RAMBOUILLET AGAIN.
At the appointed hour Gaston presented himself at Helene's domicile, but
Madame Desroches made some difficulty about admitting him; Helene,
however, said firmly that she was quite at liberty to judge for herself
what was right, and that she was quite determined to see M. de Livry,
who had come to take leave of her. It will be remembered that this was
the name which Gaston had assumed during the journey, and which he
intended to retain, except when with those connected with his mission to
Paris.
Madame Desroches went to her room somewhat out of humor, and even
attempted to overhear the conversation, but Helene bolted the outer
door.
"Ah, Gaston," said she, "I have been expecting you. I did not sleep last
night."
"Nor I, Helene; but I must admire all this splendor."
Helene smiled.
"And your head-dress--how beautiful you are, like this."
"You do not appear much pleased."
Gaston made no reply, but continued his investigations.
"These rich hangings, these costly pictures, all prove that your
protectors are opulent, Helene."
"I believe so," said Helene, smiling, "yet I am told that these
hangings, and this gilding, which you admire, are old and unfashionable,
and must be replaced by new."
"Ah, Helene, you will become a great lady," said Gaston, sighing;
"already I am kept waiting for an audience."
"My dear Gaston, did you not wait for hours in your little boat on the
lake?"
"You were then in the convent. I waited the abbess's pleasure."
"That title is sacred, is it not?"
"Yes."
"It gives security, imposes respect and obedience."
"Doubtless."
"Well, judge of my delight. Here I find the same protection, the same
love, only more powerful, more lasting."
"What!" exclaimed Gaston, surprised.
"I find--"
"Speak, in Heaven's name."
"Gaston, I have found a father."
"A father--ah, my dear Helene, I share your joy; what happiness! a
father to watch over my Helene, my wife!"
"To watch from afar."
"Is he separated from you?"
"Alas, it seems the world separates us."
"Is it a secret?"
"A secret even to me, or you may be sure you should know all. I have no
secrets from you, Gaston."
"A misfortune of birth--a prescription in your family--some temporary
obstacle?"----"I do not know."
"Decidedly, it is a secret; but," said he, smiling, "I permit you to be
discreet with me, if your father ordered it. However, may I ask some
more questions?"
"Oh, yes."
"Are you pleased? Is your father one you can be proud of?"
"I think so, his heart seems noble and good. His voice is sweet and
melodious."
"His voice! but is he like you?"
"I do not know. I have not seen him."
"Not seen him?"
"No, it was dark."
"Your father did not wish to see his daughter; and you so beautiful; oh,
what indifference!"
"No, Gaston, he is not indifferent; he knows me well; he has my
portrait--that portrait which made you so jealous last spring."
"But I do not understand this."
"It was dark, I tell you."
"In that case one might light these girandoles," said Gaston.
"That is well, when one wishes to be seen; but when one has reasons for
concealment--"
"What!" interrupted Gaston; "what reason can a father have for hiding
from his own daughter?"
"Excellent reasons, I believe, and you should understand them better
than I can."
"Oh, Helene!" said Gaston, "with what terrible ideas you fill my mind."
"You alarm me, Gaston!"
"Tell me--what did your father speak of!"
"Of his deep love for me."
Gaston started.
"He swore to me that in future I should be happy; that there should be
no more uncertainty as to my fate, for that he would despise all those
considerations which had induced him as yet to disown me as a daughter."
"Words, words; but what proof did he give you? Pardon me these
questions, Helene. I dread misfortune. I wish that for a time your
angel's innocence could give place to the sharpness and infernal
sagacity of a fiend; you would then understand me. I should not need to
subject you to this interrogatory, which now is so necessary."
"I do not understand your question, Gaston. I do not know how to reply
to you."
"Did he show you much affection?"
"Yes."
"But in the darkness, when he wished to speak to you?"
"He took my hand, and his trembled the most."
Gaston clenched his hands with rage.
"He embraced you paternally, did he not?"
"He gave me a single kiss on the forehead, which I received on my
knees."
"Helene!" he cried, "my fears were not groundless; you are betrayed--you
are the victim of a snare. Helene, this man who conceals himself, who
fears the light, who calls you his child, is not your father."
"Gaston, you distress me."
"Helene, angels might envy your innocence; but on earth all is abused,
even angels are insulted, profaned, by men. This man, whom I will know,
whom I will seize and force to have confidence in your love and honor,
shall tell me--if he be not the vilest of beings--whether I am to call
him father, or kill him as a wretch!"
"Gaston, your brain is wandering; what can lead you to suspect such
treachery? And, since you arouse my suspicions, since you hold a light
over those ignoble labyrinths of the human heart which I refused to
contemplate, I will speak to you with the same freedom. Was I not in
this man's power? Is not this house his? Are not the people by whom I am
surrounded devoted to his orders? Gaston, if you love me, you will ask
my pardon for what you have thought and said of my father."
Gaston was in despair.
"Do not destroy one of the purest and holiest joys I have ever tasted.
Do not poison the happiness of a life which I have often wept to think
was solitary and abandoned, without other affection than that of which
Heaven forbids us to be lavish. Let my filial ties compensate for the
remorse which I sometimes feel for loving you almost to idolatry."
"Helene, forgive me," cried Gaston. "Yes, you are right; I sully your
pure joys by my contact, and it may be the noble affection of your
father, but in Heaven's name, Helene, give some heed to the fears of my
experience and my love. Criminal passions often speculate on innocent
credulity. The argument you use is weak. To show at once a guilty love
would be unlike a skillful corrupter; but to win you by a novel luxury
pleasing to your age, to accustom you gradually to new impressions, to
win you at last by persuasion, is a sweeter victory than that of
violence. Helene, listen to my prudence of five-and-twenty years--I say
my prudence, for it is my love that speaks, that love which you should
see so humble, so devoted, so ready to accept a father whom I knew to be
really your parent."
Helene made no answer.
"I implore you," continued Gaston, "not to take any determination now,
but to watch everything around you. Suspect the perfumes which are given
you, the wine which you are offered--everything, Helene. Watch over
yourself, you are my happiness, my honor, my life."
"My friend, I will obey you; this will not keep me from loving my
father."
"Adore him, Helene, if I am wrong."
"You are a noble friend, Gaston. We are agreed then?"
"At the slightest suspicion write to me."
"Write! You leave me then?"
"I must go to Paris on business. I shall be at the hotel Muids d'Amour,
Rue des Bourdonnais. Write down this address, and do not show it to any
one."
"Why so many precautions?"
Gaston hesitated.
"Because, if your devoted protector were known, his plans for aiding you
might be frustrated in case of bad intentions."
"You are somewhat mysterious, Gaston. I have a father who conceals
himself, and a lover--this word I can hardly speak--who is going to do
the same."
"But my intentions, you know," said Gaston, attempting to force a laugh.
"Ah, Madame Desroches is coming back. She thinks our interview too long.
I am as much under tutelage as at the convent."
Gaston imprinted a kiss on the hand Helene held out to him. As Madame
Desroches approached, Helene made a formal curtsey, which Gaston
returned by an equally formal bow.
Gaston left for Paris. Owen awaited him with impatience, and this time
could not reproach his master with being slow, for in three hours they
were in Paris.