diff options
Diffstat (limited to '3985-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 3985-0.txt | 11002 |
1 files changed, 11002 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/3985-0.txt b/3985-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22f298d --- /dev/null +++ b/3985-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11002 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gerfaut, Complete, by Charles de Bernard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Gerfaut, Complete + +Author: Charles de Bernard + +Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3985] +Last Updated: August 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERFAUT, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +GERFAUT + +By CHARLES DE BERNARD + + + +With a Preface by JULES CLARETIE, of the French Academy + + + + +CHARLES DE BERNARD + +PIERRE-MARIE-CHARLES DE BERNARD DU GRAIL DE LA VILLETTE, better known by +the name of Charles de Bernard, was born in Besancon, February 24, 1804. +He came from a very ancient family of the Vivarais, was educated at +the college of his native city, and studied for the law in Dijon and +at Paris. He was awarded a prize by the ‘Jeux floraux’ for his +dithyrambics, ‘Une fete de Neron’ in 1829. This first success in +literature did not prevent him aspiring to the Magistrature, when the +Revolution of 1830 broke out and induced him to enter politics. He +became one of the founders of the ‘Gazette de Franche-Comte’ and an +article in the pages of this journal about ‘Peau de chagrin’ earned him +the thanks and the friendship of Balzac. + +The latter induced him to take up his domicile in Paris and initiated +him into the art of novel-writing. Bernard had published a volume of +odes: ‘Plus Deuil que Joie’ (1838), which was not much noticed, but a +series of stories in the same year gained him the reputation of a genial +‘conteur’. They were collected under the title ‘Le Noeud Gordien’, and +one of the tales, ‘Une Aventure du Magistrat, was adapted by Sardou for +his comedy ‘Pommes du voisin’. ‘Gerfaut’, his greatest work, crowned by +the Academy, appeared also in 1838, then followed ‘Le Paravent’, another +collection of novels (1839); ‘Les Ailes d’Icare (1840); La Peau du Lion +and La Chasse aux Amants (1841); L’Ecueil (1842); Un Beau-pere (1845); +and finally Le Gentilhomme campagnard,’ in 1847. Bernard died, only +forty-eight years old, March 6, 1850. + +Charles de Bernard was a realist, a pupil of Balzac. He surpasses his +master, nevertheless, in energy and limpidity of composition. His style +is elegant and cultured. His genius is most fully represented in a score +or so of delightful tales rarely exceeding some sixty or seventy pages +in length, but perfect in proportion, full of invention and originality, +and saturated with the purest and pleasantest essence of the spirit +which for six centuries in tableaux, farces, tales in prose and verse, +comedies and correspondence, made French literature the delight and +recreation of Europe. ‘Gerfaut’ is considered De Bernard’s greatest +work. The plot turns on an attachment between a married woman and the +hero of the story. The book has nothing that can justly offend, the +incomparable sketches of Marillac and Mademoiselle de Corandeuil are +admirable; Gerfaut and Bergenheim possess pronounced originality, and +the author is, so to speak, incarnated with the hero of his romance. + +The most uncritical reader can not fail to notice the success with +which Charles de Bernard introduces people of rank and breeding into his +stories. Whether or not he drew from nature, his portraits of this kind +are exquisitely natural and easy. It is sufficient to say that he is +the literary Sir Joshua Reynolds of the post-revolution vicomtes and +marquises. We can see that his portraits are faithful; we must feel that +they are at the same time charming. Bernard is an amiable and spirited +‘conteur’ who excels in producing an animated spectacle for a refined +and selected public, whether he paints the ridiculousness or the misery +of humanity. + +The works of Charles de Bernard in wit and urbanity, and in the peculiar +charm that wit and urbanity give, are of the best French type. To any +elevation save a lofty place in fiction they have no claim; but in that +phase of literature their worth is undisputed, and from many testimonies +it would seem that those whom they most amuse are those who are best +worth amusing. + +These novels, well enough as they are known to professed students of +French literature, have, by the mere fact of their age, rather slipped +out of the list of books known to the general reader. The general reader +who reads for amusement can not possibly do better than proceed to +transform his ignorance of them into knowledge. + + JULES CLARETIE + de l’Academie Francaise. +GERFAUT + + + + +BOOK 1. + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE TRAVELLER + +During the first days of the month of September, 1832, a young man about +thirty years of age was walking through one of the valleys in Lorraine +originating in the Vosges mountains. A little river which, after a few +leagues of its course, flows into the Moselle, watered this wild basin +shut in between two parallel lines of mountains. The hills in the +south became gradually lower and finally dwindled away into the plain. +Alongside the plateau, arranged in amphitheatres, large square fields +stripped of their harvest lay here and there in the primitive forest; in +other places, innumerable oaks and elms had been dethroned to give +place to plantations of cherry-trees, whose symmetrical rows promised an +abundant harvest. + +This contest of nature with industry is everywhere, but is more +pronounced in hilly countries. The scene changed, however, as one +penetrated farther, and little by little the influence of the soil +gained ascendancy. As the hills grew nearer together, enclosing the +valley in a closer embrace, the clearings gave way to the natural +obduracy of the soil. A little farther on they disappeared entirely. At +the foot of one of the bluffs which bordered with its granite bands the +highest plateau of the mountain, the forest rolled victoriously down to +the banks of the river. + +Now came patches of forest, like solid battalions of infantry; sometimes +solitary trees appeared, as if distributed by chance upon the grassy +slopes, or scaling the summit of the steepest rocks like a body of bold +sharpshooters. A little, unfrequented road, if one can judge from the +scarcity of tracks, ran alongside the banks of the stream, climbing up +and down hills; overcoming every obstacle, it stretched out in almost a +straight line. One might compare it to those strong characters who mark +out a course in life and imperturbably follow it. The river, on the +contrary, like those docile and compliant minds that bend to agreeable +emergencies, described graceful curves, obeying thus the caprices of the +soil which served as its bed. + +At a first glance, the young man who was walking alone in the midst of +this picturesque country seemed to have nothing remarkable in his dress; +a straw hat, a blue blouse and linen trousers composed his costume. +It would have been very natural to take him for an Alsatian peasant +returning to his village through the Vosges’s rough pathways; but a more +attentive glance quickly dispelled this conjecture. There is something +in the way in which a person wears the plainest costume which betrays +the real man, no matter how he may be clothed. Thus, nothing could be +more modest than this traveller’s blouse, but the absence on collar +and sleeves of the arabesques in white or red thread, the pride of all +village dandies, was sufficient for one to realize that this was not a +fancy costume. + +His expressive, but not handsome face was dark, it is true, but it did +not look as if wind or sun had contributed to its complexion; it seemed +rather to have lost by a sedentary life something of the southern +carnation, which had ended by blending these warmer tints into a +dead uniform pallor. Finally, if, as one may suppose after different +diagnoses, this person had the slightest desire to play the role of +Tyrcis or Amintas, his white hand, as carefully cared for as a pretty +woman’s, would have been sufficient to betray him. It was evident that +the man was above his costume; a rare thing! The lion’s ears pierced the +ass’s skin this time. + +It was three o’clock in the afternoon; the sky, which had been overcast +all the morning, had assumed, within a few moments, a more sombre +aspect; large clouds were rapidly moving from south to north, rolled one +over another by an ominous wind. So the traveller, who had just entered +the wildest part of the valley, seemed very little disposed to admire +its fine vegetation and romantic sites. Impatient to reach the end of +his journey, or fearing the approaching storm, he quickened his steps; +but this pace was not kept long. At the end of a few moments, having +crossed a small clearing, he found himself at the entrance of a lawn +where the road divided in two directions, one continuing to skirt the +river banks, the other, broader and better built, turning to the left +into a winding ravine. + +Which of these two roads should he follow? He did not know. The profound +solitude of the place made him fear that he might not meet any one who +could direct him, when the sound of a psalm vigorously chanted reached +his ears from the distance. Soon it became more distinct, and he +recognized the words, ‘In exitu Israel de Egypto’, sung at the top of +the lungs by a voice so shrill that it would have irritated the larynx +of any of the sopranos at the Opera. Its vibrating but sharp tones +resounded so clearly in the dead silence of the forest that a number of +stanzas were finished before the pious musician came in sight. At last +a drove of cattle appeared through the trees which bordered the road on +the left, walking with a slow, grave step; they were driven by a little +shepherd about nine or ten years of age, who interrupted his song from +time to time to reassemble the members of his flock with heavy blows +from his whip, thus uniting temporal cares with those of a spiritual +nature with a coolness which the most important personages might have +envied him. + +“Which of these roads leads to Bergenheim?” called out the traveller +when they were near enough to speak to each other. + +“Bergenheim!” repeated the child, taking off his cotton cap, which was +striped like a rainbow, and adding a few words in an unintelligible +Gallo-Germanic patois. + +“You are not French, then?” asked the stranger, in a disappointed tone. + +The shepherd raised his head proudly and replied: + +“I am Alsatian, not French!” + +The young man smiled at this trait of local patriotism so common then +in the beautiful province by the Rhine; then he thought that pantomime +might be necessary, so he pointed with his finger first at one road, +then at the other: + +“There or there, Bergenheim?” asked he. + +The child, in his turn, pointed silently with the tip of his whip to the +banks of the river, designating, at some distance on the other side, a +thicket of woods behind which a slight column of smoke was rising. + +“The deuce!” murmured the stranger, “it seems that I have gone +astray; if the chateau is on the other side, where can I