The basement front of No. 12 Rue St Antoine, a narrow street in Rouen,
leading from the Place de la Pucelle, was opened by Madame de la Tour,
in the millinery business, in 1817, and tastefully arranged, so far as
scant materials permitted the exercise of decorative genius. She was
the widow of a once flourishing _courtier maritime_ (ship-broker),
who, in consequence of some unfortunate speculations, had recently
died in insolvent circumstances. At about the same time, Clément
Derville, her late husband's confidential clerk, a steady,
persevering, clever person, took possession of the deceased
ship-broker's business premises on the quay, the precious savings of
fifteen years of industrious frugality enabling him to install himself
in the vacant commercial niche before the considerable connection
attached to the well-known establishment was broken up and distributed
amongst rival _courtiers_. Such vicissitudes, frequent in all trading
communities, excite but a passing interest; and after the customary
commonplaces commiserative of the fallen fortunes of the still
youthful widow, and gratulatory good-wishes for the prosperity of the
_ci-devant_ clerk, the matter gradually faded from the minds of the
sympathisers, save when the rapidly rising fortunes of Derville, in
contrast with the daily lowlier ones of Madame de la Tour, suggested
some tritely sentimental reflection upon the precariousness and
instability of all mundane things. For a time, it was surmised by some
of the fair widow's friends, if not by herself, that the considerable
services Derville had rendered her were prompted by a warmer feeling
than the ostensible one of respect for the relict of his old and
liberal employer; and there is no doubt that the gentle, graceful
manners, the mild, starlit face of Madame de la Tour, had made a deep
impression upon Derville, although the hope or expectation founded
thereon vanished with the passing time. Close, money-loving,
business-absorbed as he might be, Clément Derville was a man
of vehement impulse and extreme susceptibility of female
charm--weaknesses over which he had again and again resolved to
maintain vigilant control, as else fatal obstacles to his hopes of
realising a large competence, if not a handsome fortune. He succeeded
in doing so; and as year after year glided away, leaving him richer
and richer, Madame de la Tour poorer and poorer, as well as less and
less personally attractive, he grew to marvel that the bent form, the
clouded eyes, the sorrow-sharpened features of the woman he
occasionally met hastening along the streets, could be those by which
he had been once so powerfully agitated and impressed.
He did not, however, form any new attachment; was still a bachelor at
forty-five; and had for some years almost lost sight of, and
forgotten, Madame de la Tour, when a communication from Jeanne Favart,
an old servant who had lived with the De la Tours in the days of their
prosperity, vividly recalled old and fading memories. She announced
that Madame de la Tour had been for many weeks confined to her bed by
illness, and was, moreover, in great pecuniary distress.
'_Diantre_!' exclaimed Derville, a quicker and stronger pulse than
usual tinging his sallow cheek as he spoke. 'That is a pity. Who,
then, has been minding the business for her?'
'Her daughter Marie, a gentle, pious child, who seldom goes out except
to church, and,' added Jeanne, with a keen look in her master's
countenance, 'the very image of the Madame de la Tour we knew some
twenty years ago.'
'Ha!' M. Derville was evidently disturbed, but not so much so as to
forget to ask with some asperity if 'dinner was not ready?'
'In five minutes,' said Jeanne, but still holding the half-opened door
in her hand. 'They are very, very badly off, monsieur, those
unfortunate De la Tours,' she persisted. 'A _huissier_ this morning
seized their furniture and trade-stock for rent, and if the sum is not
made up by sunset, they will be utterly ruined.'
M. Clément Derville took several hasty turns about the room, and the
audible play of his fingers amongst the Napoleons in his pockets
inspired Jeanne with a hope that he was about to draw forth a
sufficient number for the relief of the cruel necessities of her
former mistress. She was mistaken. Perhaps the touch of his beloved
gold stilled for a time the agitation that had momentarily stirred his
heart.
