“Go now! You shall know by to-morrow who she is whom I have chosen for
you. Come and breakfast with us at eleven o’clock. Go now.”
And, kissing him on his lips till they burnt with unholy fire, she
pushed him out of the room.
The poor man staggered like a drunken man, as he went down the stairs.
“I am playing an abominable game,” he said to himself. “She does love
me! What a woman!”
It required nothing less to rouse him from his stupor than the sight
of Papa Ravinet, who was waiting for him below, hid in a corner of his
carriage.
“Is it you?” he said.
“Yes, myself. And it seems it was well I came. But for me, the count
would have kept you; but I came to your rescue by sending him up a
letter. Now, tell me all.”
Daniel reported to him briefly, while they were driving along, his
conversation with the count and with Sarah. When he had concluded, the
old dealer exclaimed,--
“We have the whole matter in our hands now. But there is not a minute to
lose. Do you go back to the hotel, and wait for me there. I must go to
the court.”
At the hotel Daniel found Henrietta dying with anxiety. Still she only
asked after her father. Was it pride, or was it prudence? She did not
mention Sarah’s name. They had, however, not much time for conversation.
Papa Ravinet came back sooner than they expected, all busy and excited.
He drew Daniel aside to give him his last directions, and did not leave
him till midnight, when he went away, saying,--
“The ground is burning under our feet; be punctual to-morrow.”
At the precise hour Daniel presented himself in Peletier Street, where
the count received him with a delighted air.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “you come just in time. Brian is away; Sir Thorn is
out on business; and I shall have to leave you directly after breakfast.
You must keep the countess company. Come, Sarah, let us have breakfast.”
It was an ill-omened breakfast.
Under the thick layers of rouge, the count showed his livid pallor;
and every moment nervous tremblings shook him from head to foot. The
countess affected childish happiness; but her sharp and sudden movements
betrayed the storm that was raging in her heart. Daniel noticed that she
incessantly filled the count’s glass,--a strong wine it was too,--and
that, in order to make him take more, she drank herself an unusual
quantity.
It struck twelve, and Count Ville-Handry got up.
“Well,” he said with the air and the voice of a man who braces himself
to mount the scaffold, “it must be done; they are waiting for me.”
And, after having kissed his wife with passionate tenderness, he shook
hands with Daniel, and went out hurriedly.
Crimson and breathless, Sarah also had risen, and was listening
attentively. And, when she was quite sure that the count had gone
downstairs, she said,--
“Now, Daniel, look at me! Need I tell you who the woman is whom I have
chosen for you? It is--the Countess Ville-Handry.”
He shook and trembled; but he controlled himself by a supreme effort,
and calmly smiling, in a half tender, half ironical tone, he replied,--
“Why, oh, why! do you speak to me of unattainable happiness? Are you not
married?”
“I may be a widow.”
These words from her lips had a fearful meaning. But Daniel was prepared
for them, and said,--
“To be sure you may. But, unfortunately, you, also, are ruined. You are
as poor as I am; and we are too clever to think of joining poverty to
poverty.”
She looked at him with a strange, sinister smile. She was evidently
hesitating. A last ray of reason lighted up the abyss at her feet. But
she was drunk with pride and passion; she had taken a good deal of wine;
and her usually cool head was in a state of delirium.
“And if I were not ruined?” she said at last in a hoarse voice; “what
would you say then?”
“I should say that you are the very woman of whom an ambitious man of
thirty might dream in his most glorious visions.”
She believed him. Yes, she was capable of believing that what he said
was true; and, throwing aside all restraint, she went on,--
“Well, then, I will tell you. I am rich,--immensely rich. That entire
fortune which once belonged to Count Ville-Handry, and which he thinks
has been lost in unlucky speculations,--the whole of it is in my hands.
Ah! I have suffered horribly, to have to play for two long years the
loving wife to this decrepit old man. But I thought of you, my much
beloved, my Daniel; and that thought sustained me. I knew you would come
back; and I wanted to have royal treasures to give you. And I have them.
These much coveted millions are mine, and you are here; and now I can
say to you, ‘Take them, they are yours; I give them to you as I give
myself to you.’”
She had drawn herself up to her full height as she said this; and she
looked splendid and fearful at the same time, in her matchless beauty,
diffusing energy and immodesty around her, and shaking her head
defiantly, till the waves of golden hair flowed over her shoulders.
The untamed vagabond of the gutter reappeared all of a sudden,
breathless and trembling, hoarse, lusting.
Daniel felt as if his reason was giving way. Still he had the strength
to say,--
“But unfortunately you are not a widow.”