Thus a few minutes longer, and all was really over. Count Ville-
Handry’s daughter was dying! Count Ville-Handry’s daughter was dead!
But at that very hour the tenant of the fourth story, Papa Ravinet,
the second-hand dealer, was going to his dinner. If he had gone down as
usually, by the front staircase, no noise would have reached him. But
Providence was awake. That evening he went down the back stairs,
and heard the death-rattle of the poor dying girl. In our beautiful
egotistical days, many a man, in the place of this old man, would not
have gone out of his way. He, on the contrary, hurried down to inform
the concierge. Many a man, again, would have been quieted by the
apparent calmness of the Chevassat couple, and would have been satisfied
with their assurance that Henrietta was not at home. He, however,
insisted, and, in spite of the evident reluctance of the concierge and
his wife, compelled them to go up, and brought out, by his words first,
and then by his example, one tenant after another.
It was he likewise, who, while the concierge and the other people were
deliberating, directed what was to be done for the dying girl, and who
hastened to fetch from his magazine a mattress, sheets, blankets,
wood to make a fire, in fact, every thing that was needed in that bare
chamber.
A few moments later Henrietta opened her eyes. Her first sensation was a
very strange one.
In the first place she was utterly amazed at feeling that she was in a
warm bed,--she who had, for so many days, endured all the tortures of
bitter cold. Then, looking around, she was dazzled by the candles
that were burning on her table, and the beautiful, bright fire in her
fireplace. And then she looked with perfect stupor at all the women whom
she did not know, and who were bending over her, watching her movements.
Had her father at last come to her assistance?
No, for he would have been there; and she looked in vain for him among
all these strange people.
Then, understanding from some words which were spoken close by her, that
it was to chance alone she owed her rescue from death, she was filled
with indescribable grief.
“To have suffered all that can be suffered in dying,” she said to
herself, “and then not to die after all!”
She almost had a feeling of hatred against all these people who were
busying themselves around her. Now that they had brought her back to
life, would they enable her to live?
Nevertheless, she distinguished very clearly what was going on in her
room. She recognized the wealthy ladies from the first story, who had
stayed to nurse her, and between them Mrs. Chevassat, who assumed an
air of great activity, while she explained to them how Henrietta had
deceived her affectionate heart in order to carry out her fatal purpose.
“You see, I did not dream of any thing,” she protested in a whining
tone. “A poor little pussy-cat, who was always merry, and this morning
yet sang like a bird. I thought she might be a little embarrassed, but
never suspected such misery. You see, ladies, she was as proud as a
queen, and as haughty as the weather. She would rather have died than
ask for assistance; for she knew she had only a word to say to me. Did
I not already, in October, when I saw she would not be able to pay her
rent, become responsible for her?”
And thereupon the infamous hypocrite bent over the poor girl, kissed her
on her forehead, and said with a tender tone of voice,--
“Did you not love me, dear little pussy-cat; did not you? I know you
loved poor old Mrs. Chevassat.”
Unable to articulate a word, even if she had understood what was said,
poor Henrietta shivered, shrank with horror and disgust from the contact
with those lying lips. And the emotion which this feeling caused her did
more for her than all the attentions that were paid her. Still, it was
only after the doctor, who had been sent for, had come and bled her,
that she was restored to the full use of her faculties. Then she
thanked, in a very feeble voice, the people around her, assuring them
that she felt much better now, and might safely be left alone.
The two wealthy ladies, whom curiosity had carried off at the moment
when they were sitting down to dinner, did not wait for more, and, very
happy to be released, slipped away at once. But the concierge’s wife
remained by Henrietta’s bedside till she was alone with her victim; and
then every thing changed in her face, tone of voice, look, and manner.
“Well,” she commenced, “now you are happy, miss! You have advertised my
house, and it will all be in the papers. Everybody will pity you,
and think your lover a cold-blooded villain, who lets you die of
starvation.”
The poor young girl deprecated the charge with such a sweet, gentle
expression of face, that a savage would have been touched; but Mrs.
Chevassat was civilized.
“And still you know very well,” she went on in a bitter tone, “that dear
M. Maxime has done all he could to save you. Only day before yesterday,
he offered you his whole fortune”--
“Madam,” stammered Henrietta, “have you no mercy?”
Mercy--Mrs. Chevassat! What a joke!
“You would take nothing,” she continued, “from M. Maxime. Why, I ask
you? To play the virtuous woman, was it? It was hardly worth while, if
you meant, immediately afterwards, to accept that old miser, who will
make life hard enough for you. Ah, you have fallen into nice hands!”
Gathering up all the strength that had come back to her, Henrietta
raised herself on the pillows, and asked,--
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing! I see. After all, you would have it so. Besides, he had
been looking after you a long time already.”
As soon as Henrietta opened her eyes, Papa Ravinet had discreetly
withdrawn, in order to leave the ladies, who were about her, time to
undress her. Thus she had not seen the man who had saved her, and did
not understand the allusions of the old woman.
“Explain, madam, explain!”
“Ah, upon my word! that is not difficult. The man who has pulled you
out, who has brought you all these things to make your bed, and kindle
a fire; why, that is the second-hand dealer of the fourth story! And he
will not stop there, I am sure. Patience, and you will know well enough
what I mean.”
It must be borne in mind, that the woman, for fear Henrietta might sell
to Papa Ravinet what she had to sell, or for some other reason, had
always painted the old man to her in colors by no means flattering.
“What ought I to be afraid of?” asked Henrietta.