since the count's return, when a young woman appeared at the gate. The
gardener happened to be alone in front of the house at that moment, and
he admitted Violette, for it was she who had arrived at Nogent and had
succeeded in finding the house she had sought.
"Is this Monsieur Malberg's house?" the girl asked timidly.
"Yes, mamzelle, this is the place."
"Is Monsieur Malberg at home?"
"Yes, he came back from Paris about an hour ago."
"And could I--could I speak to him?"
"Oh, yes! I think so. But come in, mamzelle, and I will go and tell
monsieur."
Violette passed through the gate tremblingly; the gardener, who had
taken a step or two toward the house, returned to her and said:
"Who shall I tell monsieur? What is your name?"
"My name, monsieur--but it isn't worth while; Monsieur Malberg won't
remember my name; or else, perhaps then he wouldn't want to,--and in
that case I would rather--oh dear! I don't know!"
"Bless my soul! I don't know either."
"Just be kind enough to tell Monsieur Malberg that it's a girl who has
come from Paris, and who would like to speak to him."
"Very good."
The gardener went into the house; Violette glanced timidly about, hoping
that in those beautiful avenues which she admired, in the fields which
she saw in the distance, she might catch a glimpse of Georget; then she
said to herself with a sigh:
"No, it is much better that he shouldn't see me, for he would think that
I came here after him, and he would be quite capable of running away
from this house too."
"If mamzelle will come this way, monsieur is ready to receive her," said
the gardener, returning.
Violette was greatly agitated, but she followed her guide toward the
house.
The count was in his study on the ground floor; all the curtains at the
windows were drawn, night was coming on, and the room was dark and
silent.
"Here's the young woman," said the gardener, pushing Violette before
him, as she did not dare go in, and saying in her ear:
"Don't be afraid, he won't eat you!"
"Who is it who wishes to see me?" said the count, who was seated at his
desk.
"Excuse me, monsieur, it is I."
Violette had finally made up her mind to enter the room; she was then
close to Monsieur de Brevanne's desk, and he, as he raised his eyes, was
thunderstruck to see the young flower girl before him.
"What! you? you here, in my house?" he cried, almost angrily.
"Yes, monsieur, yes; you recognize me, do you not, monsieur?"
"Recognize you? oh, yes; your features are too deeply engraven in my
memory!--But once more, mademoiselle, why have you come here? Who sent
you?"
"Sent me? No one sent me, monsieur; I have come of my own accord. It is
very bold on my part, no doubt, but when one does not know which way to
turn, when one receives fresh insults every day, which one does not
deserve--for I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no fault to reproach
myself with, that I can walk with my head erect, that I can look my
comrades in the face without blushing; and yet I am suspected, and more
than that, people say that I am a good-for-nothing, and those who ought
to defend me are the first to abandon me, to despise me. Oh! I am very
unhappy, monsieur. Excuse me for coming to tell you this; I know that it
doesn't interest you, and yet, if you would take up my defence,
monsieur, I am very sure that people would believe you; and he--he who
is here at your house, with his mother, if you should tell him that
it's horrible to say unkind things about me--for what he believes he
tells to others, to his friends, and yesterday Chicotin, who is a good
fellow, although he loafs too much, Chicotin, who has always been
friendly to me, why, even he insulted me, he treated me with contempt!
Ah! that was too much; I felt that my courage was giving way; and to get
back a little of it, I thought of you, monsieur, who like so much to do
good; I said to myself that you would take pity on a poor girl without
parents, without friends, without anybody on earth to help her; that you
would defend her; and that is why I came, monsieur."
Violette ceased to speak and waited for the count to answer her; but he
seemed absorbed in his thoughts, his head had fallen upon his breast,
and he said nothing.
After a pause, the girl continued:
"Monsieur seemed the other day to take a little interest in me, and that
is what encouraged me to come here."
"Ah! in my house! you!" cried Brevanne, roused from his meditations by
these words; "why, you know very well, mademoiselle, that my house is no
place for you; that you less than any other ought to come here; that
it's like defying me, like hurling an insult in my face, to come here!"
