Before Mademoiselle de Guerchi had recovered from her fright the
commander spoke.
"As I am a gentleman, my beauty, if you were the Abbess of Montmartre,
you could not be more difficult of access. I met a blackguard on the
stairs who tried to stop me, and whom I was obliged to thrash soundly.
Is what they told me on my return true? Are you really doing penance,
and do you intend to take the veil?"
"Sir," answered Angelique, with great dignity, "whatever may be my
plans, I have a right to be surprised at your violence and at your
intrusion at such an hour."
"Before we go any farther," said de Jars, twirling round on his heels,
"allow me to present to you my nephew, the Chevalier de Moranges."
"Chevalier de Moranges!" muttered Quennebert, on whose memory in that
instant the name became indelibly engraven.
"A young man," continued the commander, "who has come back with me from
abroad. Good style, as you see, charming appearance. Now, you young
innocent, lift up your great black eyes and kiss madame's hand; I allow
it."
"Monsieur le commandeur, leave my room; begone, or I shall call----"
"Whom, then? Your lackeys? But I have beaten the only one you keep, as I
told you, and it will be some time before he'll be in a condition to
light me downstairs: 'Begone,' indeed! Is that the way you receive an
old friend? Pray be seated, chevalier."
He approached Mademoiselle de Guerchi, and, despite her resistance,
seized hold of one of her hands, and forcing her to sit down, seated
himself beside her.
"That's right, my girl," said he; "now let us talk sense. I understand
that before a stranger you consider yourself obliged to appear
astonished at my ways of going on. But he knows all about us, and
nothing he may see or hear will surprise him. So a truce to prudery! I
came back yesterday, but I could not make out your hiding-place till
to-day. Now I'm not going to ask you to tell me how you have gone on in
my absence. God and you alone know, and while He will tell me nothing,
you would only tell me fibs, and I want to save you from that venial sin
at least. But here I am, in as good spirits as ever, more in love than
ever, and quite ready to resume my old habits."
Meantime the lady, quite subdued by his noisy entrance and ruffianly
conduct, and seeing that an assumption of dignity would only draw down
on her some fresh impertinence, appeared to resign herself to her
position. All this time Quennebert never took his eyes from the
chevalier, who sat with his face towards the partition. His elegantly
cut costume accentuated his personal advantages. His jet black hair
brought into relief the whiteness of his forehead; his large dark eyes
with their veined lids and silky lashes had a penetrating and peculiar
expression--a mixture of audacity and weakness; his thin and somewhat
pale lips were apt to curl in an ironical smile; his hands were of
perfect beauty, his feet of dainty smallness, and he showed with an
affectation of complaisance a well-turned leg above his ample boots, the
turned down tops of which, garnished with lace, fell in irregular folds
aver his ankles in the latest fashion. He did not appear to be more than
eighteen years of age, and nature had denied his charming face the
distinctive sign of his sex for not the slightest down was visible on
his chin, though a little delicate pencilling darkened his upper lip:
His slightly effeminate style of beauty, the graceful curves of his
figure, his expression, sometimes coaxing, sometimes saucy, reminding
one of a page, gave him the appearance of a charming young scapegrace
destined to inspire sudden passions and wayward fancies. While his
pretended uncle was making himself at home most unceremoniously,
Quennebert remarked that the chevalier at once began to lay siege to his
fair hostess, bestowing tender and love-laden glances on her behind that
uncle's back. This redoubled his curiosity.
"My dear girl," said the commander, "since I saw you last I have come
into a fortune of one hundred thousand livres, neither more nor less.
One of my dear aunts took it into her head to depart this life, and her
temper being crotchety and spiteful she made me her sole heir, in order
to enrage those of her relatives who had nursed her in her illness. One
hundred thousand livres! It's a round sum--enough to cut a great figure
with for two years. If you like, we shall squander it together, capital
and interest. Why do you not speak? Has anyone else robbed me by any
chance of your heart? If that were so, I should be in despair, upon my
word-for the sake of the fortunate individual who had won your favour;
for I will brook no rivals, I give you fair warning."
"Monsieur le commandeur," answered Angelique, "you forget, in speaking
to me in that manner, I have never given you any right to control my
actions."