'It is a pity,' he murmured; and then briskly drawing out his watch,
added sharply: 'But pray let us have dinner. Do you know that it is
full seven minutes past the time that it should be served?'
Jeanne disappeared, and M. Derville was very soon seated at table. But
although the sad tidings he had just heard had not been able to
effectually loosen his purse-strings, they had at least power utterly
to destroy his appetite, albeit the _poulet_ was done to a turn.
Jeanne made no remark on this, as she removed the almost untasted
meal, nor on the quite as unusual fact, that the wine _carafe_ was
already half emptied, and her master himself restless, dreamy, and
preoccupied. Concluding, however, from these symptoms, that a fierce
struggle between generosity and avarice was going on in M. Derville's
breast, she quietly determined on bringing an auxiliary to the aid of
generosity, that would, her woman's instinct taught her, at once
decide the conflict.
No doubt the prosperous ship-broker _was_ unusually agitated. The old
woman's news had touched a chord which, though dulled and slackened by
the heat and dust of seventeen years of busy, anxious life, still
vibrated strongly, and awakened memories that had long slept in the
chambers of his brain, especially one pale Madonna face, with its
soft, tear-trembling eyes that---- '_Ciel_!' he suddenly exclaimed, as
the door opened and gave to view the very form his fancy had conjured
up: '_Ciel_! can it be---- Pshaw!' he added, as he fell back into the
chair from which he had leaped up; 'you must suppose me crazed,
Mademoiselle--Mademoiselle de la Tour, I am quite certain.'
It was indeed Marie de la Tour whom Jeanne Favart had, with much
difficulty, persuaded to make a personal appeal to M. Derville. She
was a good deal agitated, and gladly accepted that gentleman's
gestured invitation to be seated, and take a glass of wine. Her errand
was briefly, yet touchingly told, but not apparently listened to by
Derville, so abstracted and intense was the burning gaze with which he
regarded the confused and blushing petitioner. Jeanne, however, knew
whom he recognised in those flushed and interesting features, and had
no doubt of the successful result of the application.
M. Clément Derville _had_ heard and comprehended what was said, for he
broke an embarrassing silence of some duration by saying, in a pleased
and respectful tone: 'Twelve Napoleons, you say, mademoiselle. It is
nothing: here are twenty. No thanks, I beg of you. I hope to have an
opportunity of rendering you--of rendering Madame de la Tour, I mean,
some real and lasting service.'
Poor Marie was profoundly affected by this generosity, and the
charming blushfulness, the sweet-toned trembling words that expressed
her modest gratitude, were, it should seem, strangely interpreted by
the excited ship-broker. The interview was not prolonged, and Marie de
la Tour hastened with joy-lightened steps to her home.
Four days afterwards, M. Derville called at the Rue St Antoine, only
to hear that Madame de la Tour had died a few hours previously. He
seemed much shocked; and after a confused offer of further pecuniary
assistance, respectfully declined by the weeping daughter, took a
hurried leave.
There is no question that, from the moment of his first interview with
her, M. Derville had conceived an ardent passion for Mademoiselle de
la Tour--so ardent and bewildering as not only to blind him to the
great disparity of age between himself and her--which he might have
thought the much greater disparity of fortune in his favour would
balance and reconcile--but to the very important fact, that Hector
Bertrand, a young _menuisier_ (carpenter), who had recently commenced
business on his own account, and whom he so frequently met at the
charming _modiste's_ shop, was her accepted, affianced lover. An
_éclaircissement_, accompanied by mortifying circumstances, was not,
however, long delayed.
