“There was no future for me, sir, when I sought refuge in death.”
“But”--
“Oh, don’t try to convince me, sir! What I did, I had to do. I felt how
life was leaving me, and I only wished to shorten the agony. I had not
eaten any thing for three days when I lit that charcoal. Even to get the
charcoal, I had to risk a falsehood, and cheat the woman who let me have
it in credit. And yet God knows I was not wanting in courage. I would
have done the coarsest, hardest work cheerfully, joyously. But how did
I know how to get work? I asked Mrs. Chevassat a hundred times to obtain
employment for me; but she always laughed at me; and, when I begged
hard, she said”--
She stopped; and her face became crimson with shame. She dared not
repeat what the wife of the concierge had said. But she added in a voice
trembling with womanly shame and deep indignation,--
“Ah, that woman is a wicked creature!”
The old merchant was probably fully aware of the character of Mrs.
Chevassat. He guessed only too readily what kind of advice she had given
this poor girl of twenty, who had turned to her for help in her great
suffering. He uttered an oath which would have startled even that
estimable woman, and then said warmly,--
“I understand, Miss Henrietta, I understand. Do you think I don’t know
what you must have suffered? I know poverty, as well as you. I can
understand your purpose but too well. Who would not give up life itself
when everybody abandons us? But I do not understand your despair, now
that circumstances have changed.”
“Alas, sir, how have they changed?”
“How? What do you mean? Don’t you see me? Do you think I would leave
you, after having been just in time to save your life? That would be
nice! No, my dear child, compose yourself; poverty shall not come near
you again, I’ll see to that. You want somebody to advise you, to defend
you; and here I am; if you have enemies, let them beware! Come, smile
again, and think of the good times a-coming.”
But she did not smile; she looked frightened, almost stupefied. Making
a supreme effort, she looked fixedly at the old man to see if she could
read in his face what were his real thoughts. He, on his part, was
seriously troubled by his failure to inspire her with confidence.
“Do you doubt my promises?” he asked her.
She shook her head; and uttering her words one by one, as if to give
them greater weight, she said,--
“I beg your pardon, sir. I do not doubt you. But I cannot understand why
you should offer me your kind protection.”
Papa Ravinet affected a greater surprise than he really felt, and said,
raising his hands to heaven,--
“Great God! she mistrusts my good will.”
“Sir!”
“Pray what can you have to fear from me? I am an old man; you are almost
a child. I come to help you. Is not that perfectly natural, and quite
simple?”
She said nothing; and he remained a few moments buried in thought, as if
trying to find out her motive for refusing his help. Suddenly he cried
out, beating his forehead,--
“Ah, I have it. That woman Chevassat has talked to you about me, no
doubt. Ah, the viper! I’ll crush her one of these days! Come, let us be
frank; what has she told you?”
He hoped she would say a word at least. He waited; but nothing came.
Then he broke forth, with a vehemence scarcely controlled, and in words
very unexpected from a man like him,--
“Well, I will tell you what the old thief has told you. She told you
Papa Ravinet was a dangerous, ill-reputed man, who carried on in the
dark all kind of suspicious trades. She told you the old scamp was a
usurer, who knew no law, and kept no promise; whose only principle was
profit; who dealt in every thing with everybody, selling to-day old iron
in junk-shops, and to-morrow cashmere shawls to fashionable ladies; and
who lent money on imaginary securities--the talent of men and the beauty
of women. In fine, she told you that it was a piece of good-fortune for
a woman to be under my protection, and you knew it was a disgrace.”
He stopped, as if to give the poor girl time to form her judgment, and
then went on more calmly,--
“Let us suppose there is such a Papa Ravinet as she has described. But
there is another one, whom but few people know, who has been sorely
tried by misfortune; and he is the one who now offers his aid to you.”
There is no surer way to make people believe in any virtue we have, or
wish to appear to have, than to accuse ourselves of bad qualities, or
even vices, which we do not have. But, if the old man had calculated
upon this policy, he failed signally. Henrietta remained as icy as ever,
and said,--
“Believe me, sir, I am exceedingly obliged to you for all you have done
for me, and for your effort to convince me.”
The poor man looked disappointed.
“In fact, you reject my offers, because I do not explain them to you by
any of the usual motives. But what can I tell you? Suppose I should say
to you that I have a daughter who has secretly left me, so that I do
not know what has become of her, and that her memory makes me anxious
to serve you. May I not have said to myself, that perhaps she is
struggling, just as you have done, with poverty; that she also has been
abandoned by her lover?”
The poor girl turned deadly pale as he spoke thus, and interrupted him
eagerly, raising herself on her pillows,--
“You are mistaken, sir. My position here may justify such suspicions, I
know; but I have no lover.”