NOBLE HANDS MADE NOBLER.
After the Marchioness de Fleury had departed, leaving her astonished
guests in her drawing-room, M. de Bois was the first to break the
silence.
"And you, Mademoiselle Bertha, are you also horrified at this
rev--ev--evelation?" he asked.
"I?" answered Bertha, making an effort to collect herself. "No, I can
never be horrified by any act of Madeleine's, for she could never be
guilty of an action that was unworthy. I am only so much astonished that
I feel stunned and confused, just as Maurice does; see, how bewildered
he looks!"
The countess had now recovered her voice, and said, in a tone trembling
with indignation, "It is _infamous_!"
"A degradation we could never have anticipated!" rejoined Count Tristan.
"She has disgraced her family,--disgraced our proud name forever!"
responded the countess.
"Do not say that, aunt!" pleaded Bertha. "She has not even used your
name, though it is as rightfully hers as yours. Do you not observe that
she has only allowed herself to be called by her middle name, and that
every one speaks of her as Mademoiselle Melanie?"
Bertha, as she spoke, bent caressingly over her aunt, and took her hand.
But the attempt to soften the infuriated aristocrat was futile.
The countess replied, with increasing wrath, "I tell you she has
humiliated herself and us to the last degree! She has brought shame upon
our heads!"
Gaston de Bois was walking up and down the room, thrusting his fingers
through his hair, flinging out his arms spasmodically, and, now and
then, giving vent to a muttered ejaculation, which sounded alarmingly
emphatic. When he heard these words, he could restrain himself no
longer. He came boldly forward, and planting himself directly in front
of the countess, unawed by her forbidding manner, exclaimed,--
"No, madame; that I deny! Mademoiselle de Gramont has brought no shame
upon her family!"
"She no longer belongs to my family!" retorted the countess. "I disown
her henceforward and forever!"
"And you do rightly, my mother," added the count. "We will never
acknowledge her, never see her again! Maurice and Bertha, we expect that
you will abide by our determination."
Maurice did not reply; he stood leaning against the mantel-piece, lost
in thought, his eyes bent down, his head resting upon his hands.
Bertha, however, answered with spirit. "I make no promise of the kind.
Nothing could induce me to cast off my dear Madeleine!"
M. de Bois seized her hand, and, involuntarily carrying it to his lips,
said, with mingled enthusiasm and veneration, "You are as noble as I
thought you were! I knew you would not forsake her!"
Bertha raised her eyes to his face with an expression which thrilled
him, as she answered, "You will defend her, M. de Bois; you, who can
perhaps disperse the cloud of mystery by which her life has been
enveloped for the last four years. You will tell my aunt how Madeleine
has lived,--what she has done. You will tell us _all about her_."
"That I will, gladly!" replied he. "That is, _if I can_. I never in my
life so much desired the pow--ow--ower of spee--ee--eech!"
He broke off, and, in an undertone, gave vent to certain exclamations
which indistinctly reached the ears of the countess and Bertha.
Their amazed looks did not escape his notice, and he continued: "Ladies,
I ought to ask your pardon; possibly my expressions have sounded to you
somewhat profane; I am under the sad necessity of using very strong
language. I cannot loosen my tongue except by the aid of these forcible
expletives, and I must--_must_ speak! For I, who have known all
Mademoiselle Madeleine's noble impulses, can best explain to you her
con--on--onduct."
The last word, which was the only one upon which he stammered, was
followed by another emphatic ejaculation.
Bertha, without heeding this interruption, asked, "And have you known
where Madeleine was concealed all this time?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, I knew."
"And it was you who assisted her to leave Brittany?"
"It _was_ I! That was about the first good action which brightened my
life, and--and--and"--(another muttered oath to assist his articulation)
"and I hope it was only a commencement."
"Tell us--tell us everything quickly," prayed Bertha.
"Mademoiselle Madeleine, when she determined to leave the Château de
Gramont,--when she resolved to cease to be dependent,--when, in spite of
her noble birth, which was to her only an encumbrance, she purposed to
gain a livelihood by honest industry,--confided her project to me. And
what good she did me in making me feel that I was worthy enough of her
esteem to be trusted! She first committed to my charge her family
diamonds, her sole possession, and ordered me to dispose of them"--
"Her diamonds! those which have been in her family for generations! What
sacrilege!" cried the countess, in accents of horror.