It occurred one fine evening in July. M. Derville, in passing through
the _marché aux fleurs_, had selected a brilliant bouquet for
presentation to Mademoiselle de la Tour; and never to him had she
appeared more attractive, more fascinating, than when accepting, with
hesitating, blushing reluctance, the proffered flowers. She stepped
with them into the little sitting-room behind the shop; M. Derville
followed; and the last remnant of discretion and common-sense that had
hitherto restrained him giving way at once, he burst out with a
vehement declaration of the passion which was, he said, consuming him,
accompanied, of course, by the offer of his hand and fortune in
marriage. Marie de la Tour's first impulse was to laugh in the face of
a man who, old enough to be her father, addressed her in such terms;
but one glance at the pale face and burning eyes of the speaker,
convinced her that levity would be ill-timed--possibly dangerous. Even
the few civil and serious words of discouragement and refusal with
which she replied to his ardent protestations, were oil cast upon
flame. He threw himself at the young girl's feet, and clasped her
knees in passionate entreaty, at the very moment that Hector Bertrand,
with one De Beaune, entered the room. Marie de la Tour's exclamation
of alarm, and effort to disengage her dress from Derville's grasp, in
order to interpose between him and the new-comers, were simultaneous
with several heavy blows from Bertrand's cane across the shoulders of
the kneeling man, who instantly leaped to his feet, and sprang upon
his assailant with the yell and spring of a madman. Fortunately for
Bertrand, who was no match in personal strength for the man he had
assaulted, his friend De Beaune promptly took part in the encounter;
and after a desperate scuffle, during which Mademoiselle de la Tour's
remonstrances and entreaties were unheard or disregarded, M. Derville
was thrust with inexcusable violence into the street.
According to Jeanne Favart, her master reached home with his face all
bloody and discoloured, his clothes nearly torn from his back, and in
a state of frenzied excitement. He rushed past her up stairs, shut
himself into his bedroom, and there remained unseen by any one for
several days, partially opening the door only to receive food and
other necessaries from her hands. When he did at last leave his room,
the impassive calmness of manner habitual to him was quite restored,
and he wrote a note in answer to one that had been sent by
Mademoiselle de la Tour, expressive of her extreme regret for what had
occurred, and enclosing a very respectful apology from Hector
Bertrand. M. Derville said, that he was grateful for her sympathy and
kind wishes; and as to M. Bertrand, he frankly accepted his excuses,
and should think no more of the matter.
This mask of philosophic indifference or resignation was not so
carefully worn but that it slipped occasionally aside, and revealed
glimpses of the volcanic passion that raged beneath. Jeanne was not
for a moment deceived; and Marie de la Tour, the first time she again
saw him, perceived with woman's intuitive quickness through all his
assumed frigidity of speech and demeanour, that his sentiments towards
her, so far from being subdued by the mortifying repulse they had met
with, were more vehemently passionate than ever! He was a man, she
felt, to be feared and shunned; and very earnestly did she warn
Bertrand to avoid meeting, or, at all events, all possible chance of
collision with his exasperated, and, she was sure, merciless and
vindictive rival.
Bertrand said he would do so; and kept his promise as long as there
was no temptation to break it. About six weeks after his encounter
with M. Derville, he obtained a considerable contract for the
carpentry work of a large house belonging to a M. Mangier--a
fantastic, Gothic-looking place, as persons acquainted with Rouen will
remember, next door but one to Blaise's banking-house. Bertrand had
but little capital, and he was terribly puzzled for means to purchase
the requisite materials, of which the principal item was Baltic
timber. He essayed his credit with a person of the name of Dufour, on
the quay, and was refused. Two hours afterwards, he again sought the
merchant, for the purpose of proposing his friend De Beaune as
security. Dufour and Derville were talking together in front of the
office; and when they separated on Bertrand's approach, the young man
fancied that Derville saluted him with unusual friendliness. De
Beaune's security was declined by the cautious trader; and as Bertrand
was leaving, Dufour said, half-jestingly no doubt: 'Why don't you
apply to your friend Derville? He has timber on commission that will
suit you, I know; and he seemed very friendly just now.' Bertrand made
no reply, and walked off, thinking probably that he might as well ask
the statue of the 'Pucelle' for assistance as M. Derville. He was,
naturally enough, exceedingly put out, and vexed; and unhappily betook
himself to a neighbouring tavern for 'spirituous' solacement--a very
rare thing, let me add, for him to do. He remained there till about
eight o'clock, and by that time was in such a state of confused
elation from the unusual potations he had imbibed, that Dufour's
suggestion assumed a sort of drunken likelihood; and he resolved on
applying--there could not, he thought, be any wonderful harm, if no
good, in that--to the ship-broker. M. Derville was not at home, and
the office was closed; but Jeanne Favart, understanding Bertrand to
say that he had important business to transact with her master--she
supposed by appointment--shewed him into M. Derville's private
business-rooms, and left him there. Bertrand seated himself, fell
asleep after awhile, woke up about ten o'clock considerably sobered,
and quite alive to the absurd impropriety of the application he had
tipsily determined on, and was about to leave the place, when M.
