It was done: Gilberte Favoral had just irrevocably disposed of
herself. Prosperous or wretched, her destiny henceforth was linked
with another. She had set the wheel in motion; and she could no
longer hope to control its direction, any more than the will can
pretend to alter the course of the ivory ball upon the surface of
the roulette-table. At the outset of this great storm of passion
which had suddenly surrounded her, she felt an immense surprise,
mingled with unexplained apprehensions and vague terrors.
Around her, apparently, nothing was changed. Father, mother,
brother, friends, gravitated mechanically in their accustomed orbits.
The same daily facts repeated themselves monotonous and regular as
the tick-tack of the clock.
And yet an event had occurred more prodigious for her than the moving
of a mountain.
Often during the weeks that followed, she would repeat to herself,
“Is it true, is it possible even?”
Or else she would run to a mirror to make sure once more that nothing
upon her face or in her eyes betrayed the secret that palpitated
within her.
The singularity of the situation was, moreover, well calculated to
trouble and confound her mind.
Mastered by circumstances, she had in utter disregard of all accepted
ideas, and of the commonest propriety, listened to the passionate
promises of a stranger, and pledged her life to him. And, the pact
concluded and solemnly sworn, they had parted without knowing when
propitious circumstances might bring them together again.
“Certainly,” thought she, “before God, M. de Tregars is my betrothed
husband; and yet we have never exchanged a word. Were we to meet in
society, we should be compelled to meet as strangers: if he passes by
me in the street, he has no right to bow to me. I know not where he
is, what becomes of him, nor what he is doing.”
And in fact she had not seen him again: he had given no sign of life,
so faithfully did he conform to her expressed wish. And perhaps
secretly, and without acknowledging it to herself, had she wished him
less scrupulous. Perhaps she would not have been very angry to see
him sometimes gliding along at her passage under the old Arcades of
the Rue des Vosges.
But, whilst suffering from this separation, she conceived for the
character of Marius the highest esteem; for she felt sure that he
must suffer as much and more than she from the restraint which he
imposed upon himself.
Thus he was ever present to her thoughts. She never tired of
turning over in her mind all he had said of his past life: she
tried to remember his words, and the very tone of his voice.
And by living constantly thus with the memory of Marius de Tregars,
she made herself familiar with him, deceived to that extent, by
the illusion of absence, that she actually persuaded herself that
she knew him better and better every day.
Already nearly a month had elapsed, when one afternoon, as she
arrived on the Place Royal; she recognized him, standing near that
same bench where they had so strangely exchanged their pledges.
He saw her coming too: she knew it by his looks. But, when she
had arrived within a few steps of him, he walked off rapidly,
leaving on the bench a folded newspaper.
Mme. Favoral wished to call him back and return it; but Mlle.
Gilberte persuaded her not to.
“Never mind, mother,” said she, “it isn’t worth while; and, besides,
the gentleman is too far now.”
But while getting out her embroidery, with that dexterity which never
fails even the most naive girls, she slipped the newspaper in her
work-basket.
Was she not certain that it had been left there for her?
As soon as she had returned home, she locked herself up in her own
room, and, after searching for some time through the columns, she
read at last:
“One of the richest and most intelligent manufacturers in Paris,
M. Marcolet, has just purchased in Grenelle the vast grounds
belonging to the Lacoche estate. He proposes to build upon them
a manufacture of chemical products, the management of which is to
be placed in the hands of M. de T--.
“Although still quite young, M. de T---- is already well known in
connection with his remarkable studies on electricity. He was,
perhaps, on the eve of solving the much controverted problem of
electricity as a motive-power, when his father’s ruin compelled him
to suspend his labors. He now seeks to earn by his personal industry
the means of prosecuting his costly experiments.
“He is not the first to tread this path. Is it not to the invention
of the machine bearing his name, that the engineer Giffard owes the
fortune which enables him to continue to seek the means of steering
balloons? Why should not M. de T--, who has as much skill and energy,
have as much luck?”
“Ah! he does not forget me,” thought Mlle. Gilberte, moved to tears
by this article, which, after all, was but a mere puff, written by
Marcolet himself, without the knowledge of M. de Tregars.
She was still under that impression, thinking that Marius was already
at work, when her father announced to her that he had discovered a
husband, and enjoined her to find him to her liking, as he, the
master, thought it proper that she should.
Hence the energy of her refusal.
But hence also, the imprudent vivacity which had enlightened Mme.
Favoral, and which made her say:
“You hide something from me, Gilberte?”
Never had the young girl been so cruelly embarrassed as she was at
this moment by this sudden and unforeseen perspicacity.
Would she confide to her mother?
She felt, indeed, no repugnance to do so, certain as she was, in
advance, of the inexhaustible indulgence of the poor woman; and,
besides, she would have been delighted to have some one at last
with whom she could speak of Marius.
But she knew that her father was not the man to give up a project
conceived by himself. She knew that he would return to the charge
obstinately, without peace, and without truce. Now, as she was
determined to resist with a no less implacable obstinacy, she
foresaw terrible struggles, all sorts of violence and persecutions.
Informed of the truth, would Mme. Favoral have strength enough to
resist these daily storms? Would not a time come, when, called upon
by her husband to explain the refusals of her daughter, threatened,
terrified, she would confess all?
At one glance Mlle. Gilberte estimated the danger; and, drawing from
necessity an audacity which was very foreign to her nature:
“You are mistaken, dear mother,” said she, “I have concealed nothing
from you.”