establish my +ambuscade?” + +The shepherd seemed to understand the traveller’s embarrassment. Gazing +at him with his intelligent blue eyes, he traced, with the tip of his +toe in the middle of the road, a furrow across which he rounded his whip +like the arch of a bridge; then he pointed a second time up the river. + +“You are an honor to your country, young fellow,” exclaimed the +stranger; “there is the material in you to make one of Cooper’s +redskins.” As he said these words he threw a piece of money into the +child’s cap and walked rapidly away in the direction indicated. + +The Alsatian stood motionless for a few moments with one hand in his +blond hair and his eyes fastened upon the piece of silver which shone +like a star in the bottom of his cap; when the one whom he considered as +a model of extraordinary generosity had disappeared behind the trees, he +gave vent to his joy by heavy blows from his whip upon the backs of +the cattle, then he resumed his way, singing in a still more triumphant +tone: ‘Mantes exultaverunt ut arites’, and jumping higher himself than +all the hills and rams in the Bible. + +The young man had not walked more than five minutes before he recognized +the correctness of the directions he had received. The ground which he +had passed over was a field covered with clumps of low trees; it was +easy to see by its disc-like shape that it had been formed by successive +alluvia, at the expense of the other shore, which had been incessantly +worn away by the stream. This sort of flat, level peninsula was crossed +in a straight line by the road, which deviated from the river at the +point where the two roads came together again, like the cross and string +of a bow at its extremity. The trees, becoming thinner, revealed a +perspective all the more wonderful as it was unexpected. While the +eye followed the widening stream, which disappeared in the depths of a +mountainous gorge, a new prospect suddenly presented itself on the right +upon the other shore. + +A second valley, smaller than the first and in measure its vassal, +formed an amphitheatre the crest of which was bordered by a fringe of +perpendicular rocks as white as dried bones. Under this crown, which +rendered it almost inaccessible, the little valley was resplendent in +its wealth of evergreen trees, oaks with their knotty branches, and its +fresh green turf. + +Taken as a whole, it was a foundation worthy of the picturesque edifice +which met one’s eye in the foreground, and at which the traveller gazed +with extreme interest. + +At the junction of the two valleys stood an enormous building, half +manorial, half monastic in appearance. The shore formed, at this point, +for an extent of several hundred feet, a bluff whose edge plunged +vertically into the river. The chateau and its outbuildings rested upon +this solid base. The principal house was a large parallelogram of very +old construction, but which had evidently been almost entirely rebuilt +at the beginning of the sixteenth century. The stones, of grayish +granite which abounds in the Vosges, were streaked with blue and violet +veins, and gave the facade a sombre aspect, increased by the scarcity of +windows, some of which were ‘a la Palladio’, others almost as narrow +as loop-holes. An immense roof of red tile, darkened by rain, projected +several feet over the whole front, as is still to be seen in old cities +in the North. Thanks to this projecting weather-board, the apartments +upon the upper floor were shaded from the sun’s rays, like those persons +who have weak eyes and who protect them from a strong light by wearing a +green shade. + +The view which this melancholy dwelling presented from the place where +the traveller had first seen it, was one which made it appear to the +best advantage; it seemed, from this point, to come immediately out of +the river, built as it was upon the very curb of the bluffs, at this +place at least thirty feet high. This elevation, added to that of the +building, effaced the lack of proportion of the roof and gave to the +whole a most imposing appearance; it seemed as if the rocks were a part +of the building to which it served as foundation, for the stones had +ended by assuming the same color, and it would have been difficult to +discover the junction of man’s work and that of nature, had it not been +outlined by a massive iron balcony running across the entire length of +the first story, whence one could enjoy the pleasure of line-fishing. +Two round towers with pointed roofs stood at each corner of the facade +and seemed to gaze with proud satisfaction at their own reflection in +the water. + +A long line of sycamore-trees skirted the banks of the river, beginning +from the foot of the chateau, and forming the edge of a park which +extended to the back of the double valley. A little wooden bridge +connected this sort of avenue with the road the traveller had just +passed over; but the latter did not seem disposed to profit by this +silent invitation to which large raindrops gave more emphasis. He was so +absorbed in his meditation that, to arouse him, it needed the sound of a +gruff voice behind him uttering these words: + +“That is what I call an ugly castle! It is hardly as good as our common +country houses around Marseilles.” + +The stranger turned quickly around and found himself face to face with +a man wearing a gray cap and carrying his coat upon his shoulder, as +workmen do in the South. He held in his hand a knotty stick which +had been recently cut. The newcomer had a swarthy complexion, harsh +features, and deep-set eyes which gave his face an ugly, false +expression. + +“I said an ugly castle,” continued he. “However, the cage is made for +the bird.” + +“It seems, then, that you do not like its master?” said the traveller. + +“The master!” repeated the workman, seizing hold of his stick with a +threatening air, “Monsieur le Baron de Bergenheim, as they say! He is +rich and a nobleman, and I am only a poor carpenter. Well, then, if you +stay here a few days, you will witness a comical ceremony; I shall make +this brigand repent.” + +“Brigand!” exclaimed the stranger, in a surprised tone. “What has he +done to you?” + +“Yes, brigand! you may tell him so from me. But, by the way,” continued +the workman, surveying his companion from head to foot with a searching, +defiant air, “do you happen to be the carpenter who is coming from +Strasbourg? In that case, I have a few words to say to you. Lambernier +does not allow any one to take the bread out of his mouth in that way; +do you understand?” + +The young man seemed very little moved by this declaration. + +“I am not a carpenter,” said he, smiling, “and I have no wish for your +work.” + +“Truly, you do not look as if you had pushed a plane very often. It +seems that in your business one does not spoil one’s hands. You are a +workman about as much as I am pope.” + +This remark made the one to whom it was addressed feel in as bad a humor +as an author does when he finds a grammatical error in one of his books. + +“So you work at the chateau, then,” said he, finally, to change the +conversation. + +“For six months I have worked in that shanty,” replied the workman; “I +am the one who carved the new woodwork, and I will say it is well done. +Well, this great wild boar of a Bergenheim turned me out of the house +yesterday as if I had been one of his dogs.” + +“He doubtless had his reasons.” + +“I tell you, I will crush him--reasons! Damn it! They told him I talked +too often with his wife’s maid and quarrelled with the servants, a pack +of idlers! Did he not forbid my putting my foot upon his land? I am upon +his land now; let him come and chase me off; let him come, he will see +how I shall receive him. Do you see this stick? I have just cut it in +his own woods to use it on himself!” + +The young man no longer listened to the workman; his eyes were turned +toward the castle, whose slightest details he studied, as if he hoped +that in the end the stone would turn into glass and let him see the +interior. If this curiosity had any other object than the architecture +and form of the building it was not gratified. No human figure came to +enliven this sad, lonely dwelling. All the windows were closed, as if +the house were uninhabited. The baying of dogs, probably imprisoned +in their kennel, was the only sound which came to break the strange +silence, and the distant thunder, with its dull rumbling, repeated by +the echoes, responded plaintively, and gave a lugubrious character to +the scene. + +“When one speaks of the devil he appears,” said the workman, suddenly, +with an emotion which gave the lie to his recent bravado; “if you +wish to see this devil incarnate of a Bergenheim, just turn your head. +Good-by.” + +At these words he leaped a ditch at the left of the road and disappeared +in the bushes. The stranger also seemed to feel an impression very like +that of Lambernier’s as he saw a man on horseback advancing on a gallop. +Instead of waiting for him, he darted into the field which descended to +the river, and hid behind a group of trees. + +The Baron, who was not more than thirty-three years of age, had one of +those energetic, handsome faces whose type seems to belong particularly +to old military families. His bright, blond hair and clear, blue eyes +contrasted strongly with his ruddy complexion; his aspect was severe, +but noble and imposing, in spite of his negligent dress, which showed +that indifference to matters of personal attire which becomes habitual +with country lords. His tall figure was beginning to grow stout, and +that increased his athletic appearance. He sat very erect in his saddle, +and from the way in which he straightened out his long legs against the +sides of his beast, one suspected that he could, if necessary, repeat +the Marshal de Saxe’s feats of skill. He stopped his horse suddenly at +the very spot which the two men had just vacated and called out in a +voice which would startle a regiment of cuirassiers: + +“Here, Lambernier!” + +The carpenter hesitated a moment, at this imperative call, between the +fear which he could not overcome and shame at fleeing from a single man +in the presence of a witness; finally this last feeling triumphed. He +returned to the edge of the road without saying a word, and stationed +himself in an insolent way face to face with the Baron, with his hat +drawn down over his ears, and grasped through precaution the knotty +stick which served him as a weapon. + +“Lambernier,” said the master of the castle, in a severe tone, “your +account was settled yesterday; was it not paid in full? Is anything due +you?” + +“I ask nothing of you,” replied the workman, brusquely. + +“In that case, why are you wandering about my place when I forbade you?” + +“I am upon the highway, nobody can prevent me from passing there.” + +“You are upon my land, and you came out of my woods,” replied the Baron, +emphasizing his words with the firmness of a man who would permit no +violation of his rights as a landowner. + +“The ground upon which I walk is mine,” said the workman, in his +turn, as he struck the end of his stick upon the ground as if to take +possession. This gesture attracted Bergenheim’s attention, and his eyes +flashed with a sudden light at the sight of the stick which Lambernier +held. + +“You scoundrel!” he exclaimed, “you probably regard my trees