Derville arrived. The ship-broker's surprise and anger at finding
Hector Bertrand in his house were extreme, and his only reply to the
intruder's stammering explanation, was a contemptuous order to leave
the place immediately. Bertrand slunk away sheepishly enough; and
slowly as he sauntered along, had nearly reached home, when M.
Derville overtook him.
'One word, Monsieur Bertrand,' said Derville. 'This way, if you
please.'
Bertrand, greatly surprised, followed the ship-broker to a lane close
by--a dark, solitary locality, which suggested an unpleasant
misgiving, very pleasantly relieved by Derville's first words.
'Monsieur Bertrand,' he said, 'I was hasty and ill-tempered just now;
but I am not a man to cherish malice, and for the sake of--of
Marie--of Mademoiselle de la Tour, I am disposed to assist you,
although I should not, as you will easily understand, like to have any
public or known dealings with you. Seven or eight hundred francs, I
understood you to say, the timber you required would amount to?'
'Certainly not more than that, monsieur,' Bertrand contrived to
answer, taken away as his breath nearly was by astonishment.
'Here, then, is a note of the Bank of France for one thousand francs.'
'Monsieur!--monsieur!' gasped the astounded recipient.
'You will repay me,' continued Derville, 'when your contract is
completed; and you will please to bear strictly in mind, that the
condition of any future favour of a like kind is, that you keep this
one scrupulously secret.' He then hurried off, leaving Bertrand in a
state of utter amazement. This feeling, however, slowly subsided,
especially after assuring himself, by the aid of his chamber-lamp,
that the note was a genuine one, and not, as he had half feared, a
valueless deception. 'This Monsieur Derville,' drowsily murmured
Bertrand as he ensconced himself in the bed-clothes, 'is a _bon
enfant_, after all--a generous, magnanimous prince, if ever there was
one. But then, to be sure, he wishes to do Marie a service by secretly
assisting her _futur_ on in life. _Sapristie!_ It is quite simple,
after all, this generosity; for undoubtedly Marie is the most
charming--charm--cha'----
Hector Bertrand went to Dufour's timber-yard at about noon the next
day, selected what he required, and pompously tendered the
thousand-franc note in payment. 'Whe-e-e-e-w!' whistled Dufour, 'the
deuce!' at the same time looking with keen scrutiny in his customer's
face.
'I received it from Monsieur Mangier in advance,' said Hector in hasty
reply to that look, blurting out in some degree inadvertently the
assertion which he had been thinking would be the most feasible
solution of his sudden riches, since he had been so peremptorily
forbidden to mention M. Derville's name.
'It is very generous of Monsieur Mangier,' said Dufour; 'and he is not
famous for that virtue either. But let us go to Blaise's bank: I have
not sufficient change in the house, and I daresay we shall get silver
for it there.'
As often happens in France, a daughter of the banker was the cashier
of the establishment; and it was with an accent of womanly
commiseration that she said, after minutely examining the note: 'From
whom, Monsieur Bertrand, did you obtain possession of this note?'
