M. Pascal, at the sight of Antonine, whom he saw for the second time
that morning, was, as we have said, a moment bewildered with surprise
and admiration before this fresh and innocent beauty.
"At last, here you are!" said Charles Dutertre, effusively extending
both hands to M. Pascal when he found himself alone with him. "Do you
know we were beginning to question your promptness? All the week my wife
and I have looked forward with joy to this day, for, after the
anniversary of the birth of our children, the day that we celebrate with
the most pleasure is the one from which dates, thanks to you, the
security of their future. It is so good, so sweet to feel, by the
gratitude of our hearts, the lofty nobleness of those generous deeds
which honour him who offers as much as him who accepts."
M. Pascal did not appear to have heard the words of M. Dutertre, and
said to him:
"Who is that young girl who just went out of here?"
"Mlle. Antonine Hubert."
"Is she related to President Hubert, who has lately been so ill?"
"She is his niece."
"Ah!" said Pascal, thoughtfully.
"You know if my father were not with us," replied M. Dutertre, smiling,
"our little festivity would not be complete. I am going to inform him of
your arrival, my dear M. Pascal."
And as he stepped to the door of the old man's chamber, M. Pascal
stopped him with a gesture, and said:
"Does not President Hubert reside--"
And as he hesitated, Dutertre added:
"In Faubourg St. Honoré. The garden joins that of the Élysée-Bourbon."
"Has this young girl lived with her uncle long?"
Dutertre, quite surprised at this persistent inquiry concerning
Antonine, answered:
"About three months ago M. Hubert went to Nice for Antonine, where she
lived after the death of her parents."
"And is Madame Dutertre very intimate with this young person?"
"They were together at boarding-school, where Sophie was a sort of
mother to her, and ever since they have been upon the most affectionate
terms."
"Ah!" said Pascal, again relapsing into deep thought.
This man possessed a great and rare faculty which had contributed to the
accumulation of his immense fortune,--he could with perfect ease detach
himself from any line of thought, and enter upon a totally different set
of ideas. Thus, after the interview of Frantz and Antonine which he had
surprised, and which had excited him so profoundly, he was able to talk
with the archduke upon business affairs, and to torture him with
deliberate malice.
In the same way, after this meeting with Antonine at the house of
Dutertre, he postponed, so to speak, his violent resentment and his
plans regarding the young girl, and said, with perfect good-nature, to
Sophie's husband:
"While we wait for the return of your wife, I have a little favour to
ask of you."
"At last!" exclaimed Dutertre, rubbing his hands with evident
satisfaction; "better late than never."
"You had a cashier named Marcelange?"
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Unfortunately?"
"He committed, while in my employ, not an act of dishonesty, for I
should not, at any price, have saved him from the punishment he merited;
but he was guilty of an indelicacy under circumstances which proved to
me that the man was a wretch, and I dismissed him."
"Marcelange told me, in fact, that you sent him away."
"You are acquainted with him?" replied Dutertre, in surprise, as he
recalled his father's words.
"Some days ago he came to see me. He wished to get a position in the
Durand house."
"He? Among such honourable people?"
"Why not? He was employed by you."
"But, as I have told you, my dear M. Pascal, I sent him away as soon as
his conduct was known to me."
"I understand perfectly. Only, as he is without a position, he must
have, in order to enter the Durand house, a letter of recommendation
from you, as the Durands are not willing to accept the poor fellow
otherwise; now this letter, my dear Dutertre, I come honestly to ask of
you."
After a moment of astonishment, Dutertre said, with a smile:
"After all, I ought not to be astonished. You are so kind! This man is
full of artifice and falsity, and knows how to take advantage of your
confidence."
"I believe, really, that Marcelange is very false, very sly; but that
need not prevent your giving me the letter I ask."
Dutertre could not believe that he had heard aright, or that he
understood M. Pascal, and replied:
"I beg your pardon, sir. I have just told you that--"
"You have reason to complain of an act of indelicacy on the part of
this fellow, but, bah! what does that matter?"