also as +your own. Where did you cut that stick?” + +“Go and find out,” said the workman, accompanying his reply with a +flourish of the stick. + +The Baron coolly dismounted, threw the bridle over his horse’s neck, +walked up to the workman, who had taken the position of a practised +pugilist to receive him, and, without giving him time to strike, he +disarmed him with one hand by a blow which would have been sufficient to +uproot the beech rod before it was metamorphosed into a club; with the +other hand he seized the man by the collar and gave him a shaking that +it was as impossible to struggle against as if it had been caused by a +steam-engine. Obeying this irresistible force, in spite of his kicking, +Lambernier described a dozen circles around his adversary, while the +latter set these off with some of the hardest blows from green wood that +ever chastised an insolent fellow. This gymnastic exercise ended by a +sleight-of-hand trick, which, after making the carpenter pirouette for +the last time, sent him rolling head-first into a ditch, the bottom of +which, fortunately for him, was provided with a bed of soft mud. When +the punishment was over, Bergenheim remounted his horse as tranquilly as +he had dismounted it, and continued his way toward the chateau. + +The young man, in the midst of the thicket where he was concealed, had +lost no detail of this rural scene. He could not help having a feeling +of admiration for this energetic representative of the feudal ages who, +with no fear of any court of justice or other bourgeois inventions, +had thus exerted over his own domains the summary justice in force in +Eastern countries. + +“France has thrashed Gaul,” said he, smiling to himself; “if all our men +had this Bergenheim’s iron fist many things determined upon to-day might +be called in question. If I ever have the slightest difficulty with this +Milo de Crotona, he may be sure I shall not choose pugilism as my mode +of discussion.” + +The storm now burst forth in all its fury. A dark curtain covered the +whole valley, and the rain fell in torrents. The Baron put spurs to his +horse, crossed the bridge and, entering the sycamore avenue, was soon +out of sight. Without paying any attention to Lambernier, who was +uttering imprecations at the bottom of the ditch, into which he was +sinking deeper and deeper, the stranger went to seek a less illusive +shelter than the trees under which he had taken his position; but at +this moment his attention was attracted to one side of the castle. A +window, or rather a glass door, just then opened upon the balcony, and a +young woman in a rose-colored negligee appeared upon the dark facade. It +would be impossible to imagine anything more fresh or charming than +this apparition at such a moment. Leaning upon the balustrade, the young +woman rested her face upon a hand which was as white as a lily, and her +finger smoothed with a mechanical caress the ringlets of chestnut hair +that lay upon her forehead, while her large brown eyes gazed into the +depths of the clouds from which the lightning was flashing, and with +which they vied in brilliancy. A poet would have said it was Miranda +evoked by the tempest. + +The stranger parted the branches before him to get a better view; at the +same instant he was blinded by a terrible flash which lighted the whole +valley and was immediately followed by a terrific crash. When he opened +his eyes the chateau which he believed to be at the bottom of the river +stood still upright, solemn, and firm as before; but the lady in the +rose-colored gown had disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE CASTLE OF BERGENHEIM + +The appearance of the room into which the lady had precipitately +entered, when startled by the thunder, corresponded with the edifice to +which it belonged. It was a very large room, longer than it was wide, +and lighted by three windows, the middle one of which opened from top +to bottom like a door and led out upon the balcony. The woodwork and +ceiling were in chestnut, which time had polished and a skilful hand had +ornamented with a profusion of allegorical figures. The beauty of +this work of art was almost entirely concealed by a very remarkable +decoration which covered every side of the room, consisting of one +of the most glorious collections of family portraits which a country +chateau of the nineteenth century could offer. + +The first of these portraits hung opposite the windows at the right of +the entrance door and was that of a chevalier in full armor, whose teeth +gleamed from under his long moustache like those of an untamed tiger. +Beginning with this formidable figure, which bore the date 1247, forty +others of about the same dimensions were placed in order according to +their dates. It seemed as if each period had left its mark upon those of +the personages it had seen live and die, and had left something of its +own character there. + +There were more gallant cavaliers cut after the same pattern as the +first. Their stern, harsh faces, red beards, and broad, square military +shoulders told that by swordthrusts and broken lances they had founded +the nobility of their race. An heroic preface to this family biography! +A rough and warlike page of the Middle Ages! After these proud +men-of-arms came several figures of a less ferocious aspect, but not +so imposing. In these portraits of the fifteenth century beards had +disappeared with the sword. In those wearing caps and velvet toques, +silk robes and heavy gold chains supporting a badge of the same metal, +one recognized lords in full and tranquil possession of the fiefs won +by their fathers, landowners who had degenerated a little and preferred +mountain life in a manor to the chances of a more hazardous existence. +These pacific gentlemen were, for the most part, painted with the left +hand gloved and resting upon the hip; the right one was bare, a sort of +token of disarmament which one might take for a painter’s epigram. +Some of them had allowed their favorite dogs to share the honors of the +picture. All in this group indicated that this branch of the family had +many points of resemblance with the more illustrious faces. It was the +period of idle kings. + +A half dozen solemn personages with gold-braided hats and long red robes +bordered with ermine, and wearing starched ruffles, occupied one corner +of the parlor near the windows. These worthy advisers of the Dukes +of Lorraine explained the way in which the masters of the chateau had +awakened from the torpor in which they had been plunged for several +generations, in order to participate in the affairs of their country and +enter a more active sphere. + +Here the portraits assumed the proportions of history. Did not this +branch, descended from warlike stock, seem like a fragment taken from +the European annals? Was it not a symbolical image of the progress +of civilization, of regular legislation struggling against barbaric +customs? Thanks to these respectable counsellors and judges, one might +reverse the motto: ‘Non solum toga’, in favor of their race. But it did +not seem as if these bearded ancestors looked with much gratitude upon +this parliamentary flower added to their feudal crest. They appeared to +look down from the height of their worm-eaten frames upon their enrobed +descendants with that disdainful smile with which the peers of France +used to greet men of law the first time they were called to sit by their +side, after being for so long a time at their feet. + +In the space between the windows and upon the remaining woodwork was a +crowd of military men, with here and there an Abbe with cross and mitre, +a Commander of Malta, and a solemn Canon, sterile branches of this +genealogical tree. Several among the military ones wore sashes and +plumes of the colors of Lorraine; others, even before the union of +this province to France, had served the latter country; there were +lieutenant-colonels of infantry and cavalry; some dressed in blue coats +lined with buff serge and little round patches of black plush, which +served as the uniform for the dragoons of the Lorraine legion. + +Last of all was a young man with an agreeable face, who smiled +superciliously from under a vast wig of powdered hair; a rose was in +the buttonhole of his green cloth pelisse with orange facings, a red +sabrecache hung against his boots a little lower than the hilt of his +sabre. The costume represented a sprightly officer of the Royal Nassau +hussars. The portrait was hung on the left of the entrance door and only +separated by it from his great-grandfather of 1247, whom he might have +assisted, had these venerable portraits taken some night a fancy to +descend from their frames to execute a dance such as Hoffmann dreamed. + +These two persons were the alpha and the omega of this genealogical +tree, the two extreme links of the chain-one, the root buried in the +sands of time; the other, the branch which had blossomed at the top. +Fate had created a tragical resemblance between these two lives, +separated by more than five centuries. The chevalier in coat-of-mail had +been killed in the battle of the Mansourah during the first crusade of +St. Louis. The young man with the supercilious smile had mounted the +scaffold during the Reign of Terror, holding between his lips a rose, +his usual decoration for his coat. The history of the French nobility +was embodied in these two men, born in blood, who had died in blood. + +Large gilded frames of Gothic style surrounded all these portraits. At +the right, on the bottom of each picture was painted a little escutcheon +having for its crest a baronial coronet and for supports two wild men +armed with clubs. The field was red; with its three bulls’ heads in +silver, it announced to people well versed in heraldic art that they +had before them the lineaments of noble and powerful lords, squires of +Reisnach-Bergenheim, lords of Reisnach in Suabia, barons of the +Holy Empire, lords of Sapois, Labresse, Gerbamont, etc., counts of +Bergenheim, the latter title granted them by Louis XV, chevaliers of +Lorraine, etc., etc., etc. + +This ostentatious enumeration was not needed in order to recognize the +kindred of all these noble personages. Had they been mingled with other +portraits, a careful observer would have promptly distinguished and +reunited them, so pronounced were the family features common to them +all. The furniture of the room was not unworthy of these proud defunct +ones. High-backed chairs and enormous armchairs, dating from the time of +Louis XIII; more modern sofas, which had been made to harmonize with +the older furniture, filled the room. They were covered with flowered +tapestry in thousands of shades, which must have busied the white hands +of the ladies of the house for two or three generations past. + +The row of portraits was interrupted on one side by a large fireplace of +grayish granite, which was too high for one to hang a mirror above or +to place ornaments upon its mantel. Opposite was an ebony console inlaid +with ivory, upon which was placed one of those elegant clocks whose +delicate and original chased work has not been eclipsed by any modern +workmanship. Two large Japanese vases accompanied it; the whole was +reflected in an antique mirror which hung above the console; its edges +were bevelled, doubtless in order to cause one to