"Pardon me, madame; it would have been sacrilege, she thought, and so
did I, if she had kept them when their sale could have prevented her
being the unhappy recipient of the unwilling _charity_ of her
relatives."
"Go on--go on!" urged Bertha. "How did she leave the château? How could
she travel?"
"I obtained her a passport, for it would have been running too great a
risk if she had attempted to travel without one. The passport had to be
signed by two witnesses. Fortunately, two of my friends at Rennes were
about to leave the country; I selected them as witnesses, because they
could not be questioned; I told them the whole story, and bound them to
secrecy. We took out the passport for England to divert pursuit; but,
Mademoiselle Madeleine only went to Paris, and it was not necessary that
her passport should be _viséd_ if she remained there."
"But the diamonds,--they were those Madame de Fleury wore and which I
recognized!" exclaimed Bertha.
"I made a false step there; but it was just like me to bungle,"
continued Gaston. "I knew that the Jew, Henriques, often had
transactions with the Marquis de Fleury. I took the diamonds to another
Jew from whom I concealed my name, and suggested his taking them to
Henriques, hinting that the marquis would probably become their
purchaser. The marquis is a _connoisseur_ of jewels; and, as you are
aware, at once secured them. The sum realized was sufficient to supply
the simple wants of Mademoiselle Madeleine for years. But this did not
satisfy her,--her plan was to work. When she heard that the diamonds
were in M. de Fleury's possession, she embroidered a robe upon which the
lilies and shamrock were closely imitated, and took her work to Vignon,
Madame de Fleury's dressmaker. Vignon was amazed at the great skill and
taste displayed in the design and execution, and offered to give the
embroiderer as much employment as she desired. Madame de Fleury being
the most influential of Vignon's patrons, the dress was exhibited to
her. She was at once struck and charmed by the coincidence that allowed
her to become the possessor of a dress upon which the exact design of
her new jewels had been imitated. She asked a thousand questions of
Vignon, who gladly monopolized all the credit of inventing this novel
pattern. From that moment Mademoiselle Madeleine's 'fairy fingers'
commenced their marvels under the celebrated _couturière's_ direction,
and Vignon daily congratulated herself upon the mysterious treasure she
had discovered. Mademoiselle Madeleine now determined to remain in Paris
incognita. She worked night and day, scarcely allowing herself needful
rest; but, alas! she worked with a ceaseless heartache,--a heartache on
your account, Maurice, for she knew how wildly you were searching for
her; and when you fell ill"--
Maurice interrupted him: "It was she who watched beside me at night! I
knew it! I have always been convinced of it. Was I not right?"
"I was bound not to tell you, but there can be no need of concealment
now. Yes, you _are_ right. When the _soeur de bon secours_ we had
engaged to take care of you during the day, left, and would have been
replaced, according to the usual custom, by another to watch through the
night, we told her no watcher was needed before morning. Mademoiselle
Madeleine made herself a garb resembling that worn by the sisterhood;
and, every night, when the good sister we had hired left, Mademoiselle
Madeleine took her place. We thought your delirium would prevent your
recognizing her."
"Probably it did, at first," returned Maurice; "but, for many nights
before I spoke to you; I was conscious, I was sure of her presence."
"When you did speak, I was startled enough," resumed Gaston; "and it was
a sad revelation to Mademoiselle Madeleine; for, when your reason was
restored, she could not venture any more to come near you."
"Did she go to Dresden? How came my birthday handkerchief to be sent
from Dresden?" asked Bertha.
"That was another piece of stupidity of mine. You see what a blockhead I
have been. Mademoiselle Madeleine wished to send some token of assurance
that she thought of you still; but it was necessary that you should not
know she was in Paris. I had the package conveyed to a friend of mine in
Dresden, and desired him to remove the envelope and send the parcel to
Bordeaux, though you were in Paris at the time. It would not have been
prudent to let you suspect that Mademoiselle Madeleine was aware of your
sojourn in the metropolis. But, when the postmark induced Maurice to
start for Dresden, I saw what a fool I had been. It was just like me to
commit some absurdity,--I always do! I could not dissuade Maurice from
going to Dresden; but Mademoiselle Madeleine wrote a note which I
enclosed to my friend, and desired to have it left at the hotel where
Maurice was staying. After that I was more careful not to commit
blunders. The other birthday tokens, you received, Mademoiselle Bertha,
I always contrived to send you by private hand; thus, there was no
postmark to awaken suspicion."
