At the same hour when Papa Ravinet, on the deck of “The Saint Louis,”
was pressing Daniel’s hand, and bidding him farewell, there were
in Paris two poor women, who prayed and watched with breathless
anxiety,--the sister of the old dealer, Mrs. Bertolle, the widow; and
Henrietta, the daughter of Count Ville-Handry. When Papa Ravinet had
appeared the evening before, with his carpet-bag in his hand, his hurry
had been so extraordinary, and his excitement so great, that one might
have doubted his sanity. He had peremptorily asked his sister for two
thousand francs; had made Henrietta write in all haste a letter of
introduction to Daniel; and had rushed out again like a tempest, as he
had come in, without saying more than this,--
“M. Champcey will arrive, or perhaps has already arrived, in Marseilles,
on board a merchant vessel, ‘The Saint Louis.’ I have been told so at
the navy department. It is all important that I should see him before
anybody else. I take the express train of quarter past seven. To-morrow,
I’ll send you a telegram.”
The two ladies asked for something more, a hope, a word; but no, nothing
more! The old dealer had jumped into the carriage that had brought him,
before they had recovered from their surprise; and they remained there,
sitting before the fire, silent, their heads in their hands, each lost
in conjectures. When the clock struck seven, the good widow was aroused
from her grave thoughts, which seemed so different from her usual
cheerful temper.
“Come, come, Miss Henrietta,” she said with somewhat forced gayety, “my
brother’s departure does not condemn us, as far as I know, to starve
ourselves to death.”
She had gotten up as she said this. She set the table, and then sat down
opposite to Henrietta, to their modest dinner. Modest it was, indeed,
and still too abundant. They were both too much overcome to be able to
eat; and yet both handled knife and fork, trying to deceive one another.
Their thoughts were far away, in spite of all their efforts to keep them
at home, and followed the traveller.
“Now he has left,” whispered Henrietta as it struck eight.
“He is on his way already,” replied the old lady.
But neither of them knew anything of the journey from Paris to
Marseilles. They were ignorant of the distances, the names of the
stations, and even of the large cities through which the railroad
passes.
“We must try and get a railway guide,” said the good widow. And, quite
proud of her happy thought, she went out instantly, hurried to the
nearest bookstore, and soon reappeared, flourishing triumphantly a
yellow pamphlet, and saying,--
“Now we shall see it all, my dear child.”
Then, placing the guide on the tablecloth between them, they looked for
the page containing the railway from Paris to Lyons and Marseilles, then
the train which Papa Ravinet was to have taken; and they delighted in
counting up how swiftly the “express” went, and all the stations where
it stopped.
Then, when the table was cleared, instead of going industriously to
work, as usually, they kept constantly looking at the clock, and, after
consulting the book, said to each other,--
“He is at Montereau now; he must be beyond Sens; he will soon be at
Tonnerre.”
A childish satisfaction, no doubt, and very idle. But who of us has
not, at least once in his life, derived a wonderful pleasure, or perhaps
unspeakable relief from impatience, or even grief, from following thus
across space a beloved one who was going away, or coming home? Towards
midnight, however, the old lady remarked that it was getting late, and
that it would be wise to go to bed.
“You think you will sleep, madam?” asked Henrietta, surprised.
“No, my child; but”--
“Oh! I, for my part,--_I_ could not sleep. This work on which we are
busy is very pressing, you say; why could we not finish it?”
“Well, let us sit up then,” said the good widow.
The poor women, reduced as they were to conjectures by Papa Ravinet’s
laconic answers, nevertheless knew full well that some great event was
in preparation, something unexpected, and yet decisive. What it was,
they did not know; but they understood, or rather felt, that Daniel’s
return would and must totally change the aspect of affairs. But would
Daniel really come?
“If he does come,” said Henrietta, “why did they only the other day tell
me, at the navy department, that he was not coming? Then, again, why
should he come home in a merchant vessel, and not on board his frigate?”
“Your letters have probably reached him at last,” explained the old
lady; “and, as soon as he received them, he came home.”
Gradually, however, after having exhausted all conjectures, and after
having discussed all contingencies, Henrietta became silent. When it
struck half-past three, she said once more,--
“Ah! M. Ravinet is at the Lyons station now.”
Then her hand became less and less active in drawing the worsted, her
head oscillated from side to side, and her eyelids closed unconsciously.
Her old friend advised her to retire; and this time she did not refuse.
It was past ten o’clock when she awoke; and upon entering, fully
dressed, into the sitting-room, Mrs. Bertolle greeted her with the
exclamation:--
“At this moment my brother reaches Marseilles!”
“Ah! then it will not be long before we shall have news,” replied
Henrietta.
But there are moments in which we think electricity the slowest of
messengers. At two o’clock nothing had come; and the poor women began to
accuse the old dealer of having forgotten them, when, at last, the bell
was rung.
