An alarming circumstance hastened the confession which Minoret was
inclined to make to Zelie; the sword of Damocles began to move above
their heads. Towards the middle of October Monsieur and Madame Minoret
received from their son Desire the following letter:--
My dear Mother,--If I have not been to see you since vacation, it
is partly because I have been on duty during the absence of my
chief, but also because I knew that Monsieur de Portenduere was
waiting my arrival at Nemours, to pick a quarrel with me. Tired,
perhaps, of seeing his vengeance on our family delayed, the
viscount came to Fontainebleau, where he had appointed one of his
Parisian friends to meet him, having already obtained the help of
the Vicomte de Soulanges commanding the troop of cavalry here in
garrison.
He called upon me, very politely, accompanied by the two
gentlemen, and told me that my father was undoubtedly the
instigator of the malignant persecutions against Ursula Mirouet,
his future wife; he gave me proofs, and told me of Goupil’s
confession before witnesses. He also told me of my father’s
conduct, first in refusing to pay Goupil the price agreed on for
his wicked invention, and next, out of fear of Goupil’s malignity,
going security to Monsieur Dionis for the price of his practice
which Goupil is to have.
The viscount, not being able to fight a man sixty-seven years of
age, and being determined to have satisfaction for the insults
offered to Ursula, demanded it formally of me. His determination,
having been well-weighed and considered, could not be shaken. If I
refused, he was resolved to meet me in society before persons
whose esteem I value, and insult me openly. In France, a coward is
unanimously scorned. Besides, the motives for demanding reparation
should be explained by honorable men. He said he was sorry to
resort to such extremities. His seconds declared it would be wiser
in me to arrange a meeting in the usual manner among men of honor,
so that Ursula Mirouet might not be known as the cause of the
quarrel; to avoid all scandal it was better to make a journey to
the nearest frontier. In short, my seconds met his yesterday, and
they unanimously agreed that I owed him reparation. A week from
to-day I leave for Geneva with my two friends. Monsieur de
Portenduere, Monsieur de Soulanges, and Monsieur de Trailles will
meet me there.
The preliminaries of the duel are settled; we shall fight with
pistols; each fires three times, and after that, no matter what
happens, the affair terminates. To keep this degrading matter from
public knowledge (for I find it impossible to justify my father’s
conduct) I do not go to see you now, because I dread the violence
of the emotion to which you would yield and which would not be
seemly. If I am to make my way in the world I must conform to the
rules of society. If the son of a viscount has a dozen reasons for
fighting a duel the son of a post master has a hundred. I shall
pass the night in Nemours on my way to Geneva, and I will bid you
good-by then.
After the reading of this letter a scene took place between Zelie and
Minoret which ended in the latter confessing the theft and relating
all the circumstances and the strange scenes connected with it, even
Ursula’s dreams. The million fascinated Zelie quite as much as it did
Minoret.
“You stay quietly here,” Zelie said to her husband, without the
slightest remonstrance against his folly. “I’ll manage the whole thing.
We’ll keep the money, and Desire shall not fight a duel.”
Madame Minoret put on her bonnet and shawl and carried her son’s letter
to Ursula, whom she found alone, as it was about midday. In spite of her
assurance Zelie was discomfited by the cold look which the young girl
gave her. But she took herself to task for her cowardice and assumed an
easy air.
“Here, Mademoiselle Mirouet, do me the kindness to read that and tell me
what you think of it,” she cried, giving Ursula her son’s letter.
Ursula went through various conflicting emotions as she read the letter,
which showed her how truly she was loved and what care Savinien took
of the honor of the woman who was to be his wife; but she had too much
charity and true religion to be willing to be the cause of death or
suffering to her most cruel enemy.
“I promise, madame, to prevent the duel; you may feel perfectly
easy,--but I must request you to leave me this letter.”
“My dear little angel, can we not come to some better arrangement.