"But how came Madeleine here in America?" inquired Bertha.
"When the Marquis de Fleury was appointed ambassador to the United
States, Mademoiselle Madeleine learned that Madame de Fleury sorely
lamented her hard fate, and mourned over the probability that she would
be obliged to have all her dresses sent from Paris. This would be a
great inconvenience, for she often liked to have a costume improvised
upon the spur of the moment, and completed with fabulous rapidity.
Mademoiselle Madeleine had frequently thought of America, and felt that
the new country must present a field where she could work more
advantageously than in Paris. She desired Vignon to suggest to Madame de
Fleury that one of the assistants in her favorite _couturière's_
establishment,--the one with whose designs Madame de Fleury was already
acquainted,--might be tempted, by the certainty of the marchioness's
patronage, to visit America. Madame de Fleury was contented, and
immediately proposed that Mademoiselle Melanie should sail in the same
steamer. Vignon allowed two of her work-women to accompany her. The sum
Mademoiselle Madeleine had realized from her diamonds enabled her to
hire a modest house in Washington, and to furnish it tastefully. On her
arrival she sent for Mr. Hilson. Perhaps you remember him, Mademoiselle
Bertha? He once dined at the Château de Gramont."
Here the count uttered an exclamation of violent displeasure, but M. de
Bois went on,--
"He had requested Mademoiselle Madeleine if she ever visited America to
let him know. He called upon her at once, and she frankly told him the
story of her trials, and the conclusion to which they had forced her. He
highly approved of her energy, her zeal, and spirit. She made him
promise to keep her rank and name a secret. He brought his wife and
daughter to see her, and they became her stanch, admiring, and helpful
friends. Through them alone, she would quickly have been drawn into
notice; but a more powerful medium to popularity was at work. The
sensation produced by Madame de Fleury's toilets caused all Washington
to flock to the exhibition-rooms of 'Mademoiselle Melanie,' who was
known to be her _couturière_. Soon, it became a favor for 'Mademoiselle
Melanie' to receive new customers. She was forced to move to the elegant
mansion where she now resides. It is one of the grandest houses in
Washington, and Mademoiselle Melanie has only one more payment to make
before it becomes her own. The fact is, people have gone crazy about
her. Those who seek her merely upon business, when they come into her
presence, are impressed with the conviction that she is not merely
their equal, but their superior, and treat her with involuntary
deference. She is rapidly becoming rich, and she has the glory of
knowing that it is through the labor of her own dainty hands, her own
'fairy fingers!'"
"Oh, all she has done was truly noble!" said Bertha, with enthusiasm.
"It was disgraceful!" cried the countess, fiercely. "She might better
have starved! She has torn down her glorious escutcheon to replace it by
a mantua-maker's sign. She has stooped to make dresses!--to receive
customers! Abominable!"
M. de Bois, for a moment forgetting the courtesy due to the rank and
years of the countess, replied indignantly, "Madame, did she not make
_your_ dresses for three years? Have you not been one of her customers?
An unprofitable customer? The _profit_ was the only difference between
what she did at the _Château de Gramont_ and what she does in the city
of Washington!"
"Sir!" exclaimed the countess, giving him a look of rebuke, which was
intended to silence these unpalatable truths.
"You are right, M. de Bois," answered Bertha, not noticing the furious
glance of her aunt. "That was a random shaft of yours, but it hits the
mark, and strikes me as well as my aunt; yet I thank you for it; I thank
you for defending Madeleine; I thank you for befriending her. I shall
never forget it--never!"
Bertha frankly stretched out her hand to him; he took it with joyful
emotion.