Violette felt her strength giving way; as she was utterly unable to
understand the indignation of this man who had been described to her as
so kind-hearted, she lowered her eyes and faltered:
"Monsieur, I did not know--I did not think--God knows that I had no such
intention as you suppose. Excuse me, monsieur, I see that I did wrong to
come, as it makes you angry; but I thought that you would have pity on
me, a poor girl, alone on earth, without----"
"Without parents? Who told you that you were without parents? I am
almost certain that you have parents, for I know them."
"Mon Dieu! can it be possible, monsieur, that you know my parents, that
you can tell me whether my mother is still alive? Oh! for heaven's sake,
do not deceive me, do not give me a false hope! See, monsieur, as your
questions the other day led me to think that you might help me to find
my family, to-day, when I came here, I thought I would bring with me the
only object that I have that belonged to my parents."
"Ah! you have something that proves to whom you belong--a paper, a
letter, no doubt? Give it to me, give it to me; I shall recognize their
handwriting."
"No, monsieur, it isn't handwriting, it's nothing but a handkerchief. It
seems that it was among the things they gave my nurse to procure clothes
for me; you see I had a very strange kind of _layette_, monsieur; there
were trousers in it and waistcoats and cravats; probably my parents
thought I was a boy."
"But this handkerchief--"
"The handkerchief my nurse thought was so beautiful, so nicely
embroidered, that she did not cut it up to make me a cap, but she kept
it for me. Mon Dieu! now I can't find it; but I am sure that I brought
it. Ah! here it is, monsieur, here it is."
And Violette handed the count a handkerchief of the finest linen, with
embroidery in each corner. The count walked to a window, examined the
embroidery, and recognized his wife's monogram and his own, as well as
his coat of arms and his coronet.
That proof was convincing; it removed Monsieur de Brevanne's last doubt;
and although he was previously almost certain that Violette was the
daughter of his wife and of Roncherolle, on recognizing the monogram, he
felt a violent wrench at his heart, and a shudder ran through his veins;
for, however suspicious one may be of a fact, there is a vast distance
between that and certainty.
"Does monsieur see on the handkerchief anything that helps him to
identify my parents, and to tell whether they are still alive?" murmured
Violette, while the count kept his eyes fixed on the handkerchief.
"Yes, yes, I have no doubt whatever now, and I had rightly divined who
you were."
"In that case, monsieur will certainly tell me----"
"But whoever entrusted you to a nurse must have given you some name,
have told her the name of your parents, or given her their address. Tell
me, mademoiselle, what name did they give? Answer; I insist that you
conceal nothing from me!"
The count's wrathful expression, and the tone in which he questioned the
girl, made her tremble; poor Violette dared not meet the angry glances
that were bent upon her, and she hardly had the strength to reply:
"Mon Dieu, monsieur, I am not concealing anything; on the contrary, I
came here to find out. I don't remember my nurse, but the kind lady who
took me in, and who brought me up and took me to Paris, was careful to
write down all that the nurse had told her. That is how I know that the
gentleman who placed me in the nurse's charge told her that my name was
Evelina de Paulausky; but he didn't give any address; he said that he
would come to see me, that he would write; but no one came, no one ever
wrote, they forgot me, abandoned me; that is all that I know, monsieur,
absolutely all; for if I knew anything else, why should I not tell it to
you, monsieur, as it might help me to find out who my parents are?"
"Evelina de Paulausky!" exclaimed the count, pacing the floor. "At least
they had the decency to conceal their names! But Roncherolle? Why didn't
he give her his?--Because, after doing the wrong, he did not choose to
take the consequences, and they considered that the simplest way was to
abandon the child. Ah! the wretches!"
Violette waited in fear and trembling for the count to speak to her; for
she saw from his excitement, and from the threatening expression of his
face, that he was still angry, and she dared not question him further;
but, as time passed and the count, absorbed in his reflections,
continued to pace the floor and to pay no attention to the girl, she
mustered all her courage and said to him at last:
"Since you know my parents, monsieur, in pity's name be kind enough to
tell me who they are. Is my mother still alive?"
"Your parents?" cried Brevanne, halting suddenly in front of the girl;
"your parents? Ah! you want to know who they are, do you? Well, learn
that you are the child of crime--treachery! Your mother was false to all
her duties, she was false to the oaths she had taken to an honorable
man, she was obliged to lay aside the name which she had sullied. Your
father! ah! your father betrayed friendship in the most dastardly way;
believing in nothing, respecting nothing, mocking at all that is held
sacred in the world, turning to ridicule the most sacred sentiments, he
betrayed his best friend!"