admire the thickness +of the glass. + +It would be impossible to imagine a stronger contrast than that of this +Gothic room with the lady in the rose-colored gown who had just entered +it so precipitately. The fire upon the hearth threw a warm light over +the old portraits, and it was heightened by the heavy, red damask +curtains which hung by the windows. The light sometimes softened, +sometimes revivified by some sudden flash of the flames, glanced over +the scowling faces and red beards, enlivening the eyes and giving a +supernatural animation to those lifeless canvases. One would have said +that the cold, grave faces looked with curiosity at the young woman with +graceful movements and cool garments, whom Aladdin’s genii seemed to +have transported from the most elegant boudoir on the Chaussee d’Antin, +and thrown, still frightened, into the midst of this strange assembly. + +“You are crazy, Clemence, to leave that window open!” said at this +moment an old voice issuing from an armchair placed in a corner near the +fireplace. + +The person who broke the charm of this silent scene was a woman of sixty +or seventy years of age, according to the gallantry of the calculator. +It was easy to judge that she was tall and thin as she lay, rather +than sat, in her chair with its back lowered down. She was dressed in a +yellowish-brown gown. A false front as black as jet, surmounted by a +cap with poppy-colored ribbons, framed her face. She had sharp, withered +features, and the brilliancy of her primitive freshness had been +converted into a blotched and pimpled complexion which affected above +all her nose and cheek-bones, but whose ardor had been dimmed only a +trifle by age. There was something about the whole face as crabbed, +sour, and unkind as if she had daily bathed it in vinegar. One could +read old maid in every feature! Besides, a slight observation of her +ways would have destroyed all lingering doubt in this respect. + +A large, coffee-colored pug-dog was lying before the fire. This +interesting animal served as a footstool for his mistress, stretched in +her easy-chair, and recalled to mind the lions which sleep at the +foot of chevaliers in their Gothic tombs. As a pug-dog and an old maid +pertain to each other, it was only necessary, in order to divine this +venerable lady’s state, to read the name upon the golden circlet which +served as a collar for the dog: “Constance belongs to Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil.” + +Before the younger lady, who was leaning upon the back of a chair, +seeming to breathe with difficulty, had time to reply, she received a +second injunction. + +“But, aunt,” said she, at last, “it was a horrible crash! Did you not +hear it?” + +“I am not so deaf as that yet,” replied the old maid. “Shut that window; +do you not know that currents of air attract lightning?” + +Clemence obeyed, dropping the curtain to shut out the flashes of +lightning which continued to dart through the heavens; she then +approached the fireplace. + +“Since you are so afraid of lightning,” said her aunt; “which, by the +way, is perfectly ridiculous in a Corandeuil, what induced you to go out +upon the balcony? The sleeve of your gown is wet. That is the way one +gets cold; afterward, there is nothing but an endless array of syrups +and drugs. You ought to change your gown and put on something warmer. +Who would ever think of dressing like that in such weather as this?” + +“I assure you, aunt, it is not cold. It is because you have a habit of +always being near the fire--” + +“Ah! habit! when you are my age you will not hint at such a thing. Now, +everything goes wonderfully well; you never listen to my advice--you go +out in the wind and rain with that flighty Aline and your husband, who +has no more sense than his sister; you will pay for it later. Open the +curtains, I pray; the storm is over, and I wish to read the Gazette.” + +The young woman obeyed a second time and stood with her forehead pressed +against the glass. The distant rumbling of the thunder announced the end +of the storm; but a few flashes still traversed the horizon. + +“Aunt,” said she, after a moment’s silence, “come and look at the +Montigny rocks; when the lightning strikes them they look like a file of +silver columns or a procession of ghosts.” + +“What a romantic speech,” growled the old lady, never taking her eyes +from her paper. + +“I assure you I am not romantic the least in the world,” replied +Clemence. “I simply find the storm a distraction, and here, you know, +there is no great choice of pleasures.” + +“Then you find it dull?” + +“Oh, aunt, horribly so!” At these words, pronounced with a heartfelt +accent, the young woman dropped into an armchair. + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil took off her eye-glasses, put the paper upon +the table and gazed for several moments at her pretty niece’s face, +which was tinged with a look of deep melancholy. She then straightened +herself up in her chair, and, leaning forward, asked in a low tone: + +“Have you had any trouble with your husband?” + +“If so, I should not be so bored,” replied Clemence, in a gay tone, +which she repented immediately, for she continued more calmly: + +“No, aunt; Christian is kind, very kind; he is very much attached to me, +and full of good-humor and attentions. You have seen how he has allowed +me to arrange my apartments to suit myself, even taking down the +partition and enlarging the windows; and yet, you know how much he +clings to everything that is old about the house. He tries to do +everything for my pleasure. Did he not go to Strasbourg the other day to +buy a pony for me, because I thought Titania was too skittish? It would +be impossible to show greater kindness.” + +“Your husband,” suddenly interrupted Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, for +she held the praise of others in sovereign displeasure, “is a Bergenheim +like all the Bergenheims present, past, and future, including your +little sister-in-law, who appears more as if she had been brought up +with boys than at the ‘Sacred Heart.’ He is a worthy son of his father +there,” said she, pointing to one of the portraits near the young +Royal-Nassau officer; “and he was the most brutal, unbearable, and +detestable of all the dragoons in Lorraine; so much so that he got +into three quarrels at Nancy in one month, and at Metz, over a game +of checkers, he killed the poor Vicomte de Megrigny, who was worth a +hundred of him and danced so well! Some one described Bergenheim as +being ‘proud as a peacock, as stubborn as a mule, and as furious as +a lion!’ Ugly race! ugly race! What I say to you now, Clemence, is +to excuse your husband’s faults, for it would be time lost to try to +correct them. However, all men are alike; and since you are Madame de +Bergenheim, you must accept your fate and bear it as well as possible. +And then, if you have your troubles, you still have your good aunt to +whom you can confide them and who will not allow you to be tyrannized +over. I will speak to your husband.” + +Clemence saw, from the first words of this tirade, that she must arm +herself with resignation; for anything which concerned the Bergenheims +aroused one of the hobbies which the old maid rode with a most +complacent spite; so she settled herself back in her chair like a person +who would at least be comfortable while she listened to a tiresome +discourse, and busied herself during this lecture caressing with the tip +of a very shapely foot the top of one of the andirons. + +“But, aunt,” said she at last, when the tirade was over, and she gave a +rather drawling expression to her voice, “I can not understand why you +have taken this idea into your head that Christian renders me unhappy. +I repeat it, it is impossible that one should be kinder to me than he, +and, on my side, I have the greatest respect and friendship for him.” + +“Very well, if he is such a pearl of husbands, if you live so much like +turtle-doves-and, to tell the truth, I do not believe a word of it--what +causes this ennui of which you complain and which has been perfectly +noticeable for some time? When I say ennui, it is more than that; it is +sadness, it is grief? You grow thinner every day; you are as pale as +a ghost; just at this moment, your complexion is gone; you will end +by being a regular fright. They say that it is the fashion to be pale +nowadays; a silly notion, indeed, but it will not last, for complexion +makes the woman.” + +The old lady said this like a person who had her reasons for not liking +pale complexions, and who gladly took pimples for roses. + +Madame de Bergenheim bowed her head as if to acquiesce in this decision, +and then resumed in her drawling voice: + +“I know that I am very unreasonable, and I am often vexed with myself +for having so little control over my feelings, but it is beyond my +strength. I have a tired sensation, a disgust for everything, something +which I can not overcome. It is an inexplicable physical and moral +languor, for which, for this reason, I see no remedy. I am weary and I +suffer; I am sure it will end in my being ill. Sometimes I wish I were +dead. However, I have really no reason to be unhappy. I suppose I am +happy--I ought to be happy.” + +“Truly, I can not understand in the least the women of today. Formerly, +upon exciting occasions, we had a good nervous attack and all was over; +the crisis passed, we became amiable again, put on rouge and went to a +ball. Now it is languor, ennui, stomach troubles--all imagination and +humbug! The men are just as bad, and they call it spleen! Spleen! a new +discovery, an English importation! Fine things come to us from England; +to begin with, the constitutional government! All this is perfectly +ridiculous. As for you, Clemence, you ought to put an end to such +childishness. Two months ago, in Paris, you did not have any of the +rest that you enjoy here. I had serious reasons for wishing to delay my +departure; my apartment to refurnish, my neuralgia which still troubles +me--and Constance, who had just been in the hands of the doctor, was +hardly in a condition to travel, poor creature! You would listen to +nothing; we had to submit to your caprices, and now--” + +“But, aunt, you admitted yourself that it was the proper thing for me +to do, to join my husband. Was it not enough, and too much, to have left +him to pass the entire winter alone here while I was dancing in Paris?” + +“It was very proper, of course, and I do not blame you. But why does the +very thing you so much desired two months ago bore you so terribly +now? In Paris you talked all the time of Bergenheim, longed only +for Bergenheim, you had duties to fulfil, you wished to be with your +husband; you bothered and wore me out with your conjugal love. When back +at Bergenheim, you dream and sigh for Paris. Do not shake your head; I +am an old aunt to whom you pay no heed, but who sees clearly yet. Will +you do me the favor to tell me what it is that you regret in Paris at +this time of the year, when there are no balls or parties, and not +one human being worth visiting, for all the people you know are in the +country? Is it because--” + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil did not finish her sentence, but she put +a severity into these three words which seemed to condense all the +quintessence of prudery that a celibacy