"Whom would she have to defend her if I did not, since her family
discard her? Since even an able young lawyer utters not a word to plead
her cause?" he added, looking reproachfully at Maurice. "But she shall
never lack a defender while I live, for I love her as a sister! I
venerate her as a saint. To me she is the type of all that is best and
noblest in the world! The type of that which is greater, more valuable
than glory, more useful than fame, more _noble_ than the blood of
countesses and duchesses--_honest labor!_"
Bertha's responsive look spoke her approval.
"And what do I not owe her, myself?" continued M. de Bois. "It was her
words, long before her sorrows began, which rendered me conscious of the
inert purposelessness of my own existence. It was the effect produced
upon me by those words which made me resolve to throw off my sluggish,
indolent melancholy and inactivity, and rise up to be one of the world's
'_doers_,' not '_breathers_' only. The change I feel in myself came
through her; even the very power of speaking to you thus freely comes
through her, for she encouraged me to conquer my diffidence, she made me
despise my weak self-consciousness, and I cannot offer her a sufficient
return; no, not if I took up arms against the whole world, her own
family included, in her defence! In my presence, no one shall ever
asperse her nobility of word, deed, or act!"
Bertha's speaking eyes thanked him and encouraged him again.
In spite of the manifest rage of the countess he went on,--
"But Mademoiselle Madeleine now holds a position which needs no
champion. She has made that position herself, by her own energy and
industry, and the unimpeachable purity of her conduct. In this land
where _labor_ is a _virtue_, and the most laborious, when they combine
intellect with industry, become the greatest,--in this land it will be
no blot upon her noble name, (when she chooses to resume it) that she
has linked that name with _work_. She will rather be held up as an
example to the daughters of this young country. No one, except Mr.
Hilson, not even her zealous patron, and devoted admirer, Madame de
Fleury, yet knows her history; but every one feels that she merits
reverence, and every one yields her spontaneous veneration. The young
women whom she employs idolize her, and she treats them as the kindest
and most considerate of sisters might. Some among them belong to
excellent families, reduced by circumstances, and she has inspired them
with courage to work, even with so humble an instrument as the needle,
rather than to accept dependence as inevitable. She is fitting them to
follow in her footsteps. If her relatives scorn her for the course she
has pursued, she will be fully compensated for their scorn by the
world's approval."
All eyes had been riveted upon Gaston, as he spoke, and no one perceived
that Madeleine was standing in the room, a few paces from the door.
Bertha's exclamation first made the others conscious of her presence.
"Madeleine! we know all! Oh, what you must have suffered! How noble you
have been! Madeleine, you are dearer to me than ever, far dearer!"
The tears that ran softly down Madeleine's cheeks were her only answer.
Bertha, as she wiped them away, said, "These are not like the tears you
shed that sorrowful day in the _châlet_, that day when you must have
first made up your mind to leave us. Do you remember how you wept then?
Those were tears of agony! You have never wept such tears since,--have
you, Madeleine?"
"No, never!"
"I could not then comprehend what moved you so terribly; but, at this
moment, I understand all your sensations. Now that we have met again
there must be no more tears. You know that I am of age now; I am
mistress of my own fortune; and you and I must part no more! You must
come and share what is mine. You must have done with work, Madeleine."
"That cannot be, my good, generous Bertha; my day of work has not yet
closed."
"Bertha!" exclaimed the countess, who, until then, had stood trembling
with anger, and unable to command her voice. "Bertha, have you quite
forgotten yourself? Remember that you are under my guardianship, and I
forbid your having any association with Mademoiselle de Gramont."
Madeleine advanced with calm dignity towards the countess, and said
quietly,--
"Madame--aunt"--
The countess interrupted her imperiously.
"Aunt! Do you _dare_ to address _me_ by that title? _You_--a
_dressmaker!_ When you forgot your noble birth, and lowered yourself to
the working-classes, making yourself one with them,--when you demeaned
yourself to gain your bread by your needle, bread which should have
choked a de Gramont to eat,--you should also have forgotten your
relationship to me, never to remember it again!"
"If I did not forget it, madame," answered Madeleine, with calm
self-respect, "I was at least careful that my condition should not
become known to you. I strove to act as though I had been dead to you,
that my existence might not cause you mortification. I could not guard
against the accident which has thrown us together once more, but for the
last time, as far as my will is concerned."
