“Let me hope, madam, that this is not your last word. I shall, however,
have the honor of calling every week to receive your orders.”
And, bowing, he left the room.
“What brought him here, the wretch! What does he want of me?”
Thus she questioned herself as soon as she was alone, and the door was
‘shut.’ And her anguish increased tenfold; for she did not believe a
word of the pretexts which M. de Brevan had assigned for his visit. No,
she could not admit that he had come to see if she had reflected, nor
that he really cherished that abominable hope, that misery, hunger, and
fear would drive her into his arms.
“He ought to know me well enough,” she thought with a new access of
wrath, “to be sure that I would prefer death a thousand times.”
There was no doubt in her mind that this step, which had evidently
been extremely painful to himself, had become necessary through some
all-powerful consideration. But what could that be? By a great effort
of mind Henrietta recalled, one by one, all the phrases used by M.
de Brevan, in the hope that some word might give her light; but she
discovered nothing. All he had told her as to the consequences of her
flight, she had foreseen before she had resolved to escape. He had told
her nothing new, but his duel with Sir Thorn; and, when she considered
the matter, she thought that, also, quite natural. For did they not both
covet with equal eagerness the fortune which she would inherit from her
mother as soon as she came of age? The antagonism of their interests
explained, she thought, their hatred; for she was well convinced that
they hated each other mortally. The idea that Sir Thorn and M. de Brevan
understood each other, and pursued a common purpose, never entered her
mind; and, if it had suggested itself, she would have rejected it as
absurd.
Must she, then, come to the conclusion that M. de Brevan had really,
when he appeared before her, no other aim but to drive her to despair?
But why should he do so? what advantage would that be to him? The man
who wants to make a girl his own does not go to work to chill her with
terror, and to inspire her with ineffable disgust. Still M. de Brevan
had done this; and therefore he must aim at something different from
that marriage of which he spoke.
What was that something? Such abominable things are not done for the
mere pleasure of doing them, especially if that involves some amount of
danger. Now, it was very clear, that upon Daniel’s return, whether he
still loved Henrietta or not, M. de Brevan would have a terrible account
to give to that brave sailor who had trusted him with the care of his
betrothed. Did M. de Brevan ever think of that return? Oh, yes! he did;
and with secret terror. There was proof of that in one of the phrases
that had escaped him.
After having said, “When Daniel returns,” he had added, “if he ever
returns, which is by no means sure.”
Why this proviso? Had he any reasons to think that Daniel might perish
in this dangerous campaign? Now she remembered, yes, she remembered
distinctly, that M. de Brevan had smiled in a very peculiar way when he
had said these words. And, as she recalled this, her heart sank within
her, and she felt as if she were going to faint. Was he not capable of
anything, the wretched man, who had betrayed him so infamously,--capable
even of arming an assassin?
“Oh, I must warn Daniel!” she exclaimed, “I must warn him, and not lose
a minute.”
And, although she had written him a long letter only the day before, she
wrote again, begging him to be watchful, to mistrust everybody, because
most assuredly his life was threatened. And this letter she carried
herself to the post-office, convinced as she was that to confide it to
Mrs. Chevassat would have been the same as to send it to M. de Brevan.
It was astonishing, however, how the estimable lady seemed to become day
by day more attached to Henrietta, and how expansive and demonstrative
her affections grew. At all hours of the day, and on the most trivial
pretexts, she would come up, sit down, and for entire hours entertain
her with her intolerable speeches. She did not put any restraint upon
herself any longer, but talked “from the bottom of her heart” with
her “dear little pussy-cat,” as if she had been her own daughter.
The strange doctrines at which she had formerly only hinted, she now
proclaimed without reserve, boasting of an open kind of cynicism, which
betrayed a terrible moral perversity. It looked as if the horrible
Megsera had been deputed by Henrietta’s enemies for the special purpose
of demoralizing and depraving her, if possible, and to drive her into
the brilliant and easy life of sin in which so many unhappy women
perish.
Fortunately, in this case, the messenger was ill-chosen. The eloquence
of Mrs. Chevassat, which very likely would have inflamed the imagination
of some poor but ambitious girl, caused nothing but disgust in
Henrietta’s heart. She had gotten into the habit of thinking of other
things while the old woman was holding forth; and her noble soul floated
off to regions where these vulgarities could reach her no more.