of sixty years could coagulate +in an old maid’s heart. + +Clemence raised her eyes to her aunt’s face as if to demand an +explanation. + +It was such a calm, steady glance that the latter could not help being +impressed by it. + +“Well,” said she, softening her voice, “there is no necessity for +putting on such queenly airs; we are here alone, and you know that I am +a kind aunt to you. Now, then, speak freely--have you left anything or +any person in Paris, the remembrance of which makes your sojourn here +more tiresome than it really is? Any of your adorers of the winter?” + +“What an idea, aunt! Did I have any adorers?” exclaimed Madame de +Bergenheim, quickly, as if trying to conceal by a smile the rosy flush +that mounted to her cheeks. + +“And what if you should have some, child?” continued the old maid, to +whom curiosity lent an unaccustomed coaxing accent to her voice, “where +would be the harm? Is it forbidden to please? When one is of good birth, +must one not live in society and hold one’s position there? One need not +bury one’s self in a desert at twenty-three years of age, and you really +are charming enough to inspire love; you understand, I do not say, +to experience it; but when one is young and pretty conquests are made +almost unwittingly. You are not the first of the family to whom that +has happened; you are a Corandeuil. Now, then, my good Clemence, what +troubled heart is pining for you in Paris? Is it Monsieur de Mauleon?” + +“Monsieur de Mauleon!” exclaimed the young woman, bursting into +laughter; “he, a heart! and a troubled one, too! Oh, aunt, you do him +honor! Monsieur de Mauleon, who is past forty-five years old and wears +stays! an audacious man who squeezes his partners’ hands in the dance +and looks at them with passionate glances! Oh! Monsieur de Mauleon!” + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil sanctioned by a slight grimace of her thin +lips her niece’s burst of gayety, when, with one hand upon her heart, +she rolled her sparkling eyes in imitation of the languishing air of her +unfortunate adorer. + +“Perhaps it is Monsieur d’Arzenac?” + +“Monsieur d’Arzenac is certainly very nice; he has perfect manners; it +may be that he did not disdain to chat with me; on my side, I found his +conversation very entertaining; but you may rest assured that he did not +think of me nor I of him. Besides, you know that he is engaged to marry +Mademoiselle de la Neuville.” + +“Monsieur de Gerfaut?” continued Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, with the +persistency with which aged people follow an idea, and as if determined +to pass in review all the young men of their acquaintance until she had +discovered her niece’s secret. + +The latter was silent a moment before replying. + +“How can you think of such a thing, aunt?” said she at last, “a man with +such a bad reputation, who writes books that one hardly dares read, +and plays that it’s almost a sin to witness! Did you not hear Madame +de Pontivers say that a young woman who cared for her reputation would +permit his visits very rarely?” + +“Madame de Pontivers is a prude, whom I can not endure, with her show of +little, grimaces and her pretentious, outrageous mock-modesty. Did she +not take it into her head this winter to constitute me her chaperon? I +gave her to understand that a widow forty years old was quite old +enough to go about alone! She has a mania for fearing that she may be +compromised. The idea of turning up her nose at Monsieur de Gerfaut! +What presumption! He certainly is too clever ever to solicit the honor +of being bored to death in her house; for he is clever, very clever. I +never could understand your dislike for him, nor your haughty manner of +treating him; especially, during the latter part of our stay in Paris.” + +“One is not mistress of one’s dislikes or affections, aunt. But to reply +to your questions, I will say that you may rest assured that none of +these gentlemen, nor any of those whom you might name, has the slightest +effect upon my state of mind. I am bored because it probably is my +nature to need distractions, and there are none in this deserted place. +It is an involuntary disagreeableness, for which I reproach myself and +which I hope will pass away. Rest assured, that the root of the evil +does not lie in my heart.” + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil understood by the cold and rather dry tone in +which these words were spoken that her niece wished to keep her secret, +if she had one; she could not prevent a gesture of anger as she saw her +advances thus repelled, but felt that she was no wiser than when she +began the conversation. She manifested her disappointment by pushing the +dog aside with her foot--the poor thing was perfectly innocent!--and in +a cross tone, which was much more familiar than her former coaxing one, +she continued: + +“Very well, since I am wrong, since your husband adores you and you him, +since, to sum it all up, your heart is perfectly tranquil and free, your +conduct is devoid of common-sense, and I advise you to change it. I warn +you that all this hypochondria, paleness, and languor are caprices which +are very disagreeable to others. There is a Provence proverb which says: +Vaillance de Blacas, prudence de Pontevez, caprice de Corandeuil. If +there was not such a saying, it should be created for you, for you have +something incomprehensible enough in your character to make a saint +swear. If anybody should know you, it is I, who brought you up. I do not +wish to reproach you, but you gave me trouble enough; you were a most +wayward, capricious, and fantastic creature, a spoiled child--” + +“Aunt,” interrupted Clemence, with heightened color in her pale cheeks, +“you have told me of my faults often enough for me to know them, and, if +they were not corrected, it was not your fault, for you never spared me +scoldings. If I had not been so unfortunate as to lose my mother when I +was a baby, I should not have given you so much trouble.” + +Tears came into the young woman’s eyes, but she had enough control over +herself to keep them from streaming down her burning cheeks. Taking a +journal from the table, she opened it, in order to conceal her emotion +and to put an end to this conversation, which had become painful to +her. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, on her side, carefully replaced her +eye-glasses upon her nose, and, solemnly stretching herself upon her +chair, she turned over the leaves of the ‘Gazette de France,’ which she +had neglected so long. + +Silence reigned for some moments in the room. The aunt apparently read +the paper very attentively. Her niece sat motionless, with her eyes +fastened upon the yellow cover of the last number of ‘La Mode,’ which +had chanced to fall into her hands. She aroused herself at last from her +revery and carelessly turned over the leaves of the review in a manner +which showed how little interest she felt in it. As she turned the first +page a surprised cry escaped her, and her eyes were fastened upon the +pamphlet with eager curiosity. Upon the frontispiece, where the Duchesse +de Berry’s coat-of-arms is engraved, and in the middle of the shield, +which was left empty at this time by the absence of the usual fleurs de +lys, was sketched with a pencil a bird whose head was surmounted by a +baron’s coronet. + +Curious to know what could have caused her niece so much surprise, +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil stretched out her neck and gazed for an +instant upon the page without seeing, at first, anything extraordinary, +but finally her glance rested upon the armorial bearings, and she +discovered the new feature added to the royal Bourbon coat-of-arms. + +“A cock!” exclaimed she, after a moment’s reflection; “a cock upon +Madame’s shield! What can that mean, ‘bon Dieu’! and it is not engraved +nor lithographed; it is drawn with a pencil.” + +“It is not a cock, it is a crowned gerfaut,” said Madame de Bergenheim. + +“A gerfaut! How do you know what a gerfaut is? At Corandeuil, in your +grandfather’s time, there was a falconry, and I have seen gerfauts +there, but you--I tell you it is a cock, an old French cock; ugly thing! +What you take for a coronet--and it really does resemble one--is a badly +drawn cock’s comb. How did this horrid creature come to be there? +I should like to know if such pretty tricks are permitted at the +postoffice. People protest against the ‘cabinet noir’, but it is +a hundred times worse if one is permitted to outrage with impunity +peaceable families in their own homes. I mean to find out who has played +this trick. Will you be so kind as to ring the bell?” + +“It really is very strange!” said Madame de Bergenheim, pulling the +bell-rope with a vivacity which showed that she shared, if not the +indignation, at least the curiosity of her aunt. + +A servant in green livery appeared. + +“Who went to Remiremont yesterday for the newspapers?” asked +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil. + +“It was Pere Rousselet, Mademoiselle,” replied the servant. + +“Where is Monsieur de Bergenheim?” + +“Monsieur le Baron is playing billiards with Mademoiselle Aline.” + +“Send Leonard Rousselet here.” + +And Mademoiselle de Corandeuil settled herself back in her chair with +the dignity of a chancellor about to hold court. + + + + +CHAPTER III. A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD + +The servants in the castle of Bergenheim formed a family whose members +were far from living in harmony. The Baron managed his household +himself, and employed a large number of day-laborers, farm servants, and +kitchen-girls, whom the liveried servants treated with great disdain. +The rustics, on their side, resisted these privileged lackeys and called +them “coxcombs” and “Parisians,” sometimes accompanying these remarks +with the most expressive blows. Between these tribes of sworn enemies +a third class, much less numerous, found them selves in a critical +position; these were the two servants brought by Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil. It was fortunate for them that their mistress liked large, +vigorous men, and had chosen them for their broad, military shoulders; +but for that it would have been impossible for them to come out of their +daily quarrels safe and sound. + +The question of superiority between the two households had been the +first apple of discord; a number of personal quarrels followed +to inflame them. They fought for their colors the whole time; the +Bergenheim livery was red, the Corandeuil green. There were two flags; +each exalted his own while throwing that of his adversaries in the mud. +Greenhorn and crab were jokes; cucumber and lobster were insults. + +Such were the gracious terms exchanged every day between the two +parties. In the midst of this civil war, which was carefully concealed +from their masters’ eyes, whose severity they feared, lived one rather +singular personage. Leonard Rousselet, Pere Rousselet, as he was +generally called, was an old peasant who, disheartened with life, had +made various efforts to get out of his sphere, but had never +succeeded in doing so. Having been successively hairdresser, sexton, +school-teacher, nurse, and gardener, he had ended, when sixty years +old, by falling back to the very point whence he started. He had no +particular