Paul Changes His Mind
Gontran made an admirable _fiancé_, as courteous as he was assiduous.
With the aid of Andermatt's purse, he made presents to everyone; and
he constantly visited the young girl, either at her own house, or that
of Madame Honorat. Paul nearly always accompanied him now, in order to
have the opportunity of meeting Charlotte, saying to himself, after
each visit, that he would see her no more.
She had bravely resigned herself to her sister's marriage, and she
referred to it with apparent unconcern, as if it did not cause her the
slightest anxiety. Her character alone seemed a little altered, more
sedate, less open. While Gontran was talking soft nothings to Louise in
a half-whisper in a corner, Bretigny conversed with her in a serious
fashion, and allowed himself to be slowly vanquished, allowed this
fresh love to inundate his soul like a flowing tide. He knew what was
happening to him, and gave himself up to it, thinking: "Bah! when the
moment arrives. I will make my escape--that's all."
When he left her, he would go up to see Christiane, who now lay from
morning till night stretched on a long chair. At the door, he could not
help feeling nervous and irritated, prepared beforehand for those light
quarrels to which weariness gives birth. All that she said, all that
she was thinking of, annoyed him, even ere she had opened her lips. Her
appearance of suffering, her resigned attitude, her looks of reproach
and of supplication, made words of anger rise to his lips, which he
repressed through good-breeding; and, even when by her side, he kept
before his mind the constant memory, the fixed image, of the young girl
whom he had just quitted.
As Christiane, tormented with seeing so little of him, overwhelmed
him with questions as to how he spent his days, he invented stories,
to which she listened attentively, seeking to find out whether he was
thinking of some other woman. The powerlessness which she felt in
herself to keep a hold on this man, the powerlessness to pour into
him a little of that love with which she was tortured, the physical
powerlessness to fascinate him still, to give herself to him, to win
him back by caresses, since she could not regain him by the tender
intimacies of love, made her suspect the worst, without knowing on what
to fix her fears.
She vaguely realized that some danger was lowering over her, some great
unknown danger. And she was filled with undefined jealousy, jealousy of
everything--of women whom she saw passing by her window, and whom she
thought charming, without even having any proof that Bretigny had ever
spoken to them.
She asked of him: "Have you noticed a very pretty woman, a brunette,
rather tall, whom I saw a little while ago, and who must have arrived
here within the past few days?"
When he replied, "No, I don't know her," she at once jumped to the
conclusion that he was lying, turned pale, and went on: "But it is not
possible that you have not seen her. She appears to me very beautiful."
He was astonished at her persistency. "I assure you I have not seen
her. I'll try to come across her."
She thought: "Surely it must be she!" She felt persuaded, too, on
certain days, that he was hiding some intrigue in the locality, that
he had sent for his mistress, an actress perhaps. And she questioned
everybody, her father, her brother, and her husband, about all the
women young and desirable, whom they observed in the neighborhood of
Enval. If only she could have walked about, and seen for herself, she
might have reassured herself a little; but the almost complete loss
of motion which her condition forced upon her now made her endure an
intolerable martyrdom.
When she spoke to Paul, the tone of her voice alone revealed her
anguish, and intensified his nervous impatience with this love, which
for him was at an end. He could no longer talk quietly about anything
with her save the approaching marriage of Gontran, a subject which
enabled him to pronounce Charlotte's name, and to give vent to his
thoughts aloud about the young girl. And it was a mysterious source of
delight to him even to hear Christiane articulating that name, praising
the grace and all the qualities of this little maiden, compassionating
her, regretting that her brother should have sacrificed her, and
expressing a desire that some man, some noble heart, should appreciate
her, love her, and marry her.
He said: "Oh! yes, Gontran acted foolishly there. She is perfectly
charming, that young girl."
Christiane, without any misgiving, echoed: "Perfectly charming. She is
a pearl! a piece of perfection!"
Never had she thought that a man like Paul could love a little maid
like this, or that he would be likely to marry her. She had no
apprehensions save of his mistresses. And it was a singular phenomenon
of the heart that praise of Charlotte from Christiane's lips assumed in
his eyes an extreme value, excited his love, whetted his desire, and
surrounded the young girl with an irresistible attraction.
Now, one day, when he called at Madame Honorat's house to meet there
the Oriol girls, they found Doctor Mazelli installed there as if he was
at home. He stretched forth both hands to the two young men, with that
Italian smile of his, which seemed to give away his entire heart with
every word and every movement.
Gontran and he were linked by a friendship at once familiar and futile,
made up of secret affinities, of hidden likenesses, of a sort of
confederacy of instincts, rather than any real affection or confidence.