"Have we severed our connection?"
At this singular question Angelique started, but de Jars continued--
"When last we parted we were on the best of terms, were we not? I know
that some months have elapsed since then, but I have explained to you
the reason of my absence. Before filling up the blank left by the
departed we must give ourselves space to mourn. Well, was I right in my
guess? Have you given me a successor?"
Mademoiselle de Guerchi had hitherto succeeded in controlling her
indignation, and had tried to force herself to drink the bitter cup of
humiliation to the dregs; but now she could bear it no longer. Having
thrown a look expressive of her suffering at the young chevalier, who
continued to ogle her with great pertinacity, she decided on bursting
into tears, and in a voice broken by sobs she exclaimed that she was
miserable at being treated in this manner, that she did not deserve it,
and that Heaven was punishing her for her error in yielding to the
entreaties of the commander. One would have sworn she was sincere and
that the words came from her heart. If Maitre Quennebert had not
witnessed the scene with Jeannin, if he had not known how frail was the
virtue of the weeping damsel, he might have been affected by her
touching plaint. The chevalier appeared to be deeply moved by
Angelique's grief, and while his, uncle was striding up and down the
room and swearing like a trooper, he gradually approached her and
expressed by signs the compassion he felt.
Meantime the notary was in a strange state of mind. He had not yet made
up his mind whether the whole thing was a joke arranged between de Jars
and Jeannin or not, but of one thing he was quite convinced, the
sympathy which Chevalier de Moranges was expressing by passionate sighs
and glances was the merest hypocrisy. Had he been alone, nothing would
have prevented his dashing head foremost into this imbroglio, in scorn
of consequence, convinced that his appearance would be as terrible in
its effect as the head of Medusa. But the presence of the widow
restrained him. Why ruin his future and dry up the golden spring which
had just begun to gush before his eyes, for the sake of taking part in a
melodrama? Prudence and self-interest kept him in the side scenes.
The tears of the fair one and the glances of the chevalier awoke no
repentance in the breast of the commander; on the contrary, he began to
vent his anger in terms still more energetic. He strode up and down the
oaken floor till it shook under his spurred heels; he stuck his plumed
hat on the side of his head, and displayed the manners of a bully in a
Spanish comedy. Suddenly he seemed to have come to a swift resolution:
the expression of his face changed from rage to icy coldness, and
walking up to Angelique, he said, with a composure more terrible than
the wildest fury--
"My rival's name?"
"You shall never learn it from me!"
"Madame, his name?"
"Never! I have borne your insults too long. I am not responsible to you
for my actions."
"Well, I shall learn it, in spite of you, and I know to whom to apply.
Do you think you can play fast and loose with me and my love? No, no! I
used to believe in you; I turned, a deaf ear to your traducers. My mad
passion for you became known; I was the jest and the butt of the town.
But you have opened my eyes, and at last I see clearly on whom my
vengeance ought to fall. He was formerly my friend, and I would believe
nothing against him; although I was often warned, I took no notice. But
now I will seek him out, and say to him, 'You have stolen what was mine;
you are a scoundrel! It must be your life, or mine!' And if, there is
justice in heaven, I shall kill him! Well, madame, you don't ask me the
name of this man! You well know whom I mean!"
This threat brought home to Mademoiselle de Guerchi how imminent was her
danger. At first she had thought the commander's visit might be a snare
laid to test her, but the coarseness of his expressions, the cynicism of
his overtures in the presence of a third person, had convinced her she
was wrong. No man could have imagined that the revolting method of
seduction employed could meet with success, and if the commander had
desired to convict her of perfidy he would have come alone and made use
of more persuasive weapons. No, he believed he still had claims on her,
but even if he had, by his manner of enforcing them he had rendered them
void. However, the moment he threatened to seek out a rival whose
identity he designated quite clearly, and reveal to him the secret it
was so necessary to her interests to keep hidden, the poor girl lost her
head. She looked at de Jars with a frightened expression, and said in a
trembling voice--
"I don't know whom you mean."
"You don't know? Well, I shall commission the king's treasurer, Jeannin
de Castille, to come here to-morrow and tell you, an hour before our
duel."