employment in M. de Bergenheim’s house; he went on errands, +cared for the gardens, and doctored the mules and horses; he was a tall +man, about as much at ease in his clothing as a dry almond in its shell. +A long, dark, yellow coat usually hung about the calves of his legs, +which were covered with long, blue woollen stockings, and looked more +like vine-poles than human legs; a conformation which furnished daily +jokes for the other servants, to which the old man deigned no response +save a disdainful smile, grumbling through his teeth, “Menials, peasants +without education.” This latter speech expressed the late gardener’s +scorn, for it had been his greatest grief to pass for an uneducated man; +and he had gathered from his various conditions a singularly dignified +and pretentious way of speaking. + +In spite of his self-confidence, it was not without some emotion that +Leonard Rousselet responded to this call to appear in the drawing-room +before the person he most feared in the chateau. His bearing showed this +feeling when he presented himself at the drawing-room door, where he +stood as grave and silent as Banquo’s ghost. Constance arose at sight of +this fantastic figure, barked furiously and darted toward a pair of legs +for which she seemed to share the irreverence of the liveried servants; +but the texture of the blue stocking and the flesh which covered the +tibia were rather too hard morsels for the dowager’s teeth; she was +obliged to give up the attack and content herself with impotent barks, +while the old man, who would gladly have given a month’s wages to break +her jaw with the tip of his, boot, caressed her with his hand, saying, +“Softly, pretty dear! softly, pretty little creature!” in a hypocritical +tone. + +This courtier-like conduct touched the old lady’s heart and softened the +severe look upon her face. + +“Stop your noise, Constance,” said she, “lie down beside your mistress. +Rousselet, come nearer.” + +The old man obeyed, walking across the floor with reverential bows, and +taking a position like a soldier presenting arms. + +“You were the one,” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, “who was sent to +Remiremont yesterday? Did you perform all the commissions that were +given you?” + +“It is not among the impossibilities, Mademoiselle, that I may have +neglected some of them,” replied the old man, fearing to compromise +himself by a positive affirmative. + +“Tell us, then, what you did.” + +Leonard wiped his nose behind his hat, like a well-bred orator, and, +balancing himself upon his legs in a way not at all Bourbonic, he said: + +“I went to the city that morning myself because Monsieur le Baron had +said the night before that he should hunt to-day, and that the groom was +to help Monsieur le Baron drive a wild boar out of the Corne woods. +I reached Remiremont; I went to the butcher’s; I purchased five +kilogrammes of dressed goods--” + +“Of dressed goods at the butcher’s!” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim. + +“I would say ten pounds of what uneducated people call pork,” said +Rousselet, pronouncing this last word in a strangled voice. + +“Pass over these details,” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil. “You went to +the post-office.” + +“I went to the post-office, where I put in letters for Mademoiselle, +Madame, Monsieur le Baron, and one from Mademoiselle Aline for Monsieur +d’Artigues.” + +“Aline writing to her cousin! Did you know that?” said the old aunt, +turning quickly toward her niece. + +“Certainly; they correspond regularly,” replied Clemence with a smile +which seemed to say that she saw no harm in it. + +The old maid shook her head and protruded her under lip, as much as to +say: We will attend to this another time. + +Madame de Bergenheim, who was out of patience at this questioning, +began to speak in a quick tone which was a contrast to her aunt’s solemn +slowness. + +“Rousselet,” said she, “when you took the newspapers out of the office, +did you notice whether the wrappers were intact, or whether they had +been opened?” + +The good man half concealed his face in his cravat at this precise +questioning, and it was with embarrassment that he replied, after a +moment’s hesitation: + +“Certainly, Madame--as to the wrappers--I do not accuse the +postmaster--” + +“If the journals were sealed when you received them, you are the only +one who could have opened them.” + +Rousselet straightened himself up to his full height, and, giving to his +nut-cracker face the most dignified look possible, he said in a solemn +tone: + +“With due deference to you, Madame, Leonard Rousselet is well known. +Fifty-seven years old on Saint-Hubert’s day, I am incapable of opening +newspapers. When they have been read at the chateau and they send +me with them to the cure, I do not say--perhaps on my way--it is a +recreation--and then the cure is Jean Bartou, son of Joseph Bartou, the +tilemaker. But to read the newspaper before my masters have done so! +Never! Leonard Rousselet is an old man incapable of such baseness. +Baptized when a child; fifty-seven years on Saint-Hubert’s day.” + +“When you speak of your pastor, do so in a more becoming manner,” + interrupted Mademoiselle de Colrandeuil, although she herself in private +did not speak of the plebeian priest in very respectful terms. But if +Joseph Bartou’s son was always the son of Joseph Bartou to her, she +meant that he should be Monsieur le Cure to the peasants. + +Madame de Bergenheim had not been much affected by Pere Rousselet’s +harangue, and shook her head impatiently, saying in an imperative tone: + +“I am certain that the newspapers have been opened by you, or by some +person to whom you have given them, and I wish to know at once by whom.” + +Rousselet dropped his pose of a Roman senator; passing his hand behind +his ears, a familiar gesture with people when in embarrassing positions, +he continued less emphatically: + +“I stopped on my way back at La Fauconnerie, at the ‘Femme-sans-Tete +Inn’.” + +“And what were you doing in a tavern?” interrupted Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil severely. “You know it is not intended that the servants in +this house should frequent taverns and such low places, which are not +respectable and corrupt the morals of the lower classes.” + +“Servants! lower classes! Old aristocrat!” growled Rousselet secretly; +but, not daring to show his ill humor, he replied in a bland voice: + +“If Mademoiselle had gone the same road that I did, with the same +conveyance, she would know that it is a rather thirsty stretch. I +stopped at the ‘Femme-sans-Tete’ to wash the dust down my parched +throat. Whereupon Mademoiselle Reine--the daughter of Madame Gobillot, +the landlady of the inn--Mademoiselle Reine asked me to allow her to +look at the yellow-journal in which there are fashions for ladies; I +asked her why; she said it was so that she might see how they made their +bonnets, gowns, and other finery in Paris. The frivolity of women!” + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil threw herself back in her chair and gave way +to an access of hilarity in which she rarely indulged. + +“Mademoiselle Gobillot reading La Mode! Mademoiselle Gobillot talking +of gowns, shawls, and cashmeres! Clemence, what do you say to that? You +will see, she will be ordering her bonnets from Herbault! Ha! ha! This +is what is called the progress of civilization, the age of light!” + +“Mademoiselle Gobillot,” said Clemence, fixing a penetrating glance upon +the old man, “was not the only one who looked at La Mode. Was there no +other person in the tavern who saw it?” + +“Madame,” replied Rousselet, forced from his last refuge, “there were +two young men taking their refection, and one of them wore a beard no +longer than a goat’s. Madame will pardon me if I allow myself to use +this vulgar expression, but Madame wished to know all.” + +“And the other young man?” + +“The other had his facial epidermis shaved as close as a lady’s or +mine. He was the one who held the journal while his comrade was smoking +outside the door.” + +Madame de Bergenheim made no further inquiries, but fell into a profound +revery. With eyes fixed upon the last number of La Mode, she seemed to +study the slightest lines of the sketch that had been made thereon, as +if she hoped to find a solution to the mystery. Her irregular breathing, +and the bright flush which tinged her usually pale cheeks, would have +denoted to an eye-witness one of those tempests of the heart, the +physical manifestations of which are like those of a fever. The pale +winter flower dying under the snow had suddenly raised its drooping head +and recovered its color; the melancholy against which the young woman +had so vainly struggled had disappeared as if by enchantment. A little +bird surmounted by a coronet, the whole rather badly sketched, was the +strange talisman that had produced this change. + +“They were commercial travellers,” said the old aunt; “they always +pretend to know everything. One of them, doubtless, when reading the +well-known name of Monsieur de Bergenheim upon the wrapper, sketched the +animal in question. These gentlemen of industry usually have a rather +good education! But this is giving the affair more importance than it +merits. Leonard Rousselet,” said she, raising her voice as a judge does +in court when pronouncing his charge, “you were wrong to let anything +addressed to your master leave your hands. We will excuse you this +time, but I warn you to be more careful in future; when you go to Madame +Gobillot’s, you may say to Mademoiselle Reine, from me, that if she +wishes to read La Mode I shall be delighted to procure a subscriber to +one of our journals. You may retire now.” + +Without waiting for this invitation to be repeated, Rousselet backed out +of the room like an ambassador leaving the royal presence, escorted +by Constance acting as master of ceremonies. Not having calculated the +distance, he had just bumped against the door, when it suddenly opened +and a person of extreme vivacity bounded into the middle of the room. + +It was a very young and petite lady, whose perfectly developed form +predicted an inclination to stoutness in the future. She belonged to +the Bergenheim family, if one could credit the resemblance between her +characteristic features and several of the old portraits in the room; +she wore a dark-brown riding-habit, a gray hat perched on one side, +showing on the left a mass of very curly, bright blond hair. This +coiffure and the long green veil, floating at each movement like the +plume in a helmet, gave a singularly easy air to the fresh face of this +pretty amazon, who brandished, in guise of a lance, a billiard cue. + +“Clemence,” she exclaimed, “I have just beaten Christian; I made the +red ball, I made the white, and then the double stroke; I made all! +Mademoiselle, I have just beaten Christian two games; is it not +glorious? He made only eighteen points in a single game. Pere Rousselet, +I have just beaten Christian! Do you know how to play billiards?” + +“Mademoiselle Aline, I am absolutely ignorant of the game,” replied the +old man, with as gracious a smile as was possible, while he tried to +recover his equilibrium. + +“You are needed no longer, Rousselet,” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil; +“close the door as you go