Having contemplated the letter in silence for some time, without
recognizing the writing, Louis mechanically tore it open, while old
Richard still continued his tireless pacing, closely observing his
every movement.
Suddenly he saw him turn ghastly pale, brush his hand over his brow, as
if to assure himself he was not the victim of an illusion, then read
the letter once more, with ever-growing anguish expressed on his
features.
The letter, written that morning by old Richard, in a disguised hand,
ran as follows:
"Monsieur Louis:
"I take advantage of your absence to make a confession which I have
postponed for two whole months, because I feared to cause you grief.
We must renounce our projects of marriage and never see each other
again.
"I cannot explain the cause of this change; but, believe me, my
resolution is well taken. If I have waited until this day, the _sixth
of May_, to tell you this, it was because I wanted ample time for
reflection before announcing my determination.
"Farewell, Monsieur Louis; do not try to see me; it would be useless
and cause us needless pain. If, on the contrary, you forget me
entirely and make no attempt to see me, my happiness, as well as that
of my god-mother will be assured.
"It is therefore in the name of our happiness and tranquillity that I
ask you not to seek me.
"You possess such a kind heart that I am sure you will make no attempt
to grieve me, by insisting on an explanation. I swear that all is over
between us and that I love you as a friend only. MARIETTE MOREAU."
"P. S. Instead of sending this letter to Dreux, as you instructed me
to do, I address it to Paris, that you may find it on your return.
Augustine has gone to the country, so another person writes this for me.
"I have forgotten to say that my godmother's condition is still the
same."
The reading of this letter plunged Louis into a hopeless stupor. The
ingenuity of the style, the correctness of details, the emphasis on the
date, all convinced him that the lines must have been dictated by
Mariette. Having vainly tried to understand the cause of this abrupt
rupture, he felt his heart invaded with mingled grief, anger,
resentment, and a deep sentiment of wounded pride.
"Indeed, I shall never attempt to see her again," he murmured,
unconscious that he spoke aloud. "She has no need to insist on that
point with so much obstinacy!"
These words were a relief to the old man, who was closely watching the
effects of his stratagem, while apparently absorbed in his own
reflections.
But grief soon took the ascendancy over anger in the young man's heart,
and his love re-awakened more tender and more passionate than ever; he
tried to recall the most trifling details of his last interview with
Mariette, questioned his memory in regard to the last few months of
their friendship, but could find no trace of growing coldness in their
relations. The young girl, on the contrary had never seemed more
loving, more devoted, or more impatient to unite her life to his. And
all these appearances had lied; Mariette was a monster of deceit--she
whom he had always believed so pure and candid!
No, he could not accept this in silence! He could no longer endure
such anguish, without making one effort to unveil the mystery that
surrounded Mariette's conduct! The atmosphere of the room stifled him,
and he resolved to seek the girl at once and force an explanation from
her lips, even at the risk of prejudicing his cause with Mariette's
godmother, who was also in ignorance of their love.
Alarmed at the varied emotions reflected on his son's face, old Richard
thought it time to interfere.
"My dear Louis," he said, closely scrutinizing the young man's troubled
face, "I believe we had better start for Dreux early tomorrow morning,
thereby anticipating Ramon's visit to us by twenty-four hours."
"Father!" began Louis, in protestation.
"It will not compromise you, in the least, my son, and if you are
resolved to deny me the dearest wish of my life, all I ask, as a last
satisfaction, is to spend a few days with Ramon and his daughter. You
shall then be free to act as you please." Then seeing Louis take up
his hat, he asked anxiously: "Where are you going?"
"My head aches, and I am going out for a whiff of fresh air," replied
the young man.
"In mercy don't go out, my boy!" cried the old man, with growing alarm.
"You look gloomy and out of sorts since you read that letter. Really,
you frighten me!"
"You are mistaken. The letter was absolutely insignificant, I assure
you," returned Louis, closing the door behind him.
As he was rushing out, however, the concierge hailed him and invited
him to enter the lodge.
"What is it?" asked Louis, struck by the man's mysterious air.
"Here is a card left for you by a decorated gentleman," explained the
concierge. "He came in an elegant carriage, and said this was urgent."
Taking the card, Louis approached the light and read:
"_Commander de La Miraudière_,
"_17 Rue du Mont-Blanc_.
"_Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home, between nine and ten o'clock
to-morrow morning, to communicate something of grave importance, which
admits of no delay._"
"Commander de La Miraudière? I never heard the name," said Louis,
gazing curiously at the card; then, as he mechanically turned it over,
his eyes caught sight of these words in pencil:
"_Mariette Moreau, with Madame Lacombe, Rue des
Prêtres-Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois._"
The commander had noted Mariette's address on the back of his card, and
unconsciously used the same in writing to Louis to request an interview.
Much astonished and perplexed, the young man vainly asked himself what
relation could exist between this stranger, whose card he held, and
Mariette.
"Did the gentleman leave any other message?" he asked the concierge.
"Did he say anything?"
"Nothing, except that I was to give you the card without your father's
knowledge."
"Strange," murmured the young man.
"He even gave me forty sous, to make sure I would do the errand."
"Was he young or old?"
"A very handsome man, wearing the ribbon, with a mustache and
side-whiskers black as ink, and dressed like a prince, not counting his
elegant cabriolet."
Louis went out more perplexed than ever. This new incident redoubled
his anguish; by dint of seeking Mariette's motive for this abrupt
rupture, he was beginning to feel the sharp pangs of jealousy. Once
under this influence, the wildest suspicions and most chimerical fears
assumed the appearance of reality to his eyes; and he finally asked
himself if this stranger might not be a rival. How else was he to
explain Mariette's relations with a young and handsome young man?
In her letter to him, Mariette begged him not to seek her, as it might
compromise her own and her god-mother's happiness. He well knew the
wretched position of the two women, and Mariette had often confided to
him the trials she was forced to endure through her god-mother's gloomy
and harsh character. A horrible thought now flashed through his head.
Had not Mariette, perhaps, been driven by misery and the threats of her
god-mother to listen to the brilliant propositions of this man, whose
card he now held in his hand? But, in that case, why should this
stranger request an interview? The mystery seemed as impenetrable as
ever.
Once launched in the dizzy path of jealousy, lovers invariably give
full sway to their imaginations and entertain the wildest ideas. Louis
was no exception to the rule. In supposing himself supplanted by a
rival, he found the key to what seemed inexplicable in Mariette's
letter and in her conduct. He therefore tenaciously clung to the
belief of her infidelity, longing for the moment when he might demand
an explanation from this audacious commander.
He now abandoned his first resolution of seeing Mariette, and retraced
his steps homeward in a state of deep agitation and painful excitement.
It was midnight when he again entered their dreary room. His father
was anxiously waiting for him; but one glance at his son's gloomy
countenance reassured the old man. Feeling certain that the lovers had
not met and that his stratagem was still undiscovered, he again
proposed a visit to Dreux on the following day; but Louis threw himself
dejectedly on his bed, declaring he must have time for reflection
before taking such a grave step.
After a night of sleepless agony, the young man rose at dawn and
quietly slipped out of the room, glad to escape his father's
questioning for a few hours. With his mind tortured by anxiety and
misgivings, he turned toward the boulevard to await the hour fixed for
his interview with Commander de La Miraudière.