"This meeting was not Mademoiselle Madeleine's fault," cried M. de Bois,
coming to the rescue. "It was my folly,--another blunder of mine! I was
dolt enough to think that you had only to see her for all to be well;
and, instead of warning Mademoiselle Madeleine that you were in
Washington, I kept from her a knowledge which would have prevented your
encountering each other. It was all my imprudence, my miscalculation! I
see my error since it has subjected her to insult; and yet what I did,"
continued he more passionately, and regarding Maurice, as he spoke, "was
for the sake of one who"--
Madeleine, seized with a sudden dread of the manner in which he might
conclude this sentence, broke in abruptly,--
"Were I not indebted to you, M. de Bois, for so many kindnesses, I might
reproach you now; but it was well for me to learn this lesson; it was
well for me to be certain that my aunt would discard me because I
preferred honest industry to cold charity."
"Discard you?" rejoined the countess, furiously. "Could you doubt that I
would discard you? Henceforth the tie of blood between us is dissolved;
you are no relative of mine! I forbid you to make known that we have
ever met. I forbid my family to hold any intercourse with you. I appeal
to my son to say if this is not the just retribution which your conduct
has brought upon you!"
The count answered with deliberation, as though he was pondering some
possibility in his wily mind; as if some idea had occurred to him which
prevented his fully sharing in his mother's wrath, or, rather, which
tempered the expression of his displeasure,--
"Madeleine's situation has rendered this the most proper and natural
course open to us. She could not expect to be formally recognized. She
could not suppose it possible, however much consideration we might
entertain for her personally, that the Countess de Gramont and her
family should allow it to be known that one of their kin is a
dressmaker! Madeleine is too reasonable not to see the impropriety (to
use a mild word) there would be even in such a suggestion."
"I see it very plainly," answered Madeleine, not unmoved by the count's
manner, which was so much gentler than his mother's, and not suspecting
the motive which induced him to assume this conciliatory tone.
The count resumed: "We wish Madeleine well, in spite of her present
degraded position. If circumstances should prolong our stay in
Washington, or in America,--and it is very possible they may do so,--we
will only request her to remove to California or Australia, or some
distant region, where she may live in desirable obscurity, and not run
the risk of being brought into even _accidental_ contact with us."
"No,--no!" exclaimed Bertha, vehemently. "We shall not lose her
again,--we must not! _You_ may all discard her, but _I_ will not! I will
always acknowledge her, and I must see her! She is dearer to me than
ever; I will not be separated from her!"
Did Bertha see the look of admiration with which M. de Bois contemplated
her as she uttered these words?
The countess asked in an imperious tone,--
"Bertha, have you wholly forgotten yourself? I will never permit this
intercourse,--I forbid it! If _you_ are willing to brave my displeasure,
I presume Madeleine, ungrateful as she has proved herself to be, for the
protection I granted her during three years, will not so wholly forget
her debt as to disregard my command."
How often Madeleine had been reminded of that debt which her services at
the Château de Gramont had cancelled a hundred times over!
Before she could respond to her aunt's remark, Bertha went on,--
"You do not comprehend my plan, aunt. Madeleine, of course, must give up
her present occupation; there is no need of her pursuing it; I am rich
enough for both. She shall live with me and share my fortune. Madeleine,
you will not refuse me this? For nearly five years I have mourned over
our separation, and wasted my life in the vain hope of seeing you again.
You would be ashamed of me if you knew in what a weak, frivolous, idle
manner, I have passed my days, while you were working so unceasingly,
and with such grand results. I shall never learn to make good use of my
hours except under your guidance. Long before I reached my majority I
looked forward gladly to the time when I should be a free agent and
could share my _fortune_ with you. My aunt knows that I communicated my
intention to her before you left the Château de Gramont. And now,
Madeleine, my own best Madeleine,--you will let the dream of my life
become a reality,--will you not? Say yes, I implore you!"