"Oh no! no! Promise me you will not do that!" cried she, clasping her
hands.
"Adieu, madame."
"Do not leave me thus! I cannot let you go till you give me your
promise!"
She threw herself on her knees and clung with both her hands to de Jars'
cloak, and appealing to Chevalier de Moranges, said--
"You are young, monsieur; I have never done you any harm; protect me,
have pity on me, help me to soften him!"
"Uncle," said the chevalier in a pleading tone, "be generous, and don't
drive this woman to despair."
"Prayers are useless!" answered the commander.
"What do you want me to do?" said Angelique. "Shall I go into a convent
to atone? I am ready to go. Shall I promise never to see him again? For
God's sake, give me a little time; put off your vengeance for one single
day! To-morrow evening, I swear to you, you will have nothing more to
fear from me. I thought myself forgotten by you and abandoned; and how
should I think otherwise? You left me without a word of farewell, you
stayed away and never sent me a line! And how do you know that I did not
weep when you deserted me, leaving me to pass my days in monotonous
solitude? How do you know that I did not make every effort to find out
why you were so long absent from my side? You say you had left town but
how was I to know that? Oh! promise me, if you love me, to give up this
duel! Promise me not to seek that man out to-morrow!"
The poor creature hoped to work wonders with her eloquence, her tears,
her pleading glances. On hearing her prayer for a reprieve of
twenty-four hours, swearing that after that she would never see Jeannin
again, the commander and the chevalier were obliged to bite their lips
to keep from laughing outright. But the former soon regained his
self-possession, and while Angelique, still on her knees before him,
pressed his hands to her bosom, he forced her to raise her head, and
looking straight into her eyes, said--
"To-morrow, madame, if not this evening, he shall know everything, and a
meeting shall take place."
Then pushing her away, he strode towards the door.
"Oh! how unhappy I am!" exclaimed Angelique.
She tried to rise and rush after him, but whether she was really
overcome by her feelings, or whether she felt the one chance of
prevailing left her was to faint, she uttered a heartrending cry, and
the chevalier had no choice but to support her sinking form.
De Jars, on seeing his nephew staggering under this burden, gave a loud
laugh, and hurried away. Two minutes later he was once more at the
tavern in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts.
"How's this? Alone?" said Jeannin.
"Alone."
"What have you done with the chevalier?"
"I left him with our charmer, who was unconscious, overcome with grief,
exhausted Ha! ha! ha! She fell fainting into his arms! Ha! ha! ha!"
"It's quite possible that the young rogue, being left with her in such a
condition, may cut me out."
"Do you think so?--Ha! ha! ha!"
And de Jars laughed so heartily and so infectiously that his worthy
friend was obliged to join in, and laughed till he choked.
In the short silence which followed the departure of the commander,
Maitre Quennebert could hear the widow still murmuring something, but he
was less disposed than ever to attend to her.
"On my word," said he, "the scene now going on is more curious than all
that went before. I don't think that a man has ever found himself in
such a position as mine. Although my interests demand that I remain here
and listen, yet my fingers are itching to box the ears of that Chevalier
de Moranges. If there were only some way of getting at a proof of all
this! Ah! now we shall hear something; the hussy is coming to herself."
And indeed Angelique had opened her eyes and was casting wild looks
around her; she put her hand to her brow several times, as if trying to
recall clearly what had happened.
"Is he gone?" she exclaimed at last. "Oh, why did you let him go? You
should not have minded me, but kept him here."
"Be calm," answered the chevalier, "be calm, for heaven's sake. I shall
speak to my uncle and prevent his ruining your prospects. Only don't
weep any more, your tears break my heart. Ah, my God! how cruel it is to
distress you so! I should never be able to withstand your tears; no
matter what reason I had for anger, a look from you would make me
forgive you everything."
"Noble young man!" said Angelique.
"Idiot!" muttered Maitre Quennebert; "swallow the honey of his words, do
But how the deuce is it going to end? Not Satan himself ever invented
such a situation."