Bertrand hesitated. A vague feeling of alarm was beating at his heart,
and he confusedly bethought him, that it might be better not to repeat
the falsehood he had told M. Dufour. Before, however, he could decide
what to say, Dufour answered for him: 'He _says_ from Monsieur
Mangier, just by.'
'Strange!' said Mademoiselle Blaise. 'A clerk of Monsieur Derville's
has been taken into custody this very morning on suspicion of having
stolen this very note.'
Poor Bertrand! He felt as if seized with vertigo; and a stunned,
chaotic sense of mortal peril shot through his brain, as Marie's
solemn warning with respect to Derville rose up like a spectre before
him.
'I have heard of that circumstance,' said Dufour. And then, as
Bertrand did not, or could not speak, he added: 'You had better,
perhaps, mademoiselle, send for Monsieur Derville.'
This proposition elicited a wild, desperate cry from the bewildered
young man, who rushed distractedly out of the banking-house, and
hastened with frantic speed towards the Rue St Antoine--for the moment
unpursued.
Half an hour afterwards, Dufour and a bank-clerk arrived at
Mademoiselle de la Tour's. They found Bertrand and Marie together, and
both in a state of high nervous excitement. 'Monsieur Derville,' said
the clerk, 'is now at the bank; and Monsieur Blaise requests your
presence there, so that whatever misapprehension exists may be cleared
up without the intervention of the agents of the public force.'
'And pray, monsieur,' said Marie, in a much firmer tone than, from her
pale aspect, one would have expected, 'what does Monsieur Derville
himself say of this strange affair?'
'That the note in question, mademoiselle, must have been stolen from
his desk last evening. He was absent from home from half-past seven
till ten, and unfortunately left the key in the lock.'
'I was sure he would say so,' gasped Bertrand. 'He is a demon, and I
am lost.'
A bright, almost disdainful expression shone in Marie's fine eyes. 'Go
with these gentlemen, Hector,' she said; 'I will follow almost
immediately; and remember'---- What else she said was delivered in a
quick, low whisper; and the only words she permitted to be heard were:
'Pas un mot, si tu m'aime' (Not a word, if thou lovest me).
Bertrand found Messieurs Derville, Blaise, and Mangier in a private
room; and he remarked, with a nervous shudder, that two gendarmes were
stationed in the passage. Derville, though very pale, sustained
Bertrand's glance of rage and astonishment without flinching. It was
plain that he had steeled himself to carry through the diabolical
device his revenge had planned, and the fluttering hope with which
Marie had inspired Bertrand died within him. Derville repeated slowly
and firmly what the clerk had previously stated; adding, that no one
save Bertrand, Jeanne Favart, and the clerk whom he first suspected,
had been in the room after he left it. The note now produced was the
one that had been stolen, and was safe in his desk at half-past seven
the previous evening. M. Mangier said: 'The assertion of Bertrand,
that I advanced him this note, or any other, is entirely false.'
'What have you to say in reply to these grave suspicions?' said M.
Blaise. 'Your father was an honest man; and you, I hear, have hitherto
borne an irreproachable character,' he added, on finding that the
accused did not speak. 'Explain to us, then, how you came into
possession of this note; if you do not, and satisfactorily--though,
after what we have heard, that seems scarcely possible--we have no
alternative but to give you into custody.'
'I have nothing to say at present--nothing,' muttered Bertrand, whose
impatient furtive looks were every instant turned towards the door.
'Nothing to say!' exclaimed the banker; 'why, this is a tacit
admission of guilt. We had better call in the gendarmes at once.'
'I think,' said Dufour, 'the young man's refusal to speak is owing to
the entreaties of Mademoiselle de la Tour, whom we overheard implore
him, for her sake, or as he loved her, not to say a word.'
'What do you say?' exclaimed Derville, with quick interrogation, 'for
the sake of Mademoiselle de la Tour! Bah! you could not have heard
aright.'
