For the development of Pennsylvania petroleum wells.
Capital, _Ten Million of Francs._ Twenty Thousand Shares of 500 Francs
each.
The Charter may be seen at the Office of M. Lilois, N. P.
_President_, Count Ville-Handry.
The books for subscription will be opened on the 25th of March.
principal office, _Palace of Count Ville-Handry, Rue de Varennes_.
branch office, _Rue Lepelletier, No. 1p_.
At the foot, in small print, was a full explanation of the enormous
profits which might be expected, the imperative necessity which had led
to the establishment of the Pennsylvania Petroleum Society, the nature
of its proposed operations, the immense services which it would render
to the world at large, and, above all, the immense profits which would
promptly accrue to the stockholders.
Then there came an account of petroleum or oil wells, in which it
was clearly demonstrated that this admirable product represented, in
comparison with other oils, a saving of more than sixty per cent;
that it gave a light of matchless purity and brilliancy; that it burnt
without odor; and, above all, that, in spite of what might have been
said by interested persons, there was no possible danger of explosion
connected with its use.
“In less than twenty years,” concluded the report in a strain of lyric
prophecy, “petroleum will have taken the place of all the primitive
and useless illuminating mediums now employed. It will replace, in like
manner, all the coarse and troublesome varieties of fuel of our day.
In less than twenty years the whole world will be lighted and heated by
petroleum; and the oil-wells of Pennsylvania are inexhaustible.”
A eulogy on the president, Count Ville-Handry, crowned the whole
work,--a very clever eulogy, which called him a man sent by Providence;
and, alluding to his colossal fortune, suggested that, with such a
manager at the head of the enterprise, the shareholders could not
possibly run any risk.
Henrietta was overwhelmed with surprise. “Ah!” she said to herself,
“this is what Sarah Brandon and her accomplices were aiming at. My
father is ruined!”
That Count Ville-Handry should risk all he possessed in this terrible
game of speculation was not so surprising to Henrietta. But what
she could not comprehend was this, that he should assume the whole
responsibility of such a hazardous enterprise, and run the terrible
risk of a failure. How could he, with his deeply-rooted aristocratic
prejudices, ever consent to lend his name to an industrial enterprise?
“It must have cost prodigies of patience and cunning,” she thought,
“to induce him to make such a sacrifice, such a surrender of old and
cherished convictions. They must have worried him terribly, and brought
to bear upon him a fearful pressure.”
She was, therefore, truly amazed, when, two days afterwards, she became
accidentally a witness to a lively discussion between her father and
the countess on this very subject of the famous placards, which were
now scattered all over Paris and France. The countess seemed to be
distressed by the whole affair, and presented to her husband all the
objections which Henrietta herself would have liked to have urged;
only she did it with all the authority she derived from the count’s
passionate love for her. She did not understand, she said, how her
husband, a nobleman of ancient lineage, could stoop to “making money.”
Had he not enough of it already? Would he be any happier if he had twice
or thrice as many thousands a year?
He met all these objections with a sweetish smile, like a great artist
who hears an ignoramus criticise his work. And, when the countess
paused, he deigned to explain to her in that emphatic manner which
betrayed his intense conceit, that if he, the representative of the very
oldest nobility, threw himself into the great movement, it was for the
purpose of setting a lofty example. He had no desire for “filthy lucre,”
he assured her; he only desired to render his country a great service.
“Too dangerous a service!” replied the countess. “If you succeed, as you
hope, who will thank you for it? No one. More than that, if you speak
to them of disinterestedness, they will laugh in your face. If the thing
fails, on the other hand, who is to pay? You. And they will call you a
dunce into the bargain.”
Count Ville-Handry shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly; and then
he said, taking his wife by the hand,--
“Would you love me less if I were ruined?”
She looked at him with her beautiful eyes as if overflowing with
affection, and replied in a voice full of emotion,--
“God is my witness, my friend, that I should be delighted to be able to
prove to you that I did not think of money when I married you.”
“Sarah!” cried the count in ecstasy, “Sarah, my darling, that was a word
worth the whole of that fortune which you blame me for risking.”
Even if Henrietta had been more disposed to mistrust appearances,
she would never have supposed that the whole scene was most cunningly
devised for the purpose of impressing upon the count’s feeble intellect
this idea more forcibly than ever. She was rather inclined to believe,
and she did believe, that this Petroleum Society, conceived by Sir
Thorn, was unpleasant to the countess; and that thus discord reigned in
the enemy’s camp.