Monsieur Minoret and I have acquired property about Rouvre,--a really
regal castle, which gives us forty-eight thousand francs a year; we
shall give Desire twenty-four thousand a year which we have in the
Funds; in all, seventy thousand francs a year. You will admit that there
are not many better matches than he. You are an ambitious girl,--and
quite right too,” added Zelie, seeing Ursula’s quick gesture of denial;
“I have therefore come to ask your hand for Desire. You will bear your
godfather’s name, and that will honor it. Desire, as you must have seen,
is a handsome fellow; he is very much thought of at Fontainebleau, and
he will soon be procureur du roi himself. You are a coaxing girl and
can easily persuade him to live in Paris. We will give you a fine house
there; you will shine; you will play a distinguished part; for, with
seventy thousand francs a year and the salary of an office, you and
Desire can enter the highest society. Consult your friends; you’ll see
what they tell you.”
“I need only consult my heart, madame.”
“Ta, ta, ta! now don’t talk to me about that little lady-killer
Savinien. You’d pay too high a price for his name, and for that little
moustache curled up at the points like two hooks, and his black hair.
How do you expect to manage on seven thousand francs a year, with a
man who made two hundred thousand francs of debt in two years?
Besides--though this is a thing you don’t know yet--all men are alike;
and without flattering myself too much, I may say that my Desire is the
equal of a king’s son.”
“You forget, madame, the danger your son is in at this moment; which
can, perhaps, be averted only by Monsieur de Portenduere’s desire to
please me. If he knew that you had made me these unworthy proposals that
danger might not be escaped. Besides, let me tell you, madame, that I
shall be far happier in the moderate circumstances to which you allude
than I should be in the opulence with which you are trying to dazzle me.
For reasons hitherto unknown, but which will yet be made known, Monsieur
Minoret, by persecuting me in an odious manner, strengthened the
affection that exists between Monsieur de Portenduere and myself--which
I can now admit because his mother has blessed it. I will also tell you
that this affection, sanctioned and legitimate, is life itself to me. No
destiny, however brilliant, however lofty, could make me change. I love
without the possibility of changing. It would therefore be a crime if
I married a man to whom I could take nothing but a soul that is
Savinien’s. But, madame, since you force me to be explicit, I must tell
you that even if I did not love Monsieur de Portenduere I could not
bring myself to bear the troubles and joys of life in the company of
your son. If Monsieur Savinien made debts, you have often paid those
of your son. Our characters have neither the similarities nor
the differences which enable two persons to live together without
bitterness. Perhaps I should not have towards him the forbearance a
wife owes to her husband; I should then be a trial to him. Pray cease to
think of an alliance of which I count myself quite unworthy, and which
I feel I can decline without pain to you; for with the great advantages
you name to me, you cannot fail to find some girl of better station,
more wealth, and more beauty than mine.”
“Will you swear to me,” said Zelie, “to prevent these young men from
taking that journey and fighting that duel?”
“It will be, I foresee, the greatest sacrifice that Monsieur de
Portenduere can make to me, but I shall tell him that my bridal crown
must have no blood upon it.”
“Well, I thank you, cousin, and I can only hope you will be happy.”
“And I, madame, sincerely wish that you may realize all your
expectations for the future of your son.”
These words struck a chill to the heart of the mother, who suddenly
remembered the predictions of Ursula’s last dream; she stood still, her
small eyes fixed on Ursula’s face, so white, so pure, so beautiful in
her mourning dress, for Ursula had risen too to hasten her so-called
cousin’s departure.
“Do you believe in dreams?” said Zelie.
“I suffer from them too much not to do so.”
“But if you do--” began Zelie.
“Adieu, madame,” exclaimed Ursula, bowing to Madame Minoret as she heard
the abbe’s entering step.
The priest was surprised to find Madame Minoret with Ursula. The
uneasiness depicted on the thin and wrinkled face of the former post
mistress induced him to take note of the two women.
“Do you believe in spirits?” Zelie asked him.
“What do you believe in?” he answered, smiling.
“They are all sly,” thought Zelie,--“every one of them! They want to
deceive us. That old priest and the old justice and that young scamp
Savinien have got some plan in their heads. Dreams! no more dreams than
there are hairs on the palm of my hand.”
With two stiff, curt bows she left the room.