The Comte asked: "What about your little blonde of the Sans-Souci wood?"
The Italian smiled: "Bah! we are on terms of indifference toward one
another. She is one of those women who offer everything and give
nothing."
And they began to chat. The handsome physician performed certain
offices for the young girls, especially for Charlotte. When addressing
women, he manifested a perpetual adoration in his voice, his gestures,
and his looks. His entire person, from head to foot, said to them,
"I love you" with an eloquence in his attitude which never failed to
win their favor. He displayed the graces of an actress, the light
pirouettes of a _danseuse_, the supple movements of a juggler,
an entire science of seduction natural and acquired, of which he
constantly made use.
Paul, when returning to the hotel with Gontran, exclaimed in a tone of
sullen vexation: "What does this charlatan come to that house for?"
The Comte replied quietly: "How can you ever tell when dealing with
such adventurers? These sort of people slip in everywhere. This
fellow must be tired of his vagabond existence, and of giving way to
every caprice of his Spaniard, of whom he is rather the valet than
the physician--and perhaps something more. He is looking about him.
Professor Cloche's daughter was a good catch--he has failed with her,
he says. The second of the Oriol girls would not be less valuable
to him. He is making the attempt, feeling his way, smelling about,
sounding. He would become co-proprietor of the waters, would try to
knock over that idiot, Latonne, would in any case get an excellent
practice here every summer for himself, which would last him over the
winter. Faith! this is his plan exactly--no doubt of it!"
A dull rage, a jealous animosity, was aroused in Paul's heart. A
voice exclaimed: "Hey! hey!" It was Mazelli, who had overtaken them.
Bretigny said to him, with aggressive irony: "Where are you rushing
so quickly, doctor? One would say that you were pursuing fortune."
The Italian smiled, and, without stopping, but skipping backward, he
plunged, with a mimic's graceful movement, his hands into his two
pockets, quickly turned them out and showed them, both empty, holding
them wide between two fingers by the ends of the seams. Then he said:
"I have not got hold of it yet." And, turning on his toes, he rushed
away like a man in a great hurry.
They found him again several times, on the following days, at Doctor
Honorat's house, where he made himself useful to the three ladies by a
thousand graceful little services, by the same clever tactics which he
had no doubt adopted when dealing with the Duchess. He knew how to do
everything to perfection, from paying compliments to making macaroni.
He was, moreover, an excellent cook, and protecting himself from stains
by means of a servant's blue apron, and wearing a chef's cap made of
paper on his head, while he sang Neapolitan ditties in Italian, he did
the work of a scullion, without appearing a bit ridiculous, amusing and
fascinating everybody, down to the half-witted housekeeper, who said of
him: "He is a marvel!"
His plans were soon obvious, and Paul no longer had any doubt that he
was trying to get Charlotte to fall in love with him. He seemed to be
succeeding in this. He was so profuse of flattery, so eager, so artful
in striving to please, that the young girl's face had, when she looked
at him, that air of contentment which indicates that the heart is
gratified.
Paul, in his turn, without being even able to account to himself for
his conduct, assumed the attitude of a lover, and set himself up as
a rival. When he saw the doctor with Charlotte, he would come on the
scene, and, with his more direct manner, exert himself to win the young
girl's affections. He showed himself straightforward and sympathetic,
fraternal, devoted, repeating to her, with the sincerity of a friend,
in a tone so frank that one could scarcely see in it an avowal of love:
"I am very fond of you; cheer up!"
Mazelli, astonished at this unexpected rivalry, had recourse to all
his powers of captivation; and, when Bretigny, bitten with jealousy,
that naïve jealousy which takes possession of a man when he is dealing
with any woman, even without being in love with her, provided only he
has taken a fancy to her--when, filled with this natural violence, he
became aggressive and haughty, the other, more pliant, always master
of himself, replied with sly allusions, witticisms, well-turned and
mocking compliments.
It was a daily warfare which they both waged fiercely, without either
of them perhaps having a well-defined object in view. They did not want
to give way, like two dogs who have gained a grip of the same quarry.
Charlotte had recovered her good humor, but along with it she now
exhibited a more biting waggery, a certain sphinx-like attitude,
less candor in her smile and in her glance. One would have said that
Gontran's desertion had educated her, prepared her for possible
deceptions, disciplined, and armed her.
She played off her two admirers against one another in a sly and
dexterous fashion, saying to each of them what she thought necessary,
without letting the one fall foul of the other, without ever letting
the one suppose that she preferred the other, laughing slightly at each
of them in turn in the presence of his rival, leaving them an equal
match without appearing even to take either of them seriously. But all
this was done simply, in the manner of a schoolgirl rather than in that
of a coquette, with that mischievous air exhibited by young girls which
sometimes renders them irresistible.