"Oh! pity, pity for them, monsieur!"
"Pity! why, you see that they had no pity for you;--for they abandoned
you--and now you think that I will take care of you,--of you, their
child, the fruit of their adulterous intercourse!--No, no! I do not want
to see you again; your presence reopens all my wounds.--Leave my house,
mademoiselle, and enter it no more."
"Oh! pardon, pardon, monsieur! if I had known----"
"As for this handkerchief, which belonged to your mother, I will keep
it, for there are monograms on it and a coat of arms which you have no
right to retain. Go, go; I do not want to see you any more; your
presence distresses me."
Violette felt as if she were dying; but the count's wrath terrified her;
utterly crushed by what she had learned, she had not the strength to
say a word; she left the study and the house; two streams of tears
flowed from her eyes, and she did not think of wiping them away. She
crossed the lawn and went toward the gate; the gardener, who was still
there, struck by the girl's suffering, called to her, asked her why she
was weeping, and urged her to stop a moment in the summer-house,
observing that the weather was very threatening and that a storm was
brewing. Violette did not listen, or did not hear, but walked on at a
rapid pace, and soon passed through the gate and left the count's
residence behind.
Despairing, humiliated, distressed beyond measure at having been so
maltreated by the man who had made Georget and his mother welcome,
Violette walked for a long time without any idea where she was going.
But what did it matter to her? She paid no heed to the road that she was
following, but she walked very quickly; not to gain shelter from the
rain which was beginning to fall, for she did not feel it; her head was
on fire, her limbs shook with fever; but she walked on, saying to
herself:
"I am a child of crime! my mother was guilty, my father was false to
friendship! ah! no doubt that is the reason why he drives me from his
house, and forbids me to ask help and protection from him. Well, in that
case, it is not worth while to live; it was not enough to have been
abandoned by my parents; now that people know who I am, I must expect to
be turned away with contempt wherever I go. How he treated me, that
gentleman who is said to be so kind! Oh, no! I cannot live like this, I
am too unhappy. Despised by the whole world,--I had done nothing to
deserve that; and now my birth is thrown in my face! Did I ask to be
born?"
Violette walked on, but darkness came on rapidly and soon she could see
nothing, and kept running against trees. She had gone astray in the wood
of Vincennes, and the rain was falling in torrents. The poor girl leaned
against a small tree, whose foliage was insufficient to protect her from
the storm; but she did not notice the water which drenched her garments,
for she was absorbed by her grief. A little covered wagon, drawn by a
meagre horse, passed along the road by the side of which Violette had
stopped; a peasant, who was inside, saw the girl exposed to the fury of
the storm; he stopped his wagon and called out to her:
"You are not in a very good place there; you are getting the whole of
it; get in with me; if you are going to Paris, I'll put you down at the
Barriere de Belleville."
"Thanks, monsieur, thanks, it isn't worth while;" replied Violette in a
feeble voice. "I am all right here."
"All right! oh, yes! you are all right to catch a sickness; I won't
leave a woman in the woods at this time of night, and in such weather as
this!--Oho! you don't want to get in, don't you?--Well, I am going to
make you! yes, I tell you you've got to get in!"
The peasant jumped down from his wagon, took the girl under the arms,
forced her to the step, put one foot upon it and at last succeeded in
making her get in. Violette submitted like a child. The peasant seated
her upon his cabbages and carrots, saying:
"You will be better in here than under that little tree, catching all
the rain; you're wet through already, and I'm sure that's what made you
numb. Poor girl, she can't talk nor move her legs; but the jolting of
the wagon will warm her up.--Come on, get up, Blanchet!"
Blanchet started; the cart, having no springs, did in fact shake its
occupants in a fashion well calculated to rouse their wits. Violette
submitted to the jolting, and said nothing; she seemed indifferent to
all that went on about her; she understood but one thing, and that was
that she ought not to live any longer, because she would be despised by
everybody; she was unhappy enough when she went to Nogent in the
morning; now she was desperate, and she came away from there with death
in her heart; she had hoped to find consolation and protection there,
but she had found shame and contempt; she had been turned away, and she
did not feel that she had the strength to endure that last affront.