out.” + +When she had been obeyed, the old maid turned gravely toward Aline, +who was still dancing about the room, having seized her sister-in-law’s +hands in order to force her to share her childish joy. + +“Mademoiselle,” said she in a severe tone, “is it the custom at the +‘Sacred Heart’ to enter a room without greeting the persons who are +in it, and to jump about like a crazy person? a thing that is never +permitted even in a peasant’s house.” + +Aline stopped short in the midst of her dance and blushed a trifle; +she caressed the pug dog, instead of replying, for she knew as well as +Rousselet that it was the surest way of softening the old maid’s heart. +The cajolery was lost this time. + +“Do not touch Constance, I beg of you,” exclaimed the aunt, as if a +dagger had been raised against the object of her love, “do not soil +this poor beast with your hands. What dreadful thing have you on your +fingers? Have you just come out of an indigo bag?” + +The young girl blushed still deeper and gazed at her pretty hands, which +were really a little daubed, and began to wipe them with an embroidered +handkerchief which she took from her pocket. + +“It was the billiards,” she said, in a low voice, “it is the blue chalk +they rub the cue with in order to make good shots and caroms.” + +“Make good shots! Caroms! Will you be so good as to spare us your slang +speeches,” continued Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who seemed to become +more crabbed as the young girl’s confusion increased. “What a fine +education for a young lady! and one who has just come from the ‘Sacred +Heart’! One that has taken five prizes not fifteen days ago! I really do +not know what to think of those ladies, your teachers! And now I suppose +you are going to ride. Billiards and horses, horses and billiards! It is +fine! It is admirable!” + +“But, Mademoiselle,” said Aline, raising her large blue eyes, which were +on the verge of tears, “it is vacation now, and there is no wrong in my +playing a game of billiards with my brother; we have no billiards at the +‘Sacred Heart,’ and it is such fun! It is like riding; the doctor said +that it would be very healthful for me, and Christian hoped that it +might make me grow a little.” + +As she said these words, the young girl glanced into the mirror in order +to see whether her brother’s hopes had been realized; for her small +stature was her sole anxiety. But this glance was as quick as a flash, +for she feared that the severe old maid would make this act of coquetry +serve as the text for another sermon. + +“You are not my niece, and I am thankful for it,” continued the old +lady. “I am too old to begin another education; thank goodness, one is +quite enough! I have no authority over you, and your conduct is +your brother’s concern. The advice which I give you is entirely +disinterested; your amusements are not such as seem to me proper for +a young girl of good birth. It may be possible that it is the fashion +today, so I will say no more about it; but there is one thing more +serious, upon which I should advise you to reflect. In my youth, a young +lady never was allowed to write letters except to her father and +mother. Your letters to your cousin d’Artigues are inconsiderate--do not +interrupt me--they are inconsiderate, and I should advise you to mend +your ways.” + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil arose, and, as she had found an opportunity +to read three sermons in one forenoon, she could not say, like Titus, +“I have wasted my morning.” She left the room with a majestic step, +escorted by her dog and satisfied with herself, bestowing an ironical +curtsey on the young girl, which the latter did not think it necessary +to return. + +“How hateful your aunt is!” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Bergenheim to her +sister-in-law, when they were alone. “Christian says that I must pay no +attention to her, because all women become like her if they never marry. +As for myself, I know very well that if I am an old maid I shall try +not to hurt others’ feelings--I, inconsiderate! When she can think of +nothing more to say, she scolds me about my cousin. It is hardly worth +while, for what we write about! Alphonse wrote of nothing, in his last +letter, but of the partridge he had shot and his hunting costume; he is +such a boy! But why do you not say something? You sit there speechless; +are you angry with me, too?” + +She approached Clemence and was about to seat herself in her lap, when +the latter arose to avoid this loving familiarity. + +“So you really have beaten Christian,” said she, in a listless tone; +“are you going for a ride now? Your habit is very becoming.” + +“Truly? oh! I am so glad!” replied the young girl, planting herself +before the glass to look at her pretty figure. She pulled down her +waist, adjusted the folds of the skirt of her dress and arranged her +veil, placed her hat on her head with a little more jaunty air, turned +three quarters around to get a better view of her costume; in one word, +she went through the coquettish movements that all pretty women learn +upon entering society. On the whole, she seemed very well pleased with +her examination, for she smiled and showed a row of small teeth which +were as white as milk. + +“I am sorry now,” said she, “that I did not send for a black hat; my +hair is so light that gray makes me look ugly. Do you not think so? Why +do you not reply, Clemence? One can not get a word out of you to-day; is +it because you have your neuralgia?” + +“I have a trifle of it,” said Madame de Bergenheim, in order to give +some pretext for her preoccupation. + +“Now, then, you ought to come with us for a ride; the fresh air will do +you good. Look how fine the weather is now; we will have a good gallop. +Will you? I will help you put on your habit, and in five minutes you +will be ready. Listen, I hear them in the yard now. I am going to tell +Christian to have your horse saddled; come.” + +Aline took her sister-in-law by the hand, led her into the next room and +opened the window to see what was going on outside, where the cracking +of whips and several voices were to be heard. A servant was walking up +and down the yard leading a large horse which he had just brought from +the stable; the Baron was holding a smaller one, which bore a lady’s +saddle, while he carefully examined all the buckles. As he heard the +window open above his head, he turned and bowed to Clemence with much +chivalrous gallantry. + +“You still refuse to go with us?” he asked. + +“Is Aline going to ride Titania,” replied Madame de Bergenheim, making +an effort to speak; “I am sure the mare will end by playing her some +trick.” + +The young girl, who had a fancy for Titania because the skittish +creature had the attraction of forbidden fruit, nudged her sister with +her elbow, and made a little grimace. + +“Aline is afraid of nothing,” said the Baron; “we will enlist her with +the hussars as soon as she leaves the ‘Sacred Heart.’ Come, Aline.” + +The young girl kissed the Baroness, gathered up her skirt, and in a few +moments was in the yard patting the neck of her dear brown mare. + +“Up with you!” said Christian, taking his sister’s foot in one hand +while he raised her with the other, placing her in the saddle as easily +as he would a six-year-old child. Then he mounted his large horse, +saluted his wife, and the couple, starting at a trot, soon disappeared +down the avenue, which began at the gate of the courtyard. + +As soon as they were out of sight, Clemence went to her room, took a +shawl from her bed, and went rapidly down a secret stairway which led +into the gardens. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE GALLANT IN THE GARDEN + +Madame de Bergenheim’s apartments occupied the first floor of the wing +on the left side of the house. On the ground floor were the library, +a bathroom, and several guest-chambers. The large windows had a modern +look, but they were made to harmonize with the rest of the house by +means of grayish paint. At the foot of this facade was a lawn surrounded +by a wall and orange-trees planted in tubs, forming a sort of English +garden, a sanctuary reserved for the mistress of the castle, and which +brought her, as a morning tribute, the perfume of its flowers and the +coolness of its shade. + +Through the tops of the fir-trees and the tuliptrees, which rose above +the group of smaller shrubs, the eye could follow the winding river +until it finally disappeared at the extremity of the valley. It was +this picturesque view and a more extensive horizon which had induced +the Baroness to choose this part of the Gothic manor for her own private +apartments. + +After crossing the lawn, the young woman opened a gate concealed by +shrubs and entered the avenue by the banks of the river. This avenue +described a curve around the garden, and led to the principal entrance +of the chateau. Night was approaching, the countryside, which had been +momentarily disturbed by the storm, had resumed its customary serenity. +The leaves of the trees, as often happens after a rain, looked as fresh +as a newly varnished picture. The setting sun cast long shadows through +the trees, and their interlaced branches looked like a forest of +boa-constrictors. + +Clemence advanced slowly under this leafy dome, which became darker and +more mysterious every moment, with head bent and enveloped in a large +cashmere shawl which fell in irregular folds to the ground. Madame de +Bergenheim had one of those faces which other women would call not at +all remarkable, but which intelligent men ardently admire. At the +first glance she seemed hardly pretty; at the second, she attracted +involuntary admiration; afterward, it was difficult to keep her out +of one’s thoughts. Her features, which taken separately might seem +irregular, were singularly harmonious, and, like a thin veil which +tempers a too dazzling light, softened the whole expression. Her light +chestnut hair was arranged about the temples in ingenious waves; while +her still darker eyebrows gave, at times, an imposing gravity to her +face. The same contrast was to be found in the mouth; the short distance +which separated it from the nose would indicate, according to Lavater, +unusual energy; but the prominent underlip impregnated her smile with +enchanting voluptuousness. Her rather clearcut features, the exceeding +brilliancy of her brown eyes, which seemed like diamonds set in jet, +would, perhaps, have given to the whole rather too strong a character +had not these eyes when veiled given to their dazzling rays a glamour of +indescribable softness. + +The effect produced by this face might be compared to that of a prism, +every facet of which reflects a different color. The ardor burning under +this changeable surface, which, through some sudden cause, betrayed its +presence, was so deeply hidden, however, that it seemed impossible to +fathom it completely. Was she a coquette, or simply a fashionable lady, +or a devotee? In one word, was she imbued with the most egotistical +pride or the most exalted love? One might suppose anything, but know +nothing; one remained undecided and thoughtful, but fascinated, the mind +plunged into ecstatic contemplation such as the portrait of Monna Lisa +inspires. An observer might have perceived that she had one of +those hearts, so finely