"What! M. Pascal, you ask, what does it matter? Know then, that, in my
eyes, this man's act was even more blamable than fraud in money
matters."
"I believe you, my dear Dutertre, I believe you; there is no better
judge of honourable dealing than yourself. Marcelange seems to me truly
a cunning rascal, and, if I must tell you, it is on that account that I
insist--insist very much on his being recommended by you."
"Honestly, M. Pascal, I believe that I should be acting a dishonourable
part in aiding the entrance of Marcelange into a thoroughly respectable
house."
"Come, now, do this for me!"
"You are not speaking seriously, M. Pascal?"
"I am speaking very seriously."
"After what I have just confided to you?"
"My God! yes, why not?"
"You! you! honour and loyalty itself!"
"I, the impersonation of honour and loyalty, ask you to give me this
letter."
Dutertre looked at M. Pascal, bewildered; then, after a moment's
reflection, he replied, in a tone of affectionate reproach:
"Ah, sir, after a year has elapsed, was this proof necessary?"
"What proof?"
"To propose an unworthy action to me, that you might feel assured that I
deserved your confidence."
"My dear Dutertre, I repeat to you that I must have this letter. It
concerns an affair which is very important to me."
M. Pascal was speaking seriously. Dutertre could no longer doubt it. He
then remembered the words of his father, the antipathy of his little
girl, and, seized with a vague dread, he replied, in a constrained
voice:
"So, monsieur, you forget the grave responsibility which would rest upon
me if I did what you desire."
"Eh, my God! my brave Dutertre, if we only asked easy things of our
friends!"
"You ask of me an impossible thing, monsieur."
"So, then, you refuse to do it for me, do you?"
"M. Pascal," said Dutertre, with an accent at the same time firm and
full of emotion, "I owe you everything. There is not a day that I, my
wife, and my father do not recall the fact that, one year ago, without
your unexpected succour, our own ruin, and the ruin of many other
people, would have been inevitable. All that gratitude can inspire of
respect and affection we feel for you. Every possible proof of devotion
we are ready to give you with pleasure, with happiness, but--"
"One word more, and you will understand me," interrupted M. Pascal.
"Since I must tell you, Dutertre, I have a special interest in having
some one who belongs to me--entirely to me, you understand, entirely
mine--in the business house of Durand. Now, you can comprehend that,
holding Marcelange by this letter which you will give me for him, and by
what I know of his antecedents, I can make him my creature, my blind
instrument. This is entirely between us, my dear Dutertre, and, counting
on your absolute discretion, I will go further even, and I will tell you
that--"
"Not a word more on this subject, sir, I beg," exclaimed Dutertre, with
increasing surprise and distress, for up to that time he had believed
Pascal to be a man of incorruptible integrity. "Not a word more. There
are secrets whose confidence one does not wish to accept."
"Why?"
"Because they might become very embarrassing, sir."
"Really! The confidences of an old friend can become an annoyance! Very
well, I will keep them. Then, give me this letter without any more
explanations."
"I repeat to you, sir, that it is impossible for me to do so."
M. Pascal bit his lips and unconsciously knit his eyebrows; as surprised
as he was angry at the refusal of Dutertre, he could scarcely believe
that a man who was dependent upon him could have the audacity to oppose
his will, or the courage to sacrifice the present and the future to a
scruple of honour.
However, as he had a special interest in this letter, he replied, with a
tone of affectionate reproach:
"What! You refuse me that, my dear Dutertre,--refuse me, your friend?"
"I refuse you above all,--you who have had faith enough in my
incorruptible honesty to advance for me, without even knowing me, a
considerable amount."
"Come, my dear Dutertre, do not make me more adventurous than I am. Are
not your honesty, your intelligence, your interest even, and at any rate
the material in your factory, sufficient security for my capital? Am I
not always in a safe position, by the right I reserve to myself, to
exact repayment at will? A right which I will not exercise in your case
for a long time, as I know. I am too much interested in you to do that,
Dutertre," as he saw astonishment and anguish depicted in Dutertre's
face, "but, indeed, let us suppose,--oh, it will not come to that, thank
God,--but let us suppose that, in the constrained condition and trying
crisis in which business is at present, I should say to you to-day, M.