The peasant who had taken the girl into his wagon did not notice her
gloomy despair; as he talked all the time, as he asked questions and
answered them all himself, other persons did not need to open their
mouths with him; his mouth was a word-mill, which was always at work.
Thus they arrived at the Barriere de la Courtille, where the peasant
stopped Blanchet, and said to the girl:
"My child, this is where I stop; I can't take you any further. But here
you are in Paris, and the best part of it is that the rain has stopped;
indeed I believe that the weather is going to be fine again; it wouldn't
surprise me. I will help you down, for you must have limbered up by now,
haven't you? My wagon always produces that effect. Come, lean on
me--that's the way! You see, there's Faubourg du Temple in front of you,
and the boulevard's at the end of it. That's the way you want to go; all
right, good luck; but you'd better dry yourself as soon as you get
home."
The peasant left the young girl and entered a wine shop. Violette had
not even found a word of thanks to say to the good-natured man; she was
in the street, she looked at the barrier, passed her hand over her
forehead as if to collect her thoughts, then entered Paris, saying to
herself:
"I know where I am, the canal is over yonder!"
Violette was no longer weeping, her eyes were dry. She walked rapidly
through the faubourg, and when she reached the canal, instead of
crossing the bridge, she turned to the left and walked for some time
along the bank. It was ten o'clock at night, and there were few people
on the path that she followed. A fatal idea had taken possession of the
girl's mind--she was determined to die; she thought that she was
dishonored because the man whose assistance she had implored had turned
her out of his house. She said to herself that Georget could never love
her again now, and she was resolved to rid herself of an existence which
would henceforth be nothing but torture to her.
Suddenly she stopped and looked about her; no one was passing. She
stepped over the chain which was between her and the edge of the canal.
In front of her there was a large coal barge; she hesitated a moment,
then she reflected that she could throw herself into the water from the
barge without being seen. She crossed a plank and was soon aboard of the
barge; and before jumping into the water, she fell to her knees and
murmured this prayer:
"O my God! forgive me; it is a crime that I am about to commit, but I no
longer feel strong enough to endure life, to be despised by everybody,
although I have not committed the sins of which I am accused. He can no
longer love me, for his protector turns me out of his house; but perhaps
he will regret me, and will learn some day that I was innocent."
She had no sooner finished these words than she rose and rushed forward;
but someone who was hidden within a few steps of her and who had heard
her prayer, stepped out and stopped her, holding her in a powerful
grasp, and exclaiming:
"Upon my word! jump into the water! by all that's good! you shan't do
it. God help me! how glad I am that I happened to be here, and that I
took Pere Chiffon's place as watchman on the barge! Poor Mamzelle
Violette! you--mean to die?"
"Yes, because I am despised by everyone."
"Oh! you won't be any more, mamzelle, you won't be any more! In the
first place, not by me, Chicotin, for I heard you just now talking to
the good Lord, and people don't lie to Him. I heard you, poor girl! you
are innocent, and I understand how you must have suffered; but I will be
one of the first to do you justice."
And Chicotin fell on his knees before the girl, took off his cap, and
said to her in a humble voice:
"Mamzelle, I ask your pardon for suspecting you, for believing ugly
things that were said about you. To-day I would swear before all the
magistrates that you have never ceased to be virtuous. So forgive me,
mamzelle, for suspecting you."
Chicotin's touching act, the words that he had uttered, revolutionized
Violette's whole being; her tears flowed afresh, but this time they were
soothing and relieved her; her heart expanded, she breathed more freely,
it seemed to her that she had returned to life. She held out her hands
to the young messenger, saying:
"Thanks, thanks, my friend; what you have done is well, I feel greatly
relieved; yes, I no longer feel as I did; it seems to me as if you had
relieved me of a heavy load that I was carrying here on my breast. Ah! I
do not want to die now."
"Is that really so, Mamzelle Violette, is it really so? I tell you, that
if I was still uneasy about that, I wouldn't leave you any more than
your shadow."
"No, Chicotin, I no longer want to die, I swear; you have brought me
back to life; and now, I will tell you that I am glad that you prevented
me from carrying out my fatal design."
"Ah! that's what I call talking; but what was the cause of this attack
of despair? Has somebody else been making you unhappy?"
Violette told Chicotin about her trip to Nogent, and of how she had been
treated by Georget's protector.