Mazelli, however, seemed suddenly to be having the advantage. He had
apparently become more intimate with her, as if a secret understanding
had been established between them. While talking to her, he played
lightly with her parasol and with one of the ribbons of her dress,
which appeared to Paul, as it were, an act of moral possession, and
exasperated him so much that he longed to box the Italian's ears.
But, one day, at Père Oriol's house, while Bretigny was chatting with
Louise and Gontran, and, at the same time, keeping his eye fixed on
Mazelli, who was telling Charlotte in a subdued voice some things that
made her smile, he suddenly saw her blush with such an appearance of
embarrassment as to leave no doubt for one moment on his mind that the
other had spoken of love. She had cast down her eyes, and ceased to
smile, but still continued listening; and Paul, who felt disposed to
make a scene, said to Gontran: "Will you have the goodness to come out
with me for five minutes?"
The Comte made his excuses to his betrothed, and followed his friend.
When they were in the street, Paul exclaimed: "My dear fellow, this
wretched Italian must, at any cost, be prevented from inveigling this
girl, who is defenseless against him."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"To warn her of the fact that he is an adventurer."
"Hey, my dear boy, those things are no concern of mine."
"After all, she is to be your sister-in-law."
"Yes, but there is nothing to show me conclusively that Mazelli has
guilty designs upon her. He exhibits the same gallantry toward all
women, and he has never said or done anything improper."
"Well, if you don't want to take it on yourself, I'll do it, although
it concerns me less assuredly than it does you."
"So then you are in love with Charlotte?"
"I? No--but I see clearly through this blackguard's game."
"My dear fellow, you are mixing yourself up in matters of a delicate
nature, and--unless you are in love with Charlotte----"
"No--I am not in love with her--but I am hunting down imposters, that's
what I mean!"
"May I ask what you intend to do?"
"To thrash this beggar."
"Good! the best way to make her fall in love with him. You fight with
him, and whether he wounds you, or you wound him, he will become a hero
in her eyes."
"What would you do then?"
"In your place?"
"In my place."
"I would speak to the girl as a friend. She has great confidence
in you. Well, I would say to her simply in a few words what these
hangers-on of society are. You know very well how to say these things.
You possess an eloquent tongue. And I would make her understand,
first, why he is attached to the Spaniard; secondly, why he attempted
to lay siege to Professor Cloche's daughter; thirdly, why, not having
succeeded in this effort, he is striving, in the last place, to make a
conquest of Mademoiselle Charlotte Oriol."
"Why do you not do that, yourself, who will be her brother-in-law?"
"Because--because--on account of what passed between us--come! I can't."
"That's quite right. I am going to speak to her."
"Do you want me to procure for you a private conversation with her
immediately?"
"Why, yes, assuredly."
"Good! Walk about for ten minutes. I am going to carry off Louise and
Mazelli, and, when you come back, you will find the other alone."
Paul Bretigny rambled along the side of the Enval gorges, thinking over
the best way of opening this difficult conversation.
He found Charlotte Oriol alone, indeed, on his return, in the cold,
whitewashed parlor of the paternal abode; and he said to her, as he sat
down beside her: "It is I, Mademoiselle, who asked Gontran to procure
me this interview with you."
She looked at him with her clear eyes: "Why, pray?"
"Oh! it is not to pay you insipid compliments in the Italian fashion.
It is to speak to you as a friend--as a very devoted friend, who owes
you good advice."
"Tell me what it is."
He took up the subject in a roundabout style, dwelt upon his own
experience, and upon her inexperience, so as to lead gradually by
discreet but explicit phrases to a reference to those adventurers who
are everywhere going in quest of fortune, taking advantage with their
professional skill of every ingenuous and good-natured being, man or
woman, whose purses or hearts they explored.
She turned rather pale as she listened to him.
Then she said: "I understand and I don't understand. You are speaking
of some one--of whom?"
"I am speaking of Doctor Mazelli."
Then, she lowered her eyes, and remained a few seconds without
replying; after this, in a hesitating voice: "You are so frank that I
will be the same with you. Since--since my sister's marriage has been
arranged, I have become a little less--a little less stupid! Well, I
had already suspected what you tell me--and I used to feel amused of my
own accord at seeing him coming."
She raised her face to his as she spoke, and in her smile, in her arch
look, in her little _retroussé_ nose, in the moist and glittering
brilliancy of her teeth which showed themselves between her lips, so
much open-hearted gracefulness, sly gaiety, and charming frolicsomeness
appeared that Bretigny felt himself drawn toward her by one of those
tumultuous transports which flung him distracted with passion at the
feet of the woman who was his latest love. And his heart exulted with
joy because Mazelli had not been preferred to him. So then he had
triumphed.