Dutertre, I shall need my money in a month, and I withdraw my credit
from you."
"Great God!" exclaimed Dutertre, terrified, staggered at the bare
supposition of such a disaster, "I would go into bankruptcy! It would be
my ruin, the loss of my business; I would be obliged, perhaps, to work
with my own hands, if I could find employment, to support my infirm
father, my wife, and my children."
"Will you be silent, you wicked man, and not put such painful things
before my eyes! You are going to spoil my whole day!" exclaimed M.
Pascal, with irresistible good-nature, taking Dutertre's hands in his
own. "Do you speak in this way, when I, like you, am making a festivity
of this morning? Well, well, what is the matter? How pale you look,
now!"
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Dutertre, wiping the drops of cold sweat
from his brow, "but at the very thought of such an unexpected blow which
would strike all that I hold dearest in the world, my honour, my family,
my labour--Ah, yes, monsieur, you are right, let us drive this thought
far from us, it is too horrible."
"Eh! my God, that is just what I was saying to you; do not let us make
this charming day a sad one. So, to finish the matter," added M. Pascal,
cheerfully, "let us hurry over business affairs, let us empty our bag,
as the saying is. Give me this letter, and we will talk no more about
it."
Dutertre started, a frightful pain wrung his heart, and he replied:
"Such persistence astonishes and distresses me, monsieur. I repeat to
you it is absolutely impossible for me to do what you ask."
"What a child you are! my persistent request proves to you how much
importance I attach to this affair."
"That may be, monsieur."
"And why do I attach such importance to it, my brave Dutertre? It is
because this matter interests you as well as myself."
"What do you mean, monsieur?"
"Eh! without doubt. My combination with the house of Durand failing,
since your refusal would prevent my employing this knave Marcelange, as
I desire (you do not wish to know my secrets, so I am forced to keep
them), perhaps I should be compelled for certain reasons," added M.
Pascal, pronouncing his words slowly, and looking at his victim with a
sharp, cold eye, "I say, perhaps I should be compelled--and it would
draw the blood from my heart--to demand the repayment of my capital, and
withdraw my credit from you."
"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Dutertre, clasping his hands and looking as pale
as a ghost.
"So you see, bad man, in what an atrocious position you put yourself.
Force me to an action which, I repeat to you, would tear my soul--"
"But, monsieur, a moment ago you assured me that--"
"Zounds! my intention would be to let you keep this wretched capital as
long as possible. You pay me the interest with remarkable punctuality,
it was perfectly well placed, and, thanks to our terms of liquidation,
you would have been free in ten years, and I should have made a good
investment in doing you a service."
"Really, monsieur," murmured Dutertre, overwhelmed, "such were your
promises, if not written, at least verbal, and the generosity of your
offer, the loyalty of your character, all gave me perfect confidence.
God grant that I may not have to consider myself the most rash, the most
stupid man, to have trusted your word!"
"As to that, Dutertre, you can be at peace with yourself; at that period
of commercial crisis, at least as terrible as it is to-day, you could
not have found anywhere the capital that I offered you at such a
moderate rate."
"I know it, monsieur."
"Then you can, and you must, indeed, by sheer force of necessity, accept
the condition I put upon this loan."
"But, monsieur," cried Dutertre, with inexpressible alarm, "I appeal to
your honour! You have expressly promised me that--"
"Eh, my God, yes, I promised you, saving the superior force of events;
and unfortunately your refusal to give this poor little letter creates
an event of stronger force which places me in the painful--the grievous
necessity of asking you for repayment of my money."
"But, monsieur, it is an unworthy action that you ask me to do, think of
it."
At this moment was heard the sweet ringing laughter of Sophie, who was
approaching the parlour.
"Ah, monsieur," said her husband, "not a word of this before my wife,
because it may not be your final resolve. I hope that--"
Charles Dutertre could not finish, because Sophie had entered the
parlour.
The unhappy man could only make a supplicating gesture to Pascal, who
responded to it by a sign of sympathetic intelligence.