“I know why Savinien went to Fontainebleau,” said Ursula to the abbe,
telling him about the duel and begging him to use his influence to
prevent it.
“Did Madame Minoret offer you her son’s hand?” asked the abbe.
“Yes.”
“Minoret has no doubt confessed his crime to her,” added the priest.
Monsieur Bongrand, who came in at this moment, was told of the step
taken by Zelie, whose hatred to Ursula was well known to him. He looked
at the abbe as if to say: “Come out, I want to speak to you of Ursula
without her hearing me.”
“Savinien must be told that you refused eighty thousand francs a year
and the dandy of Nemours,” he said aloud.
“Is it, then, a sacrifice?” she answered, laughing. “Are there
sacrifices when one truly loves? Is it any merit to refuse the son of a
man we all despise? Others may make virtues of their dislikes, but that
ought not to be the morality of a girl brought up by a de Jordy, and the
abbe, and my dear godfather,” she said, looking up at his portrait.
Bongrand took Ursula’s hand and kissed it.
“Do you know what Madame Minoret came about?” said the justice as soon
as they were in the street.
“What?” asked the priest, looking at Bongrand with an air that seemed
merely curious.
“She had some plan for restitution.”
“Then you think--” began the abbe.
“I don’t think, I know; I have the certainty--and see there!”
So saying, Bongrand pointed to Minoret, who was coming towards them on
his way home.
“When I was a lawyer in the criminal courts,” continued Bongrand, “I
naturally had many opportunities to study remorse; but I have never
seen any to equal that of this man. What gives him that flaccidity,
that pallor of the cheeks where the skin was once as tight as a drum and
bursting with the good sound health of a man without a care? What has
put those black circles round his eyes and dulled their rustic vivacity?
Did you ever expect to see lines of care on that forehead? Who would
have supposed that the brain of that colossus could be excited? The man
has felt his heart! I am a judge of remorse, just as you are a judge
of repentance, my dear abbe. That which I have hitherto observed has
developed in men who were awaiting punishment, or enduring it to get
quits with the world; they were either resigned, or breathing vengeance;
but here is remorse without expiation, remorse pure and simple,
fastening on its prey and rending him.”
The judge stopped Minoret and said: “Do you know that Mademoiselle
Mirouet has refused your son’s hand?”
“But,” interposed the abbe, “do not be uneasy; she will prevent the
duel.”
“Ah, then my wife succeeded?” said Minoret. “I am very glad, for it
nearly killed me.”
“You are, indeed, so changed that you are no longer like yourself,”
remarked Bongrand.
Minoret looked alternately at the two men to see if the priest had
betrayed the dreams; but the abbe’s face was unmoved, expressing only a
calm sadness which reassured the guilty man.
“And it is the more surprising,” went on Monsieur Bongrand, “because
you ought to be filled with satisfaction. You are lord of Rouvre and
all those farms and mills and meadows and--with your investments in the
Funds, you have an income of one hundred thousand francs--”
“I haven’t anything in the Funds,” cried Minoret, hastily.
“Pooh,” said Bongrand; “this is just as it was about your son’s love
for Ursula,--first he denied it, and now he asks her in marriage.
After trying to kill Ursula with sorrow you now want her for a
daughter-in-law. My good friend, you have got some secret in your
pouch.”
Minoret tried to answer; he searched for words and could find nothing
better than:--
“You’re very queer, monsieur. Good-day, gentlemen”; and he turned with a
slow step into the Rue des Bourgeois.
“He has stolen the fortune of our poor Ursula,” said Bongrand, “but how
can we ever find the proof?”
“God may--”
“God has put into us the sentiment that is now appealing to that man;
but all that is merely what is called ‘presumptive,’ and human justice
requires something more.”
The abbe maintained the silence of a priest. As often happens in similar
circumstances, he thought much oftener than he wished to think of the
robbery, now almost admitted by Minoret, and of Savinien’s happiness,
delayed only by Ursula’s loss of fortune--for the old lady had privately
owned to him that she knew she had done wrong in not consenting to the
marriage in the doctor’s lifetime.