He asked: "You do not love him, then?"
"Whom? Mazelli?"
"Yes."
She looked at him with such a pained expression in her eyes that he
felt thrown off his balance, and stammered, in a supplicating voice:
"What?--you don't love--anyone?"
She replied, with a downward glance: "I don't know--I love people who
love me."
He seized the young girl's two hands, all at once, and kissing them
wildly in one of those moments of impulse in which the head loses its
controlling power, and the words which rise to the lips come from the
excited flesh rather than the wandering mind, he faltered:
"I!--I love you, my little Charlotte; yes, I love you!"
She quickly drew away one of her hands, and placed it on his mouth,
murmuring: "Be silent!--be silent, I beg of you! It would cause me too
much pain if this were another falsehood."
She stood erect; he rose up, caught her in his arms, and embraced her
passionately.
A sudden noise parted them; Père Oriol had just come in, and he was
gazing at them, quite scared. Then, he cried: "Ah! bougrrre! ah!
bougrrre! ah! bougrrre of a savage!"
Charlotte had rushed out, and the two men remained face to face.
After some seconds of agitation, Paul made an attempt to explain his
position.
"My God! Monsieur--I have conducted myself--it is true--like a----"
But the old man would not listen to him. Anger, furious anger, had
taken possession of him, and he advanced toward Bretigny, with clenched
fists, repeating:
"Ah! bougrrre of a savage----"
Then, when they were nose to nose, he seized Paul by the collar with
his knotted peasant's hands.
But the other, as tall, and strong with that superior strength acquired
by the practice of athletics, freed himself with a single push from the
countryman's grip, and, pushing him up against the wall:
"Listen, Père Oriol, this is not a matter for us to fight about, but to
settle quietly. It is true, I was embracing your daughter. I swear to
you that this is the first time--and I swear to you, too, that I desire
to marry her."
The old man, whose physical excitement had subsided under the assault
of his adversary, but whose anger had not yet been calmed, stuttered:
"Ha! that's how it is! You want to steal my daughter; you want my
money. Bougrrre of a deceiver!"
Thereupon, he allowed all that was on his mind to escape from him in a
heap of grumbling words. He found no consolation for the dowry promised
with his elder girl, for his vinelands going into the hands of these
Parisians. He now had his suspicions as to Gontran's want of money,
Andermatt's craft, and, without forgetting the unexpected fortune
which the banker brought him, he vented his bile and his secret rancor
against those mischievous people who did not let him sleep any longer
in peace.
One would have thought that his family and his friends were coming
every night to plunder him, to rob him of everything, his lands, his
springs, and his daughters. And he cast these reproaches into Paul's
face, accusing him also of wanting to get hold of his property, of
being a rogue, and of taking Charlotte in order to have his lands.
The other, soon losing all patience, shouted under his very nose: "Why,
I am richer than you, you infernally currish old donkey. I would bring
you money."
The old man listened in silence to these words, incredulous but
vigilant, and then, in a milder tone, he renewed his complaints.
Paul then answered him and entered into explanations; and, believing
that an obligation was imposed on him, owing to the circumstances under
which he had been surprised, and for which he was solely responsible,
he proposed to marry the girl without asking for any dowry.
Père Oriol shook his head and his ears, heard Paul reiterating his
statements, but was unable to understand. To him this young man seemed
still a pauper, a penniless wretch.
And, when Bretigny, exasperated, yelled, in his teeth: "Why, you old
rascal, I have an income of more than a hundred and twenty thousand
francs a year--do you understand?--three millions," the other suddenly
asked: "Will you write that down on a piece of paper?"
"Yes, I will write it down!"
"And you'll sign it?"
"Yes, I will sign it."
"On a sheet of notary's paper?"
"Yes, certainly--on a sheet of notary's paper!"
Thereupon, he rose up, opened a press, took out of it two leaves marked
with the Government stamp, and, seeking for the undertaking which
Andermatt, a few days before, had required from him, he drew up an odd
promise of marriage, in which it was made a condition that the _fiancé_
vouched for his being worth three millions; and, at the end of it
Bretigny affixed his signature.
When Paul found himself in the open air once more, he felt as if the
earth no longer turned round in the same way. So then, he was engaged,
in spite of himself, in spite of her, by one of those accidents, by one
of those tricks of circumstance, which shut out from you every point of
escape. He muttered: "What madness!" Then he reflected: "Bah! I could
not have found better perhaps in all the world!"
And in his secret heart he rejoiced at this snare of destiny.