THE INTERVIEW
This time, also, the metamorphosis of the Marquis was complete. He
seemed to be not more than twenty years of age; his chestnut hair,
without powder, parted in the middle over his forehead, framed his
charming face, candid and ingenuous. He was clothed in black; he dropped
his eyes timidly, twirled his hat in his hands with an embarrassed air,
and remained near the door without daring to move a step.
The _conseillère_, agitated, irritated and threatening, with her hand
upon the poniard, expecting to see a bold and brilliant gentleman of
audacious mien and free speech, stood stupefied at the appearance of
this youth of such rare beauty, who, quite intimidated, seemed to
hesitate to approach her.
Hardly believing her eyes, and fearing some mistake, Martha said to him
sharply:
"Are you really the Marquis de Létorière!"
"Yes, madame _la conseillère_," replied the Marquis, with a trembling
voice, not lifting his eyes, and blushing deeply.
"Do you come from France?"
"Yes, madame _la conseillère_; I arrived here three days ago." . . .
At the sound of this sweet voice, so pure and youthful in tone, Martha's
astonishment was doubled; she dropped her poniard, leaned towards the
Marquis, and said in a milder voice:
"You are, then, the Marquis de Létorière, a party in a lawsuit?"
"Yes, madame _la conseillère_". . .
"In a lawsuit against the Dukes of Brunswick and Brandenbourg?"
"Yes, madame _la conseillère._"
Hearing these answers, almost childlike in simplicity, and stammered out
timidly, Martha, reassured, rose and took two steps towards the door,
saying to the Marquis:
"Come nearer, sir!" . . .
Létorière, for the first time, raised his great tender and melancholy
eyes, looked earnestly at the lady, and then lowered them under his long
eyelashes.
In her whole life Martha had never encountered a look at once so sweet
and so seductive; she was moved, and said to the Marquis, with a sort of
quick impatience:
"Come nearer, sir! . . . one would say that I frightened you." . . .
"Oh, no, madame _la conseillère_; you do not frighten me. . . . 'For
the virtuous woman is an excellent gift, and she shall be given to man
for his good deeds,' says the Scripture."
"He quotes Scripture!" cried Martha, with admiration, her fears quite
dispelled. "But I do really intimidate you?"
"Madame . . . it is because you are so majestic . . . you resemble so
much one of the daughters of our king, that my heart beats in spite of
myself;" and the Marquis placed his hand upon his heart with a movement
full of grace. "Mercy on me, I can hardly speak! Ah! do not wish me to
do it, madame. Self-command is impossible in circumstances like these,"
said Létorière, casting a look at once timid and imploring upon the
lady, who was flattered by the effect she produced, and by her
resemblance to one of the daughters of the King of France.
"I don't know whether I am asleep or awake," said Martha to herself;
"how is it that he has been called shameless? audacious? a pitiless
seducer? But perhaps he is playing with me! perhaps this appearance of
candor is only an abominable feint of the evil spirit! Perhaps it is
only the artifice of the tiger, who approaches his prey with soft steps,
the better to seize and devour it!"
As this suspicion took possession of her mind, imitating, to a certain
extent, in her retreat, the side-ling and stealthy step of the tiger,
she prudently regained her fortress, that is to say, the table, and said
softly to her husband:
"Prepare your blunderbuss, Flachsinfingen . . . the moment
approaches . . ."
By quick movement under the cover, it was impossible to guess whether
the councillor raised his blunderbuss or made an impatient gesture.
Once safely intrenched, with her poniard near at hand, the lady resumed
her imperious tone, her repulsive physiognomy, and said, harshly, to
Létorière:
"Well! and what do you want, sir? My husband is convinced of the justice
of the claims of the German princes, and all your efforts will be
useless."
"Adieu, then, madame, since you will not deign to hear me! I have no
longer any hope. . . . Alas! ye Fates, how unhappy I am!"
The Marquis, putting one of his hands before his eyes, turned towards
the door in profound dejection.
Noting this movement, which was far from announcing hostile intentions,
and hearing this accent of despair, the councillor's wife forgot all her
suspicions, emerged for the second time from her fortress, approached
the Marquis, and said to him in a softer voice, but which betrayed a
little pettishness:
"Who told you I would not listen to you, young man? Why are you going
away? Although the question of your lawsuit may be settled, it is my
husband's duty to listen to your claims. . . . Confide in me, then . . .
reassure yourself. Have I such a terrifying look? See, come near
me,--don't be afraid!" And thus speaking, Martha took the Marquis by the
hand and led him slowly to a scat, repeating: "Tranquillize yourself;
you must not be afraid of me any more, my child."
At this moment a burst of roaring laughter was heard, the cloth on the
table was suddenly thrust aside, and the great fat councillor appeared,
blunderbuss in hand, crying with increasing merriment:
"Where is your poniard now? where is your helmet? where is your buckler,
Martha? It is you who have to soothe this Pharaoh! this Nebuchadnezzar.
. . . Ah, ha! behold Judith calming the emotion of Holofernes!"