strung, from which a clever hand might make +incomparable harmonies of passion gush; but perhaps he would be +mistaken. So many women have their souls only in their eyes! + +Madame de Bergenheim’s revery rendered the mysterious and impenetrable +veil which usually enveloped her countenance more unfathomable yet. What +sentiment made her bend her head and walk slowly as she meditated? Was +it the ennui of which she had just complained to her aunt? Was it pure +melancholy? The monotonous ripple of the stream, the singing of the +birds in the woods, the long golden reflections under the trees, all +seemed to unite in filling the soul with sadness; but neither the +murmuring water, the singing birds, nor the sun’s splendor was paid any +attention to by Madame de Bergenheim; she gave them neither a glance nor +a sigh. Her meditation was not revery, but thought; not thoughts of the +past, but of the present. There was something precise and positive +in the rapid, intelligent glance which flashed from her eyes when she +raised them; it was as if she had a lucid foresight of an approaching +drama. + +A moment after she had passed over the wooden bridge which led from the +avenue, a man wearing a blouse crossed it and followed her. Hearing the +sound of hurried steps behind her, she turned and saw, not two steps +from her, the stranger who, during the storm, had vainly tried to +attract her attention. There was a moment’s silence. The young man stood +motionless, trying to catch his breath, which had been hurried, either +by emotion or rapid walking. Madame de Bergenheim, with head thrown +back and widely opened eyes, looked at him with a more agitated than +surprised look. + +“It is you,” exclaimed he, impulsively, “you whom I had lost and now +find again!” + +“What madness, Monsieur!” she replied, in a low voice, putting out her +hand as if to stop him. + +“I beg of you, do not look at me so! Let me gaze at you and assure +myself that it is really you--I have dreamed of this moment for so +long! Have I not paid dear enough for it? Two months passed away from +you--from heaven! Two months of sadness, grief, and unhappiness! But you +are pale! Do you suffer, too?” + +“Much, at this moment.” + +“Clemence!” + +“Call me Madame, Monsieur de Gerfaut,” she interrupted, severely. + +“Why should I disobey you? Are you not my lady, my queen?” + +He bent his knee as a sign of bondage, and tried to seize her hand, +which she immediately withdrew. Madame de Bergenheim seemed to pay very +little attention to the words addressed her; her uneasy glances wandered +in every direction, into the depths of the bushes and the slightest +undulations of the ground. Gerfaut understood this pantomime. He +glanced, in his turn, over the place, and soon discovered at some +distance a more propitious place for such a conversation as theirs. It +was a semicircular recess in one of the thickets in the park. A rustic +seat under a large oak seemed to have been placed there expressly for +those who came to seek solitude and speak of love. From there, one could +see the approach of danger, and, in case of alarm, the wood offered +a secure retreat. The young man had had enough experience in gallant +strategies to seize the advantage of this position, and wended his steps +in that direction while continuing to converse. It may be that instinct +which, in a critical situation, makes us follow mechanically an unknown +impulse; it may be that the same idea of prudence had also struck her, +for Madame de Bergenheim walked beside him. + +“If you could understand what I suffered,” said he, “when I found that +you had left Paris! I could not discover at first where you had gone; +some spoke of Corandeuil, others of Italy. I thought, from this hasty +departure and the care you took to conceal your abiding-place, that you +were fleeing from me. Oh! tell me that I was mistaken; or, if it is +true that you wished to separate yourself from me, say that this cruel +resolve had left your mind, and that you will pardon me for following +you! You will pardon me, will you not? If I trouble or annoy you, lay +the blame entirely upon my love, which I can not restrain, and which +drives me at times to do the most extravagant things; call it reckless, +insane love, if you will; but believe it to be true and devoted!” + +Clemence replied to this passionate tirade by simply shaking her head as +a child does who hears the buzzing of a wasp and fears its sting; then, +as they reached the bench, she said with affected surprise: + +“You have made a mistake, this is not your road; you should have gone +over the bridge.” + +There was a little palpable insincerity in these words; for if the road +which they had taken did not lead to the bridge, neither did it lead to +the chateau, and the mistake, if there was one, was mutual. + +“Listen to me, I beg of you,” replied the lover, with ‘a supplicating +glance, “I have so many things to say to you! I beg of you, grant me one +moment.” + +“Afterward, will you obey me?” + +“Only a few words, and I will then do all that you wish.” + +She hesitated a moment; then, her conscience doubtless lulled by this +promise, she seated herself and made a gesture for M. de Gerfaut to do +likewise. The young man did not make her repeat this invitation, but +hypocritically seated himself on the farther end of the seat. + +“Now, talk reasonably,” she said, in a calm tone. “I suppose that you +are on your way to Germany or Switzerland, and as you passed near me +you wished to favor me with a call. I ought to be proud of this mark +of respect from a man so celebrated as you are, although you are rather +hiding your light under this garb. We are not very strict as to dress in +the country, but, really, yours is quite unceremonious. Tell me, where +did you find that headdress?” + +These last words were spoken with the careless, mocking gayety of a +young girl. + +Gerfaut smiled, but he took off his cap. Knowing the importance that +women attach to little things, and what an irreparable impression an +ugly cravat or unblacked boots might produce in the most affecting +moments, he did not wish to compromise himself by a ridiculous +head-gear. He passed his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his +large, broad forehead, and said softly: + +“You know very well that I am not going to Germany or Switzerland, and +that Bergenheim is the end of my journey, as it has been its aim.” + +“Then will you be so good as to tell me what your intention was +in taking such a step, and whether you have realized how strange, +inconsiderate, and in every way extravagant your conduct is?” + +“I have realized it; I know it. You were here, I came because there is +a loadstone within you, that is my heart’s sole attraction, and I must +follow my heart. I came because I wanted to see your beautiful eyes +again, to be intoxicated by your sweet voice, because to live away from +you is impossible for me; because your presence is as necessary to my +happiness as air to my life; because I love you. That is why I came. Is +it possible that you do not understand me, that you will not pardon me?” + +“I do not wish to believe that you are speaking seriously,” said +Clemence, with increased severity. “What sort of an idea can you have +of me, if you think I will allow such conduct? And then, even if I were +foolish enough for that-which I never shall be--to what would it lead? +You know perfectly well that it is impossible for you to come to the +castle, as you are not acquainted with Monsieur de Bergenheim, and I +certainly shall not introduce you to him. My aunt is here, and she +would persecute me the whole day long with questions! Mon Dieu! how you +disturb me! how unhappy you make me!” + +“Your aunt never goes out, so she will not see me, unless I am +officially received at the chateau, and then there could be no danger.” + +“But the servants she brought with her, and mine, who have seen you in +her house! I tell you, the whole thing is as perilous as it is crazy, +and you will make me die of fright and chagrin.” + +“If one of those servants should chance to meet me, how could he ever +recognize me in this costume? Do not fear, I shall be prudent! I +would live in a log cabin, if necessary, for the joy of seeing you +occasionally.” + +Madame de Bergenheim smiled disdainfully. + +“That would be quite pastoral,” she replied; “but I believe that such +disguises are seldom seen now except upon the stage. If this is a scene +out of a play, which you wish to rehearse in order to judge its effect, +I warn you that it is entirely lost upon me, and that I consider the +play itself very ill-timed, improper, and ridiculous. Besides, for a +man of talent and a romantic poet you have not exhibited any very great +imagination. It is a classical imitation, nothing better. There is +something like it in mythology, I believe. Did not Apollo disguise +himself as a shepherd?” + +Nothing more is to be feared by a lover than a witty woman who does not +love or loves but half; he is obliged to wear velvet gloves in all such +sentimental controversies; he owes it to himself out of propriety first, +out of prudence afterward. For it is not a question of taking part in a +conversation for the simple pleasure of brilliant repartee; and while +he applies himself carefully to play his part well, he feels that he has +been dexterously cut to pieces with a well-sharpened knife. + +Gerfaut indulged in these unpleasant reflections while gazing at Madame +de Bergenheim. Seated up on the bench as proudly as a queen upon her +throne, with shining eyes, scornful lips, and arms tightly folded under +her cashmere shawl, with that haughty gesture familiar to her, the young +woman looked as invulnerable under this light wrap as if she had been +covered with Ajax’s shield, formed, if we can credit Homer, of seven +bulls’ hides and a sheet of brass. + +After gazing at this scornful face for a moment, Gerfaut glanced at his +coarse blouse, his leggings, and muddy boots. His usual dainty ways made +the details of this costume yet more shocking to him, and he exaggerated +this little disaster. He felt degraded and almost ridiculous. +The thought took away for a moment his presence of mind; he began +mechanically to twirl his hat in his hands, exactly as if he had been +Pere Rousselet himself. But instead of being hurtful to him, this +awkwardness served him better than the eloquence of Rousseau or the +coolness of Richelieu. Was it not a genuine triumph for Clemence to +reduce a man of his recognized talent, who was usually anything but +timid, to this state of embarrassment? What witty response, what +passionate speech could equal the flattery of this poet with bent head +and this expression of deep sadness upon his face? + +Madame de Bergenheim continued her raillery, but in a softer tone. + +“This time, instead of staying in a cabin, the god of poetry +has descended to a tavern. Have you not established your general +headquarters at La Fauconnerie?” + +“How did you know that?” + +“By the singular visiting-card that you drew in La Mode. Do I not know +your coat-of-arms? An expressive one, as my aunt would say.” + +At these words, which probably referred to some letters, doubtless read +without very much anger, since they were thus recalled, Gerfaut took +courage. + +“Yes,” said he, “I am staying at La Fauconnerie; but I can not stay +there any longer