Her life was, nevertheless, a very sad one. She never went out, spending
her days in her chamber, reading, or working at a great embroidery, a
masterpiece of patience and taste, which she had undertaken with a faint
hope that it might become useful in case of distress. But a new source
of trouble roused her soon after from this dull monotony. Her money
grew less and less; and at last the day came when she changed the last
gold-piece of her nine hundred francs. It became urgent to resort once
more to the pawnbroker; for these were the first days of April, and the
honeyed words of Mrs. Chevassat had given her to understand that she had
better get ready to pay on the 8th her rent, which amounted to a hundred
francs.
She intrusted therefore to the concierge the remaining ring to be
pawned. Calculating from the sum she had received for the first ring,
she hoped to obtain for this one, at the very least, five or six hundred
francs.
The concierge brought her one hundred and ninety francs.
At first, she was convinced the man had robbed her; and she gave him
to understand that she thought so. But he showed her the receipt in a
perfect rage.
“Look there,” he said, “and remember to whom you are talking!”
On the receipt she read in fact these words: “Advanced, two hundred
francs.” Convinced of the injustice of her accusations, Henrietta had to
make her apologies, and hardly succeeded by means of a ten-franc-piece
in soothing the man’s wounded feelings.
Alas! the poor girl did not know that one is always at liberty to pledge
an article only for a given sum, a part of its real value; and she was
too inexperienced in such matters to notice the reference to that mode
of pawning on her receipt. However, it was one of those mishaps for poor
Henrietta which cannot be mended, and from which we never recover. She
lost two months’ existence, the very time, perhaps, that was needed till
Daniel’s return. Still the day when the rent was due came, and she paid
her hundred francs. The second day after that, she was once more without
money, and, according to Mrs. Chevassat’s elegant expression, forced
to “live on her poor possessions.” But the pawnbroker had too cruelly
disappointed her calculations: she would not resort to him again, and
risk a second disappointment.
This time she thought she would, instead of pawning, sell, her gold-
dressing-case; and she requested the obliging lady below to procure her
a purchaser. At first Mrs. Chevassat raised a host of objections.
“To sell such a pretty toy!” she said, “it’s murder! Just think, you’ll
never see it again. If, on the other hand, you carry it to ‘Uncle’ you
can take it out again as soon as you have a little money.”
But she lost her pains, she saw and at last consented to bring up a kind
of dealer in toilet-articles, an excellent honest man, she declared, in
whom one could put the most absolute confidence. And he really showed
himself worthy of her warm recommendation; for he offered instantly five
hundred francs for the dressing-case, which was not worth much more
than three times as much. Nor was this his last bid. After an hour’s
irritating discussions, after having ten times pretended to leave the
room, he drew with many sighs his _portemonnaie_ from its secret home,
and counted upon the table the seven hundred francs in gold upon which
Henrietta had stoutly insisted.
That was enough to pay Mrs. Chevassat for four months’ board.
“But no,” said the poor young girl to herself, “that would be
pusillanimous in the highest degree.”
And that very evening she summoned all her courage, and told the
formidable woman in a firm tone of voice, that henceforth she would only
take one meal, dinner. She had chosen this half-way measure in order
not to avoid a scene, for that she knew she could not hope for, but a
regular falling-out.
Contrary to all expectations, the concierge’s wife appeared neither
surprised nor angry. She only shrugged her shoulders as she said,--
“As you like, my ‘little pussy-cat.’ Only believe me, it is no use
economizing in one’s eating.”
From the day of this _coup d’etat_, Henrietta went down every morning
herself to buy her penny-roll and the little supply of milk which
constituted her breakfast. For the rest of the day she did not leave her
room, busying herself with her great work; and nothing broke in upon the
distressing monotony of her life but the weekly visits of M. de Brevan.
For he did not forget his threat; and every week Henrietta was sure to
see him come. He came in with a solemn air, and coldly asked if she had
reflected since he had had the honor of presenting his respects to her.
She did not answer him ordinarily, except by a look of contempt; but
he did not seem in the least disconcerted. He bowed respectfully, and
invariably said, before leaving the room,--
“Next time, then; I can wait. Oh! I have time; I can wait.”
If he hoped thus to conquer Henrietta more promptly, he was entirely
mistaken. This periodical insult acted only as an inducement to keep up
her wrath and to increase her energy. Her pride rose at the thought of
this unceasing struggle; and she swore that she would be victorious.
It was this sentiment which inspired her with a thought, which, in its
results, was destined to have a decisive influence on her future.
It was now the end of June, and she saw with trembling her little
treasure grow smaller and smaller; when one day she asked Mrs.
Chevassat, who seemed to be of unusually good-humor, if she could
not procure her some work. She told her that she was considered quite
skilful in all kinds of needlework.