All this was utterly incomprehensible to Létorière, who, for the
moment, surprised by the sudden apparition of the councillor, could
hardly control the desire to laugh which the grotesque figure of
Flachsinfingen excited.
But Martha, as much irritated as humiliated by her husband's raillery at
the foolish precautions she had taken, rushed towards him angrily,
crying:
"Are you not ashamed to employ such vile means to play the spy upon your
wife? Oh, you odious tyrant! Oh, you abominably jealous man! God o'
mercy! have I ever given you cause to doubt my virtue?"
And Martha raised her eyes towards heaven to call God to witness the
injustice of the poor councillor's suspicion, who, astonished, stupefied
by such unexpected reproaches, stood with open mouth, the blunderbuss in
his hand.
"How then, my wife," said he; "you? . . ."
"I will hear nothing from you," said Martha, taking him by the arm . . .
"Leave me." . . .
"But, . . ."
"Go away, sir . . . go away . . . your presence makes me sick!" and
Martha rudely pushed her husband towards the door of a closet which
opened from the room.
"But . . . my wife!" . . . said the councillor, still expostulating.
"And before this young man, too! Heavens! what will he think of me?"
cried Martha.
"But, what the devil! . . . it is you who . . ."
"To lie in ambush there traitorously, with a blunderbuss!" added Martha.
"But really . . . my wife!"--and the councillor, losing ground, was
still pushed towards the door.
"A veritable assassin! worthy of an Italian bandit!" continued Martha,
with horror.
"Nevertheless, wife, it was you who . . ."
"An Aulic Councillor to play such a part! You disgust me! . . . go out!
. . . go out!" . . .
And after a pretty long struggle, Flachsinfingen disappeared in the
closet, of which his wife drew the bolts.
"Well done!" said Létorière, laughing inwardly at seeing himself shut
up with Martha; "it is no longer she, but myself now, who has need of
defence. . . . I don't like the presence of the man with the
blunderbuss," he added, looking round him with a frightened air.
Martha soon returned, her eyes cast down like an offended prude's.
"I am so confused at this scene, sir! . . . Alas! my husband is
unhappily jealous . . . frightfully jealous! Good gracious! without the
least reason! He is, in short, so fanciful, that, knowing I was going to
have an interview with you . . . with a young gentleman" . . . and the
lady hesitated, "whom they say; . . . in short . . . whose reputation is
such; . . . in a word . . . my husband hid himself . . . for . . . my
grief! you comprehend the rest!"
"Yes, madame, I have already been told that the councillor was very
jealous," said the Marquis, timidly.
"Ah! . . . you have been told that!"--and Martha simpered.
"Yes, madame, I have been told that the councillor was very jealous of
the influence which you exercise over his clients, who always address
themselves to you rather than to him. . . . You are known to be so good
. . . to possess such a correct judgment . . . and yet your husband
ought to bless you every day; for the Scripture says, _The husband who
has a good wife is happy, and that the number of his years shall be
doubled._" This was said with an expression of such virgin innocence,
with so gentle and pious an accent, that Martha, stupefied, after taking
a long look at the enchanting face, said to herself: "He is a true
paschal lamb. . . . Poor innocent! . . . sacred texts always in his
mind! . . . how he interests me!" . . . and she added aloud:
"Tell me how it is, that, young as you are, your parents allow you to
travel alone? How is it that they confide so important a lawsuit to your
inexperience?"
"Alas, madame, I am an orphan. . . . I am poor. . . . I have no one to
help me, and my only friend and guide is my old preceptor."
"But how is it that, pleasing as you are, you have such a reputation?"
"I, madame?" asked Létorière, with angelic simplicity, "what
reputation?"
The councillor's wife was confounded; she could easily understand that
stories had been exaggerated; but that a youth of such rare candor, and
of such a pious education, could pass for an heartless seducer, was
beyond her comprehension.
"Have you no relative of your name at the French court?" she asked,
anxiously.
"No, madame." . . .
"It is plain that the German princes have spread these injurious reports
about their adversary," thought Martha. "But tell me, what steps have
you taken hitherto?"
"Alas! most useless ones, madame. . . . I went first to the castle of
the Baron of Henferester." . . .
"Good heavens! poor child, did you venture into the den of that
frightful Polyphemus?"
"Yes, madame; oh, he frightened me so! And then . . ."
"Go on, go on! Tell me all; and in order to put you at your ease, I will
tell you that my husband and myself both cordially detest the baron."
"I did not know that, madame; that is why I feared . . . to tell
you . . ."
"No, no, tell me all!"
"Well, madame, I went to the castle of Henferester. The baron began to
ridicule me because I went in a carriage instead of on horseback."
"The wicked old centaur! . . . He thinks that everybody is like himself,
all iron and steel," said Martha, contemptuously.
"Then, when I began to speak to him of my lawsuit, he said to me in his
loud voice "'_Dinner first, . . . we can talk better glass in hand._'"
"The drunkard! I recognize him there."
"Not daring to oppose the baron, I went to the table; but at the risk of
displeasing him, as he had not said grace, I asked his permission to say
it."
"Poor little martyr! . . . Well done, my child! and the brute let you
say it, I hope?"