The result of her meditations was a long letter to a gentleman for whom
her mother had always entertained a great esteem, the Duke of Champdoce.
After having explained to him her situation, she told him all that she
knew of the new enterprise, and besought him to interfere whilst it was
yet time.
When she had written her letter, she gave it to Clarissa, urging her
to carry it immediately to its address. Alas! the poor girl was rapidly
approaching an incident which was to bring about a crisis.
Having by chance followed the maid down stairs, she saw her go into the
Countess Sarah’s room, and hand her the letter.
Was Henrietta thus betrayed even by the girl whom she thought so fully
devoted to her interests, and since when? Perhaps from the first
day. Ah, how many things this explained to her which she had hitherto
wondered at as perfectly incomprehensible!
This last infamy, however, tempted her to lay aside for once her
carefully-nursed reserve. She rushed into the room, crimson with shame
and wrath, and said in a fierce tone,--
“Give me that letter, madam!”
Clarissa had fled when she saw her treachery discovered.
“This letter,” replied the countess coldly, “I shall hand to your
father, madam, as it is my duty to do.”
“Ah, take care, madam!” broke in the poor girl with a threatening
gesture; “take care! My patience has its limits.”
Her attitude and her accent were so terrible, that the countess thought
it prudent to put a table between herself and her victim. But suddenly
a great revolution had taken place in Henrietta’s heart. She said
roughly,--
“Look here, madam, let us have an explanation while we are alone. What
do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, I assure you.”
“Nothing? Who is it, then, that has meanly slandered me, has robbed me
of my father’s affection, surrounds me with spies, and overwhelms me
with insults? Who forces me to lead this wretched life to which I am
condemned?”
The countess showed in her features how deeply she was reflecting. She
was evidently calculating the effect of a new plan.
“You will have it so,” she replied resolutely. “Very well, then, I will
be frank with you. Yes, I am bent on ruining you. Why? You know it as
well as I do. I will ask you, in my turn, who is it that has done
every thing that could possibly be done to prevent my marriage? Who has
endeavored to crush me? Who would like to drive me from this house like
an infamous person? Is it not you, always you? Yes, you are right. I
hate you; I hate you unto death, and I avenge myself!”
“Madam!”
“Wait! What had I done to you before my marriage? Nothing. You did not
even know me by name. They came and told you atrocious stories invented
by my enemies, and you believed them. Your father told you, ‘They are
wicked libels.’ What did you answer? That ‘those only are libelled who
deserve it.’ I wanted to prove to you that it is not so. You are the
purest and chastest of girls whom I know; are you not? Very well. I defy
you to find a single person around you who does not believe that you
have had lovers.”
Extreme situations have this peculiarity, that the principal actors may
be agitated by the most furious passions, and still outwardly preserve
the greatest calmness. Thus these two women, who were burning with
mortal hatred, spoke with an almost calm voice.
“And you think, madam,” resumed Henrietta, “that sufferings like mine
can be long continued?”
“They will be continued till it pleases me to make an end to them.”
“Or till I come of age.”
The countess made a great effort to conceal her surprise.
“Oh!” she said to herself. “Oh, oh!”
“Or,” continued the young girl, “till he returns whom you have taken
from me, my betrothed, M. Daniel Champcey.”
“Stop, madam. You are mistaken. It was not I who sent Daniel away.”
Daniel! the countess said so; said familiarly, Daniel! Had she any right
to do so? How? Whence this extraordinary impudence?
Still Henrietta saw in it only a new insult; no suspicion entered her
soul, and she replied in the most ironical tone,--
“Then it was not you who sent that petition to the secretary of the
navy? It was not you who ordered and paid for that forged document which
caused M. Champcey to be ordered abroad?”
“No; and I told him so myself, the day before he left, in his own room.”
Henrietta was stunned. What? This woman had gone to see Daniel? Was this
true? It was not even plausible.
“In his room?” she repeated,--“in his room?”
“Why, yes, in University Street. I foresaw that trick which I could
not prevent, and I wished to prevent it. I had a thousand reasons for
wishing ardently that he should remain in Paris.”
“A thousand reasons? You? Tell me only one!”
The countess courtesied, as if excusing herself for being forced to tell
the truth against her inclination, and added simply,--
“I love him!”
As if she had suddenly seen an abyss opening beneath her feet, Henrietta
threw herself back, pale, trembling, her eyes starting from their
sockets.
“You---love--Daniel!” she stammered,--“you love him!”