It was really the telegraph messenger, with his black leather pouch. The
old lady signed her receipt with marvellous promptness; and, tearing the
envelope hastily open, she read,--
Marseilles, 12.40 a.m.
“Saint Louis” signalled by telegraph this morning. Will be in to-night.
I hire boat to go and meet her, provided Champcey is on board. This
evening telegram.
Ravinet.
“But this does not tell us any thing,” said Henrietta, terribly
disappointed. “Just see, madam, _your_ brother is not even sure whether
M. Champcey is on board ‘The Saint Louis.’”
Perhaps Mrs. Bertolle, also, was a little disappointed; but she was not
the person to let it be seen.
“But what did you expect, dear child? Anthony has not been an hour in
Marseilles; how do you think he can know? We must wait till the evening.
It is only a matter of a few hours.”
She said this very quietly; but all who have ever undergone the anguish
of expectation will know how it becomes more and more intolerable as the
moment approaches that is to bring the decision. However the old lady
endeavored to control her excitement, the calm and dignified woman could
not long conceal the nervous fever that was raging within her. Ten times
during the afternoon she opened the window, to look for--what? She could
not have told it herself, as she well knew nothing could come as yet. At
night she could not stay in any one place. She tried in vain to work on
her embroidery; her fingers refused their service.
At last, at ten minutes past nine, the telegraph man appeared, as
impassive as ever.
This time it was Henrietta who had taken the despatch; and, before
opening it, she had half a minute’s fearful suspense, as if the paper
had contained the secret of her fate. Then, by a sudden impulse, tearing
the envelope, she read, almost at a glance,--
Marseilles, 6.45 p.m.
I have seen Champcey. All well; devoted to Henrietta. Return this
evening. Will be in Paris tomorrow evening at seven o’clock. Prepare
your trunks as if you were to start on a month’s journey immediately
after my return. All is going well.
Pale as death, and trembling like a leaf, but with open lips and bright
eyes, Henrietta had sunk into a chair. Up to this moment she had doubted
every thing. Up to this hour, until she held the proof in her hand, she
had not allowed herself to hope. Such great happiness does not seem to
the unhappy to be intended for them. But now she stammered out,--
“Daniel is in France! Daniel! Nothing more to fear; the future is ours.
I am safe now.”
But people do not die of joy; and, when she had recovered her
equanimity, Henrietta understood how cruel she had been in the
incoherent phrases that had escaped her in her excitement. She rose with
a start, and, seizing Mrs. Bertolle’s hands, said to her,--
“Great God! what am I saying! Ah, you will pardon me, madam, I am sure;
but I feel as if I did not know what I am doing. Safe! I owe it to you
and your brother, if I am safe. Without you Daniel would find nothing
of me but a cross at the cemetery, and a name stained and destroyed by
infamous calumnies.”
The old lady did not hear a word. She had picked up the despatch, had
read it; and, overcome by its contents, had sat down near the fireplace,
utterly insensible to the outside world. The most fearful hatred
convulsed her ordinarily calm and gentle features; and pale, with closed
teeth, and in a hoarse voice, she said over and over again,--
“We shall be avenged.”
Most assuredly Henrietta did not find out only now that the old dealer
and his sister hated her enemies, Sarah Brandon and Maxime de Brevan,
mortally; but she had never seen that hatred break out so terribly as
to-night. What had brought it about? This she could not fathom. Papa
Ravinet, it was evident, was not a nobody. Ill-bred and coarse in
Water Street, amid the thousand articles of his trade, he became a very
different man as soon as he reached his sister’s house. As to the Widow
Bertolle, she was evidently a woman of superior intellect and education.
How had they both been reduced to this more than modest condition? By
reverses of fortune. That accounts for everything, but explains nothing.
Such were Henrietta’s thoughts, when the old lady roused her from her
meditations.
“You saw, my dear child,” she began saying, “that my brother desires us
to be ready to set out on a long journey as soon as he comes home.”
“Yes, madam; and I am quite astonished.”
“I understand; but, although I know no more than you do of my brother’s
intentions, I know that he does nothing without a purpose. We ought,
therefore, in prudence, comply with his wishes.”
They agreed, therefore, at once on their arrangements; and the next
day Mrs. Bertolle went out to purchase whatever might be
necessary,--ready-made dresses for Henrietta, shoes, and linen. Towards
five o’clock in the afternoon, all the preparations of the old lady and
the young girl had been made; and all their things were carefully stowed
away in three large trunks. According to Papa Ravinet’s despatch, they
had only about two hours more to wait, three hours at the worst. Still
they were out of their reckoning. It was half-past eight before the good
man arrived, evidently broken down by the long and rapid journey which
he had just made.
“At last!” exclaimed Mrs. Bertolle. “We hardly expected you any longer
to-night.”