"Yes, madame, but he afterwards laughed so much that I felt
scandalized." . . .
"I believe it. . . . Unfortunate lamb! . . . where were you straying,
God of heaven!"
"As I ate but little, the baron said to me, 'You have dined, then?' 'No
sir,' I answered, 'but the Scripture says: _Be not eager at the
feast._'" . . .
"Well answered . . . to this glutton; my child, you might have added as
a prediction that sleeplessness, and colic, and pains in the belly, are
the inheritance of the intemperate,[18] and that is truly what I wish to
him, the wicked brute!"
"Then, madame, he gave me a great glass filled with pure wine, telling
me to pledge him. . . . 'But, sir,' said I, 'I never drink clear wine.'
Then, madame, he shouted with laughter, and answered me: 'That's no
matter . . . drink away' . . . to your mistress!'"
"To say such things to a child of that age! What abominable corruption!"
and the _conseillère_ lifted up her hands to heaven.
"I did not understand what the baron said to me; I touched my lips to
the great glass, and put it back on the table without drinking a drop.
Then the baron looked me through and through, saying, in a loud voice,
'You do not drink wine, you eat nothing, you do not talk. Perhaps you
would be more communicative between a tankard of kirchenwasser and a
pipe well filled with tobacco.'"
"Kirchenwasser! a pipe! oh, the old sinner! to want to impart his odious
barrack tastes to this youth, who seems more like a young girl than a
young man!"
"But" I answered the baron, 'I never drink strong liquors, and I have
never smoked.' . . . Then he began to swear--and how he did swear!--till
I was ashamed for him, and he said: 'You don't smoke, you don't drink; I
see that we shall not come to an understanding, for I interest myself
only in people who resemble me! At least you hunt?' 'Yes sir, I have
shot larks with a mirror.' Then, madame, he began to laugh, and to swear
harder than ever, and said: 'Young man, excuse my frankness, but the
Lord of Henferester would rather never touch wine, a bridle, or a gun
again, than to take the part of a shooter of larks. . . I can do nothing
for you.' And so, madame, I quitted the baron, and came away in utter
despair."
"And Doctor Sphex,--have you seen him?" asked Martha, thoughtfully.
"Yes, madame, but he asked me, the first thing, if I was acquainted with
profane literature . . . and a certain heathen author named Persius,
which I have been told is improper for one of my age to read. I told him
no; then he said that my cause was bad, and that my adversaries had the
right of the case. . . . So I saw that there was no more hope in that
quarter than in the other."
The _conseillère_ felt profoundly moved.
"Listen, my child!" said she; "you interest me more than I can tell you.
. . . I am pained to see the other councillors so opposed to your
interests; I can do nothing with them; all that I can do, is to endeavor
to secure for you my husband's vote." . . .
"Ah! madame, can it be true?" cried Létorière, with an expression of
the most lively gratitude. "Ah! the Scripture is right in saying: _The
virtuous woman is the joy of her husband; she makes him pass all the
years of his life in peace._ . . . Yes, madame, for I will bless your
husband, and he will be proud of having--thanks to you--made the just
cause to triumph."
"Always Scripture! he might truly be called a little clergyman," said
Martha, with enthusiasm. "But," continued she, "don't indulge in foolish
hopes, nor despair utterly; the baron and the doctor may yet revise
their resolutions." . . . And Martha added to herself: "How much it
costs me to deceive him so! He has very little chance, but I have not
the heart to undeceive him."
"Ah, madame!" cried Létorière, throwing himself on his knees, "I feel
it,--you will be my good angel. . . . To you I shall owe all the
happiness of my future life. . . . Heavens! madame, how good and
generous you are! Oh, let me here, at your feet, thank you again and
again!"
The lady, very much moved and softened, turned her head, and said gently
to the Marquis, giving him her hand to kiss . . .
"Come, come, my child, get up; don't stay there!" . . .
The Marquis, still on his knees, resolutely took the hand which she
offered to him, carried it bravely to his lips, shutting his eyes, and
saying, in a grateful and passionate voice:
"Oh, madame, how can I ever be grateful enough for all your
kindness!" . . .
"Well, well, little simpleton," said Martha, softly disengaging her
hand, and giving Létorière a slight tap with the other, "are you going
to make me repent of my kindness?" . . .
After the Marquis had thrown himself at Martha's feet, the jolly face of
the councillor, still armed with his blunderbuss, had cautiously
appeared at an oval window over the door of the closet in which he was
shut up.
Seeing his wife so little disposed to use her poniard to repulse this
Holofernes, this Tarquin, this Nebuchadnezzar, the councillor, wishing
playfully to revenge himself for his incarceration, fired his
blunderbuss in the air, exclaiming, "Martha, did you not cry, 'To me,
Flachsinfingen!'"
Then resting his elbows on the window, he began to laugh boisterously.
His wife, provoked by this new outburst of factiousness, fell in feigned
convulsions.
Létorière escaped, calling for help, and left Martha in the hands of
her women and her husband, who, seeing the unhappy issue of his
pleasantry, hastily came out to seek pardon for his impertinence.
[Footnote 18: Ecclesiasticus, XXI. 20.]