Bertha had spoken with such genuine warmth and hearty earnestness that a
colder nature than Madeleine's must have been melted. She folded the
generous girl tenderly and silently in her arms, and, after a pause,
which the countenance of her aunt made her aware that the proud lady was
on the eve of breaking, answered, sadly,--
"It was worth suffering all I endured, Bertha, to have your friendship
tested through this fiery ordeal, and to know that your heart cannot be
divided by circumstances from mine. But your too liberal offer I cannot
accept; the path I have marked out I must pursue until I reach the goal
which I am nearing. An incompleteness in the execution of my deliberate
plans would render me more miserable than I am to-day in being cast off
by my own family."
"Do not speak such cruel words," returned Bertha. "They do not cast you
off; that is, _I_ do not, and never will; and I am sure"--
She turned to look at Maurice, who had stood silent through the whole
scene, leaning upon the mantel-piece, his head still resting on his
hand, and his eyes fixed upon Madeleine. His mind was too full of
conflicting emotions for him to speak; above all other images rose that
of the being whom Madeleine had declared she loved. Did she love him
still? Was he here? Did he know her condition? Was M. de Bois, whom she
had entrusted with her secret,--M. de Bois, who had protected and aided
her,--the object of her preference? Maurice could not answer these
torturing questions, and the happiness of once more beholding the one
whom he had so long fruitlessly sought, made him feel as though he were
passing through a strange, wild dream, which, but for _one doubt_, would
have been full of ecstasy.
When Bertha appealed to him by her look, he could no longer remain
silent.
"You are right, Bertha; Madeleine is to me all that she ever was. I am
as proud of her as I have ever been; more proud I could not be! _To
renounce her would be as impossible as it has ever been._"
Madeleine, who had appeared so firm and composed up to that moment,
trembled violently; her heart seemed to cease its pulsations; a cold
tremor ran through her veins; a mist floated before her eyes; exquisite
happiness became exquisite pain! She turned, as though about to leave
the room, but her feet faltered. In a second, M. de Bois was at her
side, and gave her his arm; she took it almost unconsciously. The voice
of her aunt restored her as suddenly as a dash of ice-water could have
done.
"Your father's commands and mine, then, Maurice, are to have no weight.
We order you to renounce all intercourse with this person, whom we no
longer acknowledge as a relative, and you unhesitatingly declare to her,
in our very presence, that you disregard our wishes. This, it seems, is
the first effect of Mademoiselle de Gramont's renewed influence, which
we have before now found so pernicious."
"Do not fear, madame," answered Madeleine; "I will not permit"--
"Make no rash promise, Madeleine,"--interrupted Maurice. "My father's
wishes and my grandmother's must ever have weight with me; but when I
honestly differ from them in opinion, I trust there is no disrespect in
my saying so. Blindly to obey their commands would be to abnegate free
agency and self-responsibility."
"I have not forgotten," said the countess, freezingly, "that the first
disrespect towards me of which you were guilty was originated by
Mademoiselle de Gramont. I perceive that she is again about to create a
family feud, and separate father and son, grandmother and grandchild.
All her noble sentiments and heroic acting have ever this end in view.
During the period that she concealed herself from us she has evidently
never lost sight of this great aim of her existence, and has closely
calculated events, and bided her time that she might manoeuvre with
additional power and certainty. She has not disgraced us enough; she is
planning the total downfall of our noble house, no matter whom it buries
in the ruins. It is not sufficient that we have to blush for the
_dressmaker_, who would exchange the device graven upon her ancestral
arms for that of a scissors and thimble; but she is laboring to bring
her disgrace nearer and fasten it more permanently upon us."
M. de Bois, who felt that Madeleine was clinging to his arm, as though
her strength was failing, answered for her,--
"The daughter of the Duke de Gramont has not become less noble, madame,
through her noble industry. She has not brought to her own, or any other
cheek, a blush of genuine shame. I, who have watched over her from the
hour that she left the Château de Gramont, claim the proud privilege of
giving this testimony. No duchess has the right to hold her head higher
than the Duke de Gramont's orphan daughter."
Before any one could reply, he led Madeleine from the room, and out of
the house. The movement which Maurice and Bertha, at the same moment,
made to follow her was arrested by the countess. Before they had
recovered themselves, Madeleine was seated in her carriage, and had
driven away. M. de Bois was walking rapidly to his hotel.