“I examined myself, Daniel, and found that I answered all of Miss
Brandon’s expectations; and the result of my meditations was, that I
would be a madman to allow such happiness to escape me, and that I was
bound to risk every thing. I made up my mind, therefore, firmly, and
went to M. Elgin in order to make him aware of my intentions. I cannot
describe to you the amazement of that worthy gentleman.
“‘You are joking,’ he said at first, ‘and that pains me deeply.’
“But, when he saw that I had never in my life spoken more seriously, he,
who is usually so phlegmatic, became perfectly furious. As if I would
have come to him, if, by some impossible accident, I should have
been unhappy in my choice! But I fell from the clouds when he told me
outright that he meant to do all he could do to prevent such a match.
Nor would he give up his purpose, say what I could; and I had to use
all my skill to make him change his mind. At last, after more than two
hours’ discussion, all that I could obtain from him was the promise
that he would remain neutral, and that he would leave to Mrs. Brian the
responsibility of refusing or accepting my offer.”
He laughed, this good Count Ville-Handry, he laughed heartily, no doubt
recalling his discussion with Sir Thorn, and his triumphant skill.
“So,” he resumed, “I went to Mrs. Brian. Ah! she did not mince matters.
At the first word, she called me--God forgive her!--an old fool, and
plainly told me that I must never show myself again in Circus Street.
“I insisted; but in vain. She would not even listen to me, the old
Puritan; and, when I became pressing, she dropped me a solemn curtsey,
and left me alone in the room, looking foolish enough, I am sure.
“For the time, I had nothing to do but to go away. I did so, hoping that
her interview with her niece might induce her to change her mind. Not at
all. The next morning, when I called at the house, the servants said
Sir Thorn was out, and Mrs. Brian and Miss Brandon had just left for
Fontainebleau. The day after, the same result; and for a whole week the
doors remained closed.
“I was becoming restless, when a commissionaire, one morning, brought
me a letter. It was Miss Brandon who wrote. She asked me to be that very
day, at four o’clock, in the Bois de Boulogne, near the waterfalls;
that she would ride out in the afternoon with Sir Thorn; that she would
escape from him, and meet me.
“As a matter of course, I was punctual; and it was well I was so, for,
a few minutes after I got there, I saw her--or rather I felt her--coming
towards me, riding at full speed. When she reached me, she stopped
suddenly, and, jumping from her horse, said to me,--
“‘They watch me so jealously, that I could not write to you till to-day.
I am deeply wounded by this want of confidence, and I do not think I can
endure it any longer. Here I am, carry me off, let us go!’
“Never, O Daniel! never have I seen her look more marvellously beautiful
than she looked at that moment. She was flushed with excitement and the
rapid ride; her eyes shone with courage and passion; her lips trembled;
and then she said again,--
“‘I know I am ruining myself; and you yourself--you will probably
despise me. But never mind! Let us be gone!’”
He paused, overcome with excitement; but, soon recovering, he
continued,--
“To hear a beautiful woman tell you that! Ah, Daniel! that is an
experience which alone is worth a man’s whole life. And yet I had the
courage, mad as I felt I was becoming, to speak to her words of calm
reason. Yes, I had the sublime courage, and the almost fortuitous
control over myself, to conjure her to retreat into her house.
“She began to weep, and accused me of indifference.
“But I had discovered a way out of the difficulty, and said to her,--
“‘Sarah, go home. Write to me what you have just told me, and I am sure
I shall compel your friends to grant me your hand.’
“This she did.
“And what I had foreseen came to pass. In the face of such evidence of
what they called our madness, Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian dared not oppose
our plans any longer. After some little hesitations, and imposing
certain honorable conditions, they said to Sarah and myself,--
“‘You will have it so. Go, then, and get married.’”
This is what Count Ville-Handry called chance, a “blessed chance,” as
he said, utterly unmindful of the whole chain of circumstances which he
himself related. From the accident that had befallen M. Elgin, and the
fainting-fit of Miss Brandon, to the meeting in the Bois de Boulogne
and the proposed runaway-match, all seemed to him perfectly natural and
simple,--even the sudden enthusiasm of a young, frivolous woman for his
political opinions, and the learning by heart of his speeches.
Daniel was amazed. That a man like the count should be so perfectly
blind to the intrigue that was going on around him, seemed to him
incomprehensible. The count, however, was not so blind, that he should
not have at least suspected the nature of Daniel’s feelings.
“What are you thinking of?” he asked. “Come, let us hear your opinion.
Tell us frankly that you suspect Miss Brandon, and accuse her of trying
to catch me in her snares, or, at least, of having selfish views.”
“I do not say so,” stammered Daniel.
“No, but you think so; and that is worse. Well, come; I think I can
convince you of your mistake. What do you think Miss Brandon would gain
by marrying me? A fortune, you say. I have only one word in reply; but
that is sufficient; Miss Brandon is richer than I am.”
