“I pledge my word of honor!”
This promise seemed to re-assure Daniel; and, when he thought he had
recovered sufficient control over himself, he said,--
“Some months ago, my dear friend, I heard you telling somebody a
horrible story concerning a certain Mrs. Sarah Brandon”--
“Miss, if you please, not Mrs.”
“Well, it does not matter. You know her?”
“Certainly. Everybody knows her.”
Daniel did not notice the extreme self-conceit with which these words
were uttered.
“All right, then. Now, Maxime, I conjure you, by our friendship, tell
me frankly what you think of her. What kind of a woman is this Miss
Brandon?”
His features, as well as his voice, betrayed such extreme excitement,
that Brevan was almost stunned. At last he said,--
“But, my dear fellow, you ask me that in a manner”--
“I must know the truth, I tell you. It is of the utmost importance to
me.”
Brevan, struck by a sudden thought, touched his forehead, and
exclaimed,--
“Oh, I see! You are in love with Sarah!”
Daniel would never have thought of such a subterfuge in order to avoid
mentioning the name of Count Ville-Handry; but, seeing it thus offered
to him, he determined to profit by the opportunity.
“Well, yes, suppose it is so,” he said with a sigh.
Maxime raised his hands to heaven, and said in a tone of painful
conviction,--
“In that case you are right. You ought to inquire; for you may be close
upon a terrible misfortune.”
“Ah, is she really so formidable?”
Maxime shrugged his shoulders, as if he were impatient at being called
upon to prove a well-known fact, and said,--
“I should think so.”
There seemed to be no reason why Daniel should persist in his questions
after that. Those words ought to have been explanation enough.
Nevertheless he said in a subdued voice,--
“Pray explain, Maxime! Don’t you know, that, as I lead a very quiet
life, I know nothing?”
Brevan, looking more serious than he had ever done, rose and replied,
leaning against the mantlepiece,--
“What would you have me tell you? It is only fools who call out to
lovers to beware; and to warn a man who will not be warned, is useless.
Are you really in love with Miss Sarah, or are you not? If you are,
nothing that I could say would change your mind. Suppose I were to tell
you that this Sarah is a wretched creature, an infamous forger, who has
already the death of three poor devils on her conscience, who loved her
as you do? Suppose I told you worse things than these, and could prove
them? Do you know what would happen? You would press my hand with
effusion. You would overwhelm me with thanks, tears in your eye. You
would vow, in the candor of your heart, that you are forever cured, and,
when you leave me”--
“Well?”
“You would rush to your beloved, tell her all I said, and beseech her to
clear herself of all these charges.”
“I beg your pardon; I am not one of those men who”--
But Brevan was getting more and more excited. He interrupted his friend,
and said,--
“Nonsense! You are a man like all other men. Passion does not reason,
does not calculate; and that is the secret of its strength. As long as
we have a spark of commonsense left, we are not really in love. That is
so, I tell you; and no will, no amount of energy, can do any thing with
it. There are people who tell you soberly that they have been in love
without losing their senses, and reproach you for not keeping cool.
Bosh! Those people remind me of still champagne blaming sparkling
champagne for popping off the cork. And now, my dear fellow, have the
kindness to accept this cigar, and let us take a walk.”
Was that really so as Brevan said? Was it true that real love destroys
in us the faculty of reasoning, and of distinguishing truth from
falsehood? Did he really not love Henrietta truly, because he was on the
point of giving her up for the sake of doing his duty?
Oh, no, no! Brevan had been speaking of another kind of love,--a love
neither pure nor chaste. He spoke of those passions which suddenly
strike us down like lightning; which confound our senses, and mislead
our judgment; which destroy every thing, as fire does, and leave nothing
behind but disaster and disgrace and remorse.
But all the more painful became Daniel’s thoughts as he remembered that
Count Ville-Handry was overcome by one of these terrible passions for a
worthless creature. He could not accept Maxime’s offer.
“One word, I pray you,” he said. “Suppose I lose my free will, and
surrender absolutely; what will become of me?”