“But never mind! I shall be saved!”
Her safety depended upon one single point: if she could manage to live
till she came of age, or till Daniel returned, all was right.
“Is it really so hard to live?” she thought. “The daughters of poor
people, who are as completely forsaken as I am, nevertheless live. Why
should not I live also?”
Why?
Because the children of poor people have served, so to say, from the
cradle, an apprenticeship of poverty,--because they are not afraid of a
day without work, or a day without bread,--because cruel experience has
armed them for the struggle,--because, in fine, they know life, and they
know Paris,--because their industry is adapted to their wants, and
they have an innate capacity to obtain some advantage from every thing,
thanks to their smartness, their enterprise, and their energy.
But Count Ville-Handry’s only daughter--the heiress of many millions,
brought up, so to say, in a hothouse, according to the stupid custom of
modern society--knew nothing at all of life, of its bitter realities,
its struggles, and its sufferings. She had nothing but courage.
“That is enough,” she said to herself. “What we will do, we can do.”
Thus resolved to seek aid from no one, she set to work examining her
condition and her resources.
As to objects of any value, she owned the cashmere which she had
wrapped around her when she fled, the dressing-case in her mother’s
travelling-bag, a brooch, a watch, a pair of pretty ear-rings, and,
lastly, two rings, which by some lucky accident she had forgotten to
take off, one of which was of considerable value. All this, she thought,
must have cost, at least, eight or nine thousand francs; but for how
much would it sell? since she was resolved to sell it. This was the
question on which her whole future depended.
But how could she dispose of these things? She wanted to have it all
settled, so as to get rid of this sense of uncertainty; she wanted,
especially, to pay for the scanty, wretched furniture in her chamber.
Whom could she ask to help her? For nothing in the world would she have
confided in Mrs. Chevassat; for her instincts told her, that, if she
once let that terrible woman see what were her necessities, she would
be bound hand and foot to her. She was thinking it out, when the idea
of the pawnbroker occurred to her. She had heard such men spoken of; but
she only knew that they kept places where poor people could get money
upon depositing a pledge.
“That is the place I must go to,” Henrietta said to herself.
But how was she to find one?
“Well, I’ll find it some way,” she said.
So she went down, to Mrs. Chevassat’s great astonishment, but without
answering her questions, where she was going to in such a hurry.
Having turned at the first corner, she went on at haphazard, walking
quite rapidly, and not minding the passers-by, entirely occupied in
looking at the houses and the sign-boards. But for more than an hour she
wandered thus through all the small streets and alleys in those suburbs;
she found nothing, and it was getting dark.
“And still I won’t go home till I have found it,” she said to herself
wrathfully.
This resolution gave her courage to go up to a policeman, and, crimson
like a poppy, to ask him,--
“Will you be so kind, sir, as to tell me a pawnbroker’s shop?”
The man looked with pity at the young girl, whose whole person exhaled
a perfume of distinction and of candor, asking himself, perhaps, what
terrible misfortune could have reduced a lady like her to such a step;
then he answered with a sigh,--
“There, madam, at the corner of the first street on the right, you will
find a loan office.”
“Loan office?” These words suggested to Henrietta no clear idea. But it
mattered not. She went on in feverish haste, recognized the house that
had been pointed out to her, went up stairs, and, pushing open a door,
found herself in a large room, where some twenty people were standing
about, waiting.
On the right hand three or four clerks, shut off from the public by a
railing breast-high, were writing down the names of the depositors, and
counting out money. Far back, a large opening was visible, where another
clerk appeared from time to time, to take in the articles that were
pawned. After waiting for five minutes, and without asking a question
from anybody, Henrietta understood the whole process. Trembling as if
she had committed a crime, she went to the opening behind, and put
upon the ledge one of her rings, the most valuable of the two. Then she
waited, not daring to look up; for it seemed to her as if all eyes were
upon her.
“One diamond ring!” cried the clerk. “Nine hundred francs. Whose is it?”
The large amount caused all to look around; and a big woman, but too
well dressed, and with a very impudent expression, said,--
“Oh, oh! The damsel dresses well!”