--matters
not to them. No, I am nothing to these children--since, at this awful
moment, when they see me perhaps for the last time, no filial instinct
tells them that their affection might save me still!"
During these terrible reflections, the marshal had not taken his eyes off
his children, and his manly countenance assumed an expression at once so
touching and mournful--his look revealed so painfully the tortures of his
despairing soul--that Rose and Blanche, confused, alarmed, but yielding
together to a spontaneous movement, threw themselves on their father's
neck, and covered him with tears and caresses. Marshal Simon had not
spoken a word; his daughters had not uttered a sound; and yet all three
had at length understood one another. A sympathetic shock had electrified
and mingled those three hearts. Vain fears, false doubts, lying counsel,
all had yielded to the irresistible emotion which had brought the
daughters to their father's arms. A sudden revelation gave them faith, at
the fatal moment when incurable suspicion was about to separate them
forever.
In a second, the marshal felt all this, but words failed him. Pale,
bewildered, kissing the brows, the hair, the hands of his daughters,
weeping, sighing, smiling all in turn, he was wild, delirious, drunk with
happiness. At length, he exclaimed: "I have found them--or rather, I have
never lost them. They loved me, and did not dare to tell me so. I
overawed them. And I thought it was my fault. Heavens! what good that
does! what strength, what heart, what hope!--Ha! ha!" cried he, laughing
and weeping at the same time, whilst he covered his children with
caresses; "they may despise me now, they may harass me now--I defy them
all. My own blue eyes! my sweet blue eyes! look at me well, and inspire
me with new life."
"Oh, father! you love us then as much as we love you?" cried Rose, with
enchanting simplicity.
"And we may often, very often, perhaps every day, throw ourselves on your
neck, embrace you, and prove how glad we are to be with you?"
"Show you, dear father, all the store of love we were heaping up in our
hearts--so sad, alas! that we could not spend it upon you?"
"Tell you aloud all that we think in secret?"
"Yes--you may do so--you may do so," said Marshal Simon, faltering with
joy; "what prevented you, my children? But no; do not answer; enough of
the past!--I know all, I understand all. You misinterpreted my gloom, and
it made you sad; I, in my turn, misinterpreted your sadness. But never
mind; I scarcely know what I am saying to you. I only think of looking at
you--and it dazzles me--it confuses me--it is the dizziness of joy!"
"Oh, look at us, father! look into our eyes, into our hearts," cried
Rose, with rapture.
"And you will read there, happiness for us, and love for you, sir!" added
Blanche.
"Sir, sir!" said the marshal, in a tone of affectionate reproach; "what
does that mean? Will you call me father, if you please?"
"Dear father, your hand!" said Blanche, as she took it, and placed it on
her heart.
"Dear father, your hand!" said Rose, as she took the other hand of the
marshal. "Do you believe now in our love and happiness?" she continued.
It is impossible to describe the charming expression of filial pride in
the divine faces of the girls, as their father, slightly pressing their
virgin bosoms, seemed to count with delight the joyous pulsations of
their hearts.
"Oh, yes! happiness and affection can alone make the heart beat thus!"
cried the marshal.
A hoarse sob, heard in the direction of the open door, made the three
turn round, and there they saw the tall figure of Dagobert, with the
black nose of Spoil-sport reaching to his master's knee. The soldier,
drying his eyes and moustache with his little blue cotton handkerchief,
remained motionless as the god Terminus. When he could speak, he
addressed himself to the marshal, and, shaking his head, muttered, in a
hoarse voice, for the good man was swallowing his tears: "Did I not tell
you so?"
"Silence!" said the marshal, with a sign of intelligence. "You were a
better father than myself, my old friend. Come and kiss them! I shall not
be jealous."
The marshal stretched out his hand to the soldier, who pressed it
cordially, whilst the two sisters threw themselves on his neck, and
Spoil-sport, according to custom wishing to have his share in the general
joy, raised himself on his hind legs, and rested his fore-paws against
his master's back. There was a moment of profound silence. The celestial
felicity enjoyed during that moment, by the marshal, his daughters, and
the soldier, was interrupted by the barking of Spoil-sort, who suddenly
quitted the attitude of a biped. The happy group separated, looked round,
and saw Loony's stupid face. He looked even duller than usual, as he
stood quite still in the doorway, staring with wide stretched eyes, and
holding a feather-broom under his arm, and in his hand the ever-present
basket of wood.
Nothing makes one so gay as happiness; and, though this grotesque figure
appeared at a very unseasonable moment, it was received with frank
laughter from the blooming lips of Rose and Blanche. Having made the
marshal's daughters laugh, after their long sadness, Loony at once
acquired a claim to the indulgence of the marshal, who said to him, good
humoredly: "What do you want, my lad?"
"It's not me, my lord duke!" answered Loony, laying his hand on his
breast, as if it were taking a vow, so that his feather-brush fell down
from under his arm. The laughter of the girls redoubled.
"It is not you?" said the marshal.
"Here! Spoil-sport!" Dagobert called, for the honest dog seemed to have a
secret dislike for the pretended idiot, and approached him with an angry
air.
"No, my lord duke, it is not me!" resumed Loony. "It is the footman who
told me to tell M. Dagobert, when I brought up the wood to tell my lord
duke, as I was coming up with the basket, that M. Robert wants to see
him."
The girls laughed still more at this new stupidity. But, at the name of
Robert, Marshal Simon started.
M. Robert was the secret emissary of Rodin, with regard to the possible,
but adventurous, enterprise of attempting the liberation of Napoleon II.
After a moment's silence, the marshal, whose face was still radiant with
joy and happiness, said to Loony: "Beg M. Robert to wait for me a moment
in my study."
"Yes, my lord duke," answered Loony, bowing almost to the ground.
The simpleton withdrew, and the marshal said to his daughters, in a
joyous tone, "You see, that, in a moment like this, one does not leave
one's children, even for M. Robert."
"Oh! that's right, father!" cried Blanche, gayly; "for I was already very
angry with this M. Robert."
"Have you pen and paper at hand?" asked the marshal.
"Yes, father; there on the table," said Rose, hastily, as she pointed to
a little desk near one of the windows, towards which the marshal now
advanced rapidly.
From motives of delicacy, the girls remained where they were, close to
the fireplace, and caressed each other tenderly, as if to congratulate
themselves in private on the unexpected happiness of this day.
The marshal seated himself at the desk, and made a sign to Dagobert to
draw near.
While he wrote rapidly a few words in a firm hand, he said to the soldier
with a smile, in so low a tone that it was impossible for his daughters
to hear: "Do you know what I had almost resolved upon, before entering
this room?"
"What, general?"
"To blow my brains out. It is to my children that I owe my life." And the
marshal continued writing.
Dagobert started at this communication, and then replied, also in a
whisper: "It would not have been with your pistols. I took off the caps."
The marshal turned round hastily, and looked at him with an air of
surprise. But the soldier only nodded his head affirmatively, and added:
"Thank heaven, we have now done with all those ideas!"
The marshal's only answer was to glance at his children, his eyes
swimming with tenderness, and sparkling with delight; then, sealing the
note he had written, he gave it to the soldier, and said to him, "Give
that to M. Robert. I will see him to-morrow."
Dagobert took the letter, and went out. Returning towards his daughters,
the marshal joyfully extended his arms to them, and said, "Now, young
ladies, two nice kisses for having sacrificed M. Robert to you. Have I
not earned them?" And Rose and Blanche threw themselves on their father's
neck.
About the time that these events were taking place at Paris, two
travellers, wide apart from each other, exchanged mysterious thoughts
through the breadth of space.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Wandering Jew, Book X., by Eugene Sue