"Mamzelle," said the young messenger, "that isn't natural; to make that
gentleman, that people tell so much good about, get so angry with you,
there must be something about your birth that isn't clear, and that
worries him tremendously. Ah! if Georget had seen you sent away like
that, I am very sure that he would have taken up your defence!"
"No, for he believes me guilty, he despises me."
"Oh, I will open his eyes, I will!"
"What I regret is that Monsieur Malberg kept that handkerchief, which
was all that I had that belonged to my parents; for he said he wouldn't
give it back to me."
"Oh! never fear, mamzelle, he'll have to give it back to you; I'll see
to that.--But come, mamzelle, let's go away from here; I will take you
home. The coal can look out for itself; besides, you live here in the
faubourg, I believe."
"No, Chicotin; I have taken another room in a quieter house, on Rue de
Crussol, and I've been living there a week."
"Rue de Crussol! I have a customer there. It would be funny if it was
the same house. Come, mamzelle, take my arm; you are trembling and cold;
I'll bet that you've got a fever."
"Perhaps so, a little; I got wet through; I have just come from Nogent,
and I was out in part of the storm."
"You must go to bed at once when you get home, and try to keep very
warm."
Violette took the young messenger's arm. They crossed the bridge at Rue
d'Angouleme, and soon reached Rue de Crussol. The girl stopped in front
of the house where Chicotin had found rooms for Roncherolle.
"This is the place," said Violette.
"Ah! what a coincidence! this is my customer's house. Which floor do you
live on?"
"Oh! way up at the top, under the eaves; I believe it's the sixth floor;
but the room is very pleasant, I assure you."
"That must be right over my gouty man. Is Mere Lamort your concierge?"
"Yes, a very good-hearted woman who always wants to get my breakfast."
"Well, mamzelle, take my advice and tell her to bring you up a mulled
egg to-night; that will prevent you from being sick. Good-night,
mamzelle; when I go to see my old gentleman, I'll ask the concierge
about you. You don't bear me any grudge, mamzelle, do you?"
"Oh! no indeed, Chicotin; on the contrary, you prevented me from
committing a crime, and you have brought hope back to my heart."
"Good-night then, mamzelle; I'll go back to look after the coal."
XXXV
THE VICISSITUDES OF FORTUNE
Let us turn back a little and pay a visit to Madame de Grangeville, whom
we left at the moment when she found herself alone with her husband, in
the little wood belonging to Monsieur Glumeau.
That meeting excited the lady intensely, not with that emotion which
makes the heart beat fast by recalling pleasant memories, for the
baroness had always been too much of a flirt to be sentimental; but the
sight of her husband had caused her anxiety, almost terror; then,
turning back for a moment to the past and comparing it with her present
situation, she had been unable to keep from regretting the position
which she occupied when she was Comtesse de Brevanne, and the fortune
which permitted her to gratify all her whims.
The five hundred francs which Monsieur de Merval had handed her, on the
pretence that he owed them to her, had not lasted long in the hands of a
woman who had always been a consumer of money.
When Madame de Grangeville saw at a milliner's a hat or a bonnet to her
liking, she must have it, no matter at what price. As for the interior
of her establishment, we have seen that she turned over the management
of it to her maid Lizida; the result was that the creditors were
numerous.
On the morning after the little party given by the Glumeaus, at which
the baroness was present, she rang for Lizida the instant she woke.
"Did madame enjoy herself yesterday at Nogent?" asked the maid. "Madame
returned at daybreak, I believe. Was there a carriage there to bring
madame back to Paris?"
"Oh! my dear Lizida, I have many things to tell you. Yes, some young
gentlemen brought me back in their carriage. They were very
good-looking, those same young gentlemen, and dressed in the latest
fashion. But if you knew whom I met at the party! I am still all of a
quiver thinking of it!"
"Some suitor, some lover of madame, who would have liked to abduct her
by force, to carry her off into the country?"
"Oh, no! you are nowhere near it!--At that party I met--my husband!"
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, Lizida, and you must understand how that upset me. Luckily it was
in the woods; he was not very near me, but I recognized him instantly;
he has hardly changed at all; it is surprising, but I really thought
that he was better-looking than he used to be."
"And of course he recognized madame too?"
"Oh! instantly; I saw that by his expression."
"He looked at madame with affection, I warrant?"