How, and at what price, Miss Brandon had managed to possess herself of
such a fortune, Daniel knew but too well from Maxime’s account; hence he
could not suppress a nervous shudder, which the count noticed, and which
irritated him.
“Yes, richer than I am,” he repeated. “The oil-wells which she has
inherited from her father bring her in, bad years and good years, from
thirty to forty thousand dollars a year, and that in spite of their
being sadly mismanaged. If they were well managed, they would produce,
three, four, or five times as much, or even more. Sir Thorn has proved
to me that they are an almost inexhaustible mine of wealth. If petroleum
was not fabulously profitable, how would you account for the oil-fever
with which these cool, calculating Americans have suddenly been seized,
and which has made more millionaires than the gold-fever in California
and the Territories? Ah! there is something to be made there yet, and
something grand, if one could dispose of a large capital.”
He became excited, and forgot himself; but he soon checked himself. He
had evidently been on the point of letting a secret leak out. After a
few moments, he continued more calmly,--
“But enough of that. I trust your suspicions are removed. Next you
may tell me that Miss Brandon takes me because she can do no better.
Mistaken again, my friend. At this very moment she is called upon to
choose between me and a much younger man than I am, whose fortune,
moreover, is larger than mine,--Mr. Wilkie Gordon.”
How did it come about that Count Ville-Handry seemed to appeal to
Daniel, and to plead his cause before him? Daniel did not even think
of asking himself that question; his mind was in a state of utter
confusion. Still, as the count insisted on having his opinion, as he
urged him, and repeatedly asked, “Well, do you see any other objection?”
he forgot at last his friend’s prudent warning, and said in a troubled
voice,--
“No doubt, count, you know Miss Brandon’s family?”
“Certainly! Do you think I would buy a cat in a bag? Her excellent
father was a model of honesty.”
“And--her previous life?”
The count started from his chair, and, casting a savage glance at
Daniel, said,--
“Oh, oh! I see one of those rascally slanderers, who have tried to
tarnish the honor of the noblest and chastest of all women, has already
been at work here, anticipating my communication to you, and repeating
those infamous calumnies. You must give me the name of the scoundrel.”
Unconsciously, almost, Daniel turned towards the door, behind which
M. de Brevan was listening. Perhaps he expected him to come forth; but
Maxime did not stir.
“Sarah’s previous life!” continued the count. “I know every hour of it;
and I can answer for it as for my own. The darling! Before consenting
to be mine, she insisted upon my knowing every thing, yes, every thing,
without reserve or boastfulness; and I know what she has suffered. Did
they not actually say she had been the accomplice of a wretched thief, a
cashier of some bank, who had become a defaulter? Did they not say that
she had driven a foolish young man, a gambler, to commit suicide; and
that she had watched, unmoved, the tortures of his agony? Ah! you
have only to look at Miss Brandon to know that these vile stories are
wretched inventions of malicious enemies and rivals. And look here,
Daniel; you may believe me; whenever you see people calumniate a man
or a woman, you may rest assured that that man or woman has, somehow
or other, wounded or humiliated some vulgar person, some mean, envious
fool, who cannot endure his or her superiority in point of fortune,
rank, or beauty and talent.”
He had actually recovered his youthful energy in thus defending his
beloved. His eye brightened up; his voice became strong, and his
gestures animated.
“But no more of that painful topic,” he said: “let us talk seriously.”
He rose, and leaning on the mantelpiece, so as to face Daniel, he
said,--
“I told you, my dear Daniel, that Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian insisted upon
certain conditions before they consented to our marriage. One is, that
Miss Brandon is to be received by my relations as she deserves to
be, not only respectfully, but affectionately, even tenderly. As to
relations, there is not any. I have some remote cousins, who, having
nothing to expect from me when I die, do not trouble themselves any more
about me than I trouble myself about them. But I have a daughter; and
there is the danger. I know she is distressed at the idea of my marrying
again. She cannot bear the mere idea that another woman is to take the
place of her mother, to bear her name, and to rule in my house.”
Daniel began at last to know what he had to understand by that
unsuccessful appointment which had procured him the pleasure of a visit
from Count Ville-Handry.
“Now,” continued the latter, “I know my daughter. She is her mother over
again, weak, but obstinate beyond endurance. If she has taken it into
her head to receive Miss Brandon uncivilly, she will do so, in spite of
all she has promised me, and she will make a terrible scene of it.
And if Miss Brandon consents, in spite of all, to go on, my house will
become a hell to me, and my wife will suffer terribly. Now the question
is, whether I have sufficient influence over Henrietta to bring her to
reason. I think not. But this influence which I have not--a very nice
young man may have it; and that man is you.”
Daniel had turned red. It was for the first time that the count spoke so
clearly. He went on,--
“I have never disapproved of my poor wife’s plans; and the proof is,
that I have allowed you to pay your attentions to my daughter. But now I
make this condition: if my daughter is to Miss Brandon what she ought
to be to her, a tender and devoted sister, then, six months after my
wedding, there shall be another wedding at my house.”