“What is the matter? Do you know to whom you are talking?”
But his wife interrupted him with a gesture, and, turning to Henrietta,
said with cynic laughter,--
“Well, what next? Are these people not good enough for you; eh? In the
first place, I am tired of your ways, my ‘pussy-cat.’ When one is a
beggar, as you are, one stays at home like a good girl; and one does not
run away with a young man, and gad about the world with lovers.”
Thereupon she took advantage of the fact that Henrietta had paused
upon the threshold, to push her brutally out of the room at the risk of
throwing her down, and fiercely banged the door. An hour afterwards the
poor girl vehemently reproached herself for her passion.
“Alas!” she said to herself, weeping, “the weak, the unhappy, have
no right to complain. Who knows what this wicked woman will now do to
avenge herself?”
She found it out the second day afterwards.
Coming down a little before seven o’clock, in order to buy her roll and
her milk for breakfast, she met at the entrance-door Mrs. Hilaire, face
to face. At the sight of the poor girl, that irascible woman turned as
red as a poppy, and, rushing up to her, seized her by the arm, and shook
it furiously, crying out at the same time with the full force of her
lungs,--
“Ah, it is you, miserable beggar, who go and tell stories on me! Oh,
what wickedness! A beggar whom I had sent for to allow her to earn
thirty francs! And I must needs think she is sick, and pity her, and ask
Julius to give her a twenty-franc-piece.”
Henrietta felt that she ought not to blame this woman, who, after all,
had shown her nothing but kindness. But she was thoroughly frightened,
and tried to get away. The woman, however, held her fast, and cried
still louder, till several tenants came to the open windows.
“They’ll make you pay for that, my darling,” she yelled, amid foul
oaths, which her wrath carried along with it, as a torrent floats down
stones and debris. “They’ll make you pay for it! You’ll have to clear
out of here, I tell you!”
And the threat was not an idle one. That very afternoon the same
lamentable scene was repeated; and so it went on every morning and every
day. Mrs. Hilaire had friends in the house, who took up the quarrel, and
fell upon Henrietta whenever she appeared. They lay in wait for her by
turns; and she no sooner ventured upon the staircase than the shouts
began; so that the unfortunate girl no longer dared leave the house.
Early in the morning, as soon as the door was opened, she ran out to buy
her daily provisions; then, running up swiftly, she barricaded herself
in her chamber, and never stirred out again.
Surely, there was no lack of desire on her part to leave the house. But
where should she go? Besides, the unknown frightened her; might it not
have still greater terrors in reserve for her?
At last she was entirely without money.
In July her rent had cost her a hundred francs, and she had been
compelled to buy a dress in place of her merino dress, which was
falling to pieces. In the first days of August she was at the end of her
resources. Nor would she have been able to make them last so long, even
if she had not, ever since that evening at Mrs. Hilaire’s, done entirely
without the expensive board of Mrs. Chevassat. Even this rupture, at
which Henrietta had at first rejoiced, became now to her a source of
overwhelming trouble. She had still a few things that she might sell,--a
brooch, her cashmere, her watch, and her ear-rings; but she did not know
how and to whom she could sell them.
All the stories by which the wicked woman down stairs had tried to
frighten her from going herself to the pawnbroker came back to her
mind; and she saw herself, at the first attempt, arrested by the police,
examined, and carried back to her father, handed over to Sarah and Sir
Thorn, and--
Still want pressed her hard; and at last, after long hesitation, one
evening, at dark, she slipped out to find a purchaser. What she was
looking for was one of those dark little shops in which men lie in wait
for their prey, whom the police always suspects, and carefully watches.
She found one such as she desired. An old woman with spectacles on her
nose, without even asking her name, and evidently taking her to be a
thief, gave her, for her brooch and her ear-rings, a hundred and forty
francs.
What was this sum of money? A nothing; Henrietta understood that
perfectly. And hence, overcoming all her reserve and her reluctance, she
vowed she would try every thing in her power to obtain work.
She kept her word, sustained by a secret hope of triumphing, by dint of
energy and perseverance, over fate itself. She went from store to store,
from door to door, so to say, soliciting employment, as she would have
asked for alms, promising to do any thing that might be wanted, in
return merely for her board and lodging. But it was written that every
thing should turn against her. Her beauty, her charms, her distinguished
appearance, her very manner of speaking, were so many obstacles in her
way. Who could think of engaging a girl as a servant, who looked like a
duchess? So that all her prayers only met with cold faces, shrugging of
shoulders, and ironical smiles. She was refused everywhere. It is true
that now and then some gallant clerk replied to her application by a
declaration of love.
Chance had thrown into her hands one of those small handbills which
bill-stickers paste upon the gutters, and in which workwomen are
“wanted.” Henceforth she spent her days in looking up these handbills,
and in going to places from which they were issued. But here she met
with the same difficulties. There was no end of questions.
“Who are you? Where have you been? By whom have you been employed?” and
finally, always the same distressing answer,--
“We cannot employ persons like you.”