'Pardon, monsieur,' said the clerk who had accompanied Dufour: 'I also
distinctly heard her so express herself--but here is the lady
herself.'
The entrance of Marie, accompanied by Jeanne Favart, greatly surprised
and startled M. Derville; he glanced sharply in her face, but unable
to encounter the indignant expression he met there, quickly averted
his look, whilst a hot flush glowed perceptibly out of his pale
features. At her request, seconded by M. Blaise, Derville repeated his
previous story; but his voice had lost its firmness, his manner its
cold impassibility.
'I wish Monsieur Derville would look me in the face,' said Marie, when
Derville had ceased speaking. 'I am here as a suppliant to him for
mercy.'
'A suppliant for mercy!' murmured Derville, partially confronting her.
'Yes; if only for the sake of the orphan daughter of the Monsieur de
la Tour who first helped you on in life, and for whom you not long
since professed regard.'
Derville seemed to recover his firmness at these words: 'No,' he said;
'not even for your sake, Marie, will I consent to the escape of such a
daring criminal from justice.'
'If that be your final resolve, monsieur,' continued Marie, with
kindling, impressive earnestness, 'it becomes necessary that, at
whatever sacrifice, the true criminal--whom assuredly Hector Bertrand
is not--should be denounced.'
Various exclamations of surprise and interest greeted these words, and
the agitation of Derville was again plainly visible.
'You have been surprised, messieurs,' she went on, 'at Hector's
refusal to afford any explanation as to how he became possessed of the
purloined note. You will presently comprehend the generous motive of
that silence. Monsieur Derville has said, that he left the note safe
in his desk at half-past seven last evening. Hector, it is recognised,
did not enter the house till nearly an hour afterwards; and now,
Jeanne Favart will inform you _who_ it was that called on her in the
interim, and remained in the room where the desk was placed for
upwards of a quarter of an hour, and part of that time alone.'
As the young girl spoke, Derville's dilated gaze rested with
fascinated intensity upon her excited countenance, and he hardly
seemed to breathe.
'It was you, mademoiselle,' said Jeanne, 'who called on me, and
remained as you describe.'
A fierce exclamation partially escaped Derville, forcibly suppressed
as Marie resumed: 'Yes; and now, messieurs, hear me solemnly declare,
that as truly as the note was stolen, _I_, not Hector, was the thief.'
''Tis false!' shrieked Derville, surprised out of all self-possession;
'a lie! It was not then the note was taken; not till--not till'----
'Not till when, Monsieur Derville?' said the excited girl, stepping
close to the shrinking, guilty man, and still holding him with her
flashing, triumphant eyes, as she placed her hand upon his shoulder;
'not till _when_ was the note taken from the desk, monsieur?'
He did not, could not reply, and presently sank, utterly subdued,
nerveless, panic-stricken, into a chair, with his white face buried in
his hands.
'This is indeed a painful affair,' said M. Blaise, after an expectant
silence of some minutes, 'if it be, as this young person appeared to
admit; and almost equally so, Monsieur Derville, if, as I more than
suspect, the conclusion indicated by the expression that has escaped
you should be the true one.'
The banker's voice appeared to break the spell that enchained the
faculties of Derville. He rose up, encountered the stern looks of the
men by one as fierce as theirs, and said hoarsely: 'I withdraw the
accusation! The young woman's story is a fabrication. I--I lent, gave
the fellow the note myself.'
A storm of execration--'_Coquin! voleur! scélérat!_' burst forth at
this confession, received by Derville with a defiant scowl, as he
stalked out of the apartment.
I do not know that any law-proceedings were afterwards taken against
him for defamation of character. Hector kept the note, as indeed he
had a good right to do, and Monsieur and Madams Bertrand are still
prosperous and respected inhabitants of Rouen, from which city
Derville disappeared very soon after the incidents just related.