Not quite convinced, Mme. Favoral shook her head.
“Then,” said she, “you will yield.”
“Never!”
“Then there must be some reason you do not tell me.”
“None, except that I do not wish to leave you. Have you ever
thought what would be your existence if I were no longer here? Have
you ever asked yourself what would become of you, between my father,
whose despotism will grow heavier with age, and my brother?”
Always prompt to defend her son:
“Maxence is not bad,” she interrupted: “he will know how to
compensate me for the sorrows he has inflicted upon me.”
The young girl made a gesture of doubt:
“I wish it, dear mother,” said she, “with all my heart; but I dare
not hope for it. His repentance to-night was great and sincere; but
will he remember it to-morrow? Besides, don’t you know that father
has fully resolved to separate himself from Maxence? Think of
yourself alone here with father.”
Mme. Favoral shuddered at the mere idea.
“I would not suffer very long,” she murmured. Mlle. Gilberte
kissed her.
“It is because I wish you to live to be happy that I refuse to
marry,” she exclaimed. “Must you not have your share of happiness
in this world? Let me manage. Who knows what compensations the
future may have in store for you? Besides, this person whom father
has selected for me does not suit me. A stock-jobber, who would
think of nothing but money,--who would examine my house-accounts
as papa does yours, or else who would load me with cashmeres and
diamonds, like Mme. de Thaller, to make of me a sign for his shop?
No, no! I want no such man. So, mother dear, be brave, take sides
boldly with your daughter, and we shall soon be rid of this would-be
husband.”
“Your father will bring him to you: he said he would.”
“Well, he is a man of courage, if he returns three times.”
At this moment the parlor-door opened suddenly.
“What are you plotting here again?” cried the irritated voice of
the master. “And you, Mme. Favoral, why don’t you go to bed?”
The poor slave obeyed, without saying a word. And, whilst making
her way to her room:
“There is trouble ahead,” thought Mlle. Gilberte. “But bash! If I
do have to suffer some, it won’t be great harm, after all. Surely
Marius does not complain, though he gives up for me his dearest
hopes, becomes the salaried employe of M. Marcolet, and thinks of
nothing but making money,--he so proud and so disinterested!”
Mlle. Gilberte’s anticipations were but too soon realized. When M.
Favoral made his appearance the next morning, he had the sombre brow
and contracted lips of a man who has spent the night ruminating a
plan from which he does not mean to swerve.
Instead of going to his office, as usual, without saying a word to
any one, he called his wife and children to the parlor; and, after
having carefully bolted all the doors, he turned to Maxence.
“I want you,” he commenced, “to give me a list of your creditors.
See that you forget none; and let it be ready as soon as possible.”
But Maxence was no longer the same man. After the terrible and
well-deserved reproaches of his sister, a salutary revolution had
taken place in him. During the preceding night, he had reflected
over his conduct for the past four years; and he had been dismayed
and terrified. His impression was like that of the drunkard, who,
having become sober, remembers the ridiculous or degrading acts
which he has committed under the influence of alcohol, and, confused
and humiliated, swears never more to drink.
Thus Maxence had sworn to himself to change his mode of life,
promising that it would be no drunkard’s oath, either. And his
attitude and his looks showed the pride of great resolutions.
Instead of lowering his eyes before the irritated glance of M.
Favoral, and stammering excuses and vague promises:
“It is useless, father,” he replied, “to give you the list you ask
for. I am old enough to bear the responsibility of my acts. I
shall repair my follies: what I owe, I shall pay. This very day I
shall see my creditors, and make arrangements with them.”
“Very well, Maxence,” exclaimed Mme. Favoral, delighted.
But there was no pacifying the cashier of the Mutual Credit.
“Those are fine-sounding words,” he said with a sneer; “but I doubt
if the tailors and the shirt-makers will take them in payment.
That’s why I want that list.”
“Still--”
“It’s I who shall pay. I do not mean to have another such scene
as that of yesterday in my office. It must not be said that my
son is a sharper and a cheat at the very moment when I find for my
daughter a most unhoped-for match.”
And, turning to Mlle. Gilberte:
“For I suppose you have got over your foolish ideas,” he uttered.
The young girl shook her head.
“My ideas are the same as they were last night.”
“Ah, ah!”
“And so, father, I beg of you, do not insist. Why wrangle and
quarrel? You must know me well enough to know, that, whatever may
happen, I shall never yield.”
Indeed, M. Favoral was well aware of his daughter’s firmness; for
he had already been compelled on several occasions, as he expressed
it himself, “to strike his flag” before her. But he could not
believe that she would resist when he took certain means of
enforcing his will.
“I have pledged my word,” he said.
“But I have not pledged mine, father.”
He was becoming excited: his cheeks were flushed; and his little
eyes sparkled.
“And suppose I were to tell you,” he resumed, doing at least to his
daughter the honor of controlling his anger: “suppose I were to
tell you that I would derive from this marriage immense, positive,
and immediate advantages?”
“Oh!” she interrupted with a look of disgust, “oh, for mercy’s sake!”
“Suppose I were to tell you that I have a powerful interest in it;
that it is indispensable to the success of vast combinations?”
Mlle. Gilberte looked straight at him.
“I would answer you,” she exclaimed, “that it does not suit me to
be made use of as an earnest to your combinations. Ah! it’s an
operation, is it? an enterprise, a big speculation? and you throw
in your daughter in the bargain as a bonus. Well, no! You can
tell your partner that the thing has fallen through.”