This inspiration was, moreover, to be the last favor which Providence
vouchsafed to Henrietta,--an opportunity which, once allowed to pass,
never returns. From that moment she found herself irrevocably insnared
in a net which tightened day by day more around her, and held her a
helpless captive. She had vowed to herself, the unfortunate girl, that
she would economize her little hoard like the blood in her veins. But
how could she economize?
She was without every thing. When M. de Brevan had gone to engage
this garret-room, he had thought of nothing; or rather (and such a
calculation was quite in keeping with his cold-blooded rascality) he had
taken his measures so that his victim must soon be in utter destitution.
Without any other clothes than those she wore on the night of her
flight, she had no linen, no shoes, not a towel even to wipe her hands,
unless she borrowed them from her friend down stairs.
Accustomed as she was to all the comforts of boundless wealth, and to
all the refinements of cleanliness, these privations became to her a
genuine martyrdom. Thus she spent in a variety of small purchases more
than a hundred and fifty francs. The sum was enormous at a time when
she could already count the days to the hour when she would be without
bread. In addition to that she had to pay Mrs. Chevassat five francs a
day for her board. Five francs were another enormous sum which troubled
her grievously; for she would have been quite willing to live on
bread and water. But in that direction she thought no economizing was
possible.
One evening she had hinted at the necessity of retrenching, when Mrs.
Chevassat had shot at her a venomous glance, which pierced her to the
very marrow of her bones.
“It must be done,” she said to herself.
In her mind she felt as if the five francs were a kind of daily ransom
which she paid the estimable concierge’s wife for her good-will. It
is true, that, for such a consideration, the terrible woman was all
attention for her “poor little pussy-cat;” for thus she had definitely
dubbed Henrietta, becoming daily more familiar, and adding this odious
and irritating presumption to all the other tortures of the poor girl.
Many a time poor Henrietta had been made so indignant and furious,
that she had been on the point of rebelling; but she had never dared,
submitting to this familiarity for the same reason for which she
paid her five francs every day. The old woman, taking her silence for
consent, put no longer any restraint upon herself. She declared she
could not comprehend how her “little pussy-cat,” young and pretty as she
was, could consent to live as she did. Was that a life?
Then she always came back to M. Maxime, who continued to call regularly
twice a day, the poor young man!
“And more than that, poor little pussy,” she added, “you will see that
one of these days he will summon courage enough to come and offer you an
apology.”
But Henrietta would not believe that.
“He will never have such consummate impudence,” she thought.
He had it, nevertheless. One morning, when she had just finished
righting up her room, somebody knocked discreetly, at her door. Thinking
that it was Mrs. Chevassat, who brought her her breakfast, she went to
the door and opened it, without asking who was there. And she started
back with amazement and with terror when she recognized M. de Brevan.
It really looked as if he were making a supreme effort over himself. He
was deadly pale; his lips trembled; his eyes looked dim and uncertain;
and he moved his lips and jaws as if he had gravel in his mouth.
“I have come, madam,” he said, “to ask if you have reconsidered.”
She made no reply, looking at him with an air of contempt which would
have caused a man with some remnant of honor in his heart to flee from
the spot instantly. But he had, no doubt, armed himself beforehand,
against contempt.
“I know,” he continued, “that my conduct must appear abominable in
your eyes. I have led you into this snare, and I have meanly betrayed a
friend’s confidence; but I have an excuse. My passion is stronger than
my will, than my reason.”
“A vile passion for money!”
“You may think so, madam, if you choose. I shall not even attempt to
clear myself. That is not what I came for. I came solely for the purpose
of enlightening you in regard to your own position, which you do not
seem to realize.”
If she had followed her own impulses, Henrietta would have driven the
wretch away. But she thought she ought to know his intentions and his
plans. She overcame her disgust, therefore, and remained silent.
“In the first place,” said M. de Brevan, apparently trying to collect
his thoughts, “bear this in mind, madam. You are ruined in reputation,
and ruined through me. All Paris is convinced, by this time, that I have
run away with you; and that I keep you concealed in a charming place,
where we enjoy our mutual love; in fact, that you are my mistress.”
He seemed to expect an explosion of wrath. By no means! Henrietta
remained motionless like a statue.
“What would you have?” he went on in a tone of sarcasm. “My coachman has
been talking. Two friends of mine, who reached the palace on foot when
I drove up, saw you jump into my _coupe_; and, as if that had not been
enough, that absurd M. Elgin must needs call me out. We had a duel, and
I have wounded him.”
The manner in which the young girl shrugged her shoulders showed but too
clearly that she did not believe M. de Brevan. He added,--
“If you doubt it, madam, pray read this, then, at the top of the second
column.”