"But then I could never believe you guilty without proof, irrefutable
proof; and even then a word from you would fill my mind with doubt and
uncertainty again. Yes, were the whole world to accuse you and swear to
your guilt, I should still believe your simple word. I am young, madam,
I have never known love as yet--until an instant ago I had no idea that
more quickly than an image can excite the admiration of the eye, a
thought can enter the heart and stir it to its depths, and features that
one may never again behold leave a lifelong memory behind. But even if a
woman of whom I knew absolutely nothing were to appeal to me,
exclaiming, 'I implore your help, your protection!' I should, without
stopping to consider, place my sword and my arm at her disposal, and
devote myself to her service. How much more eagerly would I die for you,
madam, whose beauty has ravished my heart! What do you demand of me?
Tell me what you desire me to do."
"Prevent this duel; don't allow an interview to take place between your
uncle and the man whom he mentioned. Tell me you will do this, and I
shall be safe; for you have never learned to lie; I know."
"Of course he hasn't, you may be sure of that, you simpleton!" muttered
Maitre Quennebert in his corner. "If you only knew what a mere novice
you are at that game compared with the chevalier! If you only knew whom
you had before you!"
"At your age," went on Angelique, "one cannot feign--the heart is not
yet hardened, and is capable of compassion. But a dreadful idea occurs
to me--a horrible suspicion! Is it all a devilish trick--a snare
arranged in joke? Tell me that it is not all a pretence! A poor woman
encounters so much perfidy. Men amuse themselves by troubling her heart
and confusing her mind; they excite her vanity, they compass her round
with homage, with flattery, with temptation, and when they grow tired of
fooling her, they despise and insult her. Tell me, was this all a
preconcerted plan? This love, this jealousy, were they only acted?"
"Oh, madame," broke in the chevalier, with an expression of the deepest
indignation, "how can you for an instant imagine that a human heart
could be so perverted? I am not acquainted with the man whom the
commander accused you of loving, but whoever he may be I feel sure that
he is worthy of your love, and that he would never have consented to
such a dastardly joke. Neither would my uncle; his jealousy mastered him
and drove him mad--
"But I am not dependent on him; I am my own master, and can do as I
please. I will hinder this duel; I will not allow the illusion and
ignorance of him who loves you and, alas that I must say it, whom you
love, to be dispelled, for it is in them he finds his happiness. Be
happy with him! As for me, I shall never see you again; but the
recollection of this meeting, the joy of having served you, will be my
consolation."
Angelique raised her beautiful eyes, and gave the chevalier a long look
which expressed her gratitude more eloquently than words.
"May I be hanged!" thought Maitre Quennebert, "if the baggage isn't
making eyes at him already! But one who is drowning clutches at a
straw."
"Enough, madam," said the chevalier; "I understand all you would say.
You thank me in his name, and ask me to leave you: I obey-yes, madame, I
am going; at the risk of my life I will prevent this meeting, I will
stifle this fatal revelation. But grant me one last prayer-permit me to
look forward to seeing you once more before I leave this city, to which
I wish I had never come. But I shall quit it in a day or two, to-morrow
perhaps--as soon as I know that your happiness is assured. Oh! do not
refuse my last request; let the light of your eyes shine on me for the
last time; after that I shall depart--I shall fly far away for ever. But
if perchance, in spite of every effort, I fail, if the commander's
jealousy should make him impervious to my entreaties--to my tears, if he
whom you love should come and overwhelm you with reproaches and then
abandon you, would you drive me from your presence if I should then say,
'I love you'? Answer me, I beseech you."
"Go!" said she, "and prove worthy of my gratitude--or my love."
Seizing one of her hands, the chevalier covered it with passionate
kisses.
"Such barefaced impudence surpasses everything I could have imagined!"
murmured Quennebert: "fortunately, the play is over for to-night; if it
had gone on any longer, I should have done something foolish. The lady
hardly imagines what the end of the comedy will be."
Neither did Quennebert. It was an evening of adventures. It was written
that in the space of two hours Angelique was to run the gamut of all the
emotions, experience all the vicissitudes to which a life such as she
led is exposed: hope, fear, happiness, mortification, falsehood, love
that was no love, intrigue within intrigue, and, to crown all, a totally
unexpected conclusion.