Then she went to an employment agency. She had noticed one which
displayed at the door a huge placard, on which places were offered from
thirty-five up to a thousand francs a month. She went up stairs. A very
loquacious gentleman made her first deposit a considerable sum, and then
told her he had exactly what she wanted. She went ten times back to the
office, and always in vain. After an eleventh appointment, he gave her
the address of two houses, in one of which he assured her she would
certainly be employed. These two houses turned out to be two small
shops, where pretty young ladies were wanted to pour out absinthe, and
to wait upon the customers.
This was Henrietta’s last effort. For ten months she had now been
struggling with a kind of helpless fury against inconquerable
difficulties, and at last the springs of her energy had lost their
elasticity. Now, crushed in body and mind, overwhelmed and conquered,
she gave up.
It lacked still eighteen months before she would become of age. Since
she had escaped from her father’s house, she had not received a line
from Daniel, although she had constantly written to him, and she had, of
course, no means of ascertaining the date of his return. She had once,
following M. de Brevan’s advice, summoned courage enough to go to the
navy department, and there to inquire if they had any news about “The
Conquest.” A clerk had replied to her, with a joke, that “The Conquest”
might be afloat yet “a year or two.” How could the poor girl wait till
then? Why should she any longer maintain the useless struggle? She felt
acute pains in her chest; she coughed; and, after walking a few yards,
her legs gave way under her, and she broke out in cold perspiration.
She now spent her days almost always in bed, shivering with chills,
or plunged in a kind of stupor, during which her mind was filled with
dismal visions. She felt as if the very sources of life were drying up
within her, and as if all her blood was, drop by drop, oozing out of her
through an open wound.
“If I could die thus!” she thought.
This was the last favor she asked of God. Henceforth, a miracle
alone could save her; and she hardly wished to be saved. A perfect
indifference and intense distaste of every thing filled her soul. She
thought she had exhausted all that man can suffer; and there was nothing
left for her to fear.
A last misfortune which now befell her did not elicit even a sigh from
her. One afternoon, while she had been down stairs, she had left the
window open. The wind had suddenly sprung up, slammed the blinds, and
thus upset a chair. On this chair hung her cashmere; it fell into the
fireplace, in which a little fire was still burning; and when she came
back she found the shawl half-burnt to ashes. It was the only article of
value which she still possessed; and she might at any time have procured
several hundred francs for it.
“Well,” she said, “what does it matter? It means three months taken from
my life; that is all.”
And she did not think of it any more; she did not even trouble herself
about the rent, which became due in October.
“I shall not be able to pay it,” she said to herself. “Mrs. Chevassat
will give me notice, and then the hour will have come.”
Still, to her great surprise, the worthy woman from below did not scold
her for not having the money ready, and even promised she would make
the owner of the house give her time. This inexplicable forbearance
gave Henrietta a week’s respite. But at last, one morning, she woke up,
having not a cent left, having nothing even, she thought, that she could
get money for, and being very hungry.
“Well,” she thought, as if announcing to her own soul that the
catastrophe had at last come, “all I need now is a few minutes’
courage.”
She said so in her mind; but in reality she was chilled to the heart by
the fearful certainty that the crisis had really come: she felt as if
the executioner were at the door of the room, ready to announce her
sentence of death. And yet, for a month now, she had thought of suicide
only; and the evening before she had thought it over with a kind of
delight.
“I am surely not such a coward?” she said to herself in a fit of rage.
Yes, she was afraid. Yes, she told herself in vain that there was no
other choice left to her but that between death and Sir Thorn, or M. de
Brevan. She was terrified.
Alas! she was only twenty years old; she had never felt such exuberance
of life within her; she wanted to live,--to live a month more, a week, a
day!
If only her shawl had not been burnt! Then, examining with haggard eyes
her chamber, she saw that exquisite piece of embroidery which she had
undertaken. It was a dress, covered _all_ over with work of marvellous
delicacy and exquisite outlines. Unfortunately, it was far from being
finished.
“Never mind!” she said to herself; “perhaps they will give me something
for it.”
And, wrapping the dress up hastily, she hurried to offer it for sale to
the old woman who had already bought her ear-rings, and then her watch.
The fearful old hag seemed to be overcome with surprise when she saw
this marvel of skill.
“That’s very fine,” she said; “why, it is magnificent! and, if it were
finished, it would be worth a mint of money; but as it is no one would
want it.”
She consented, however, to give twenty francs for it, solely from love
of art, she said; for it was money thrown away. These twenty francs
were, for Henrietta, an unexpected release.
“It will last me a month,” she thought, determined to live on dry bread
only; “and who can tell what a month may bring forth?”
And this unfortunate girl had an inheritance from her mother of more
than a million! If she had but known it, if she had but had a single
friend to advise her in her inexperience! But she had been faithful to
her vow never to let her secret be known to a living soul; and the most
terrible anguish had never torn from her a single complaint.
M. de Brevan knew this full well; for he had continued his weekly visits
with implacable regularity. This perseverance, which had at first served
to maintain Henrietta’s courage, had now become a source of unspeakable
torture.
“Ah, I shall be avenged!” she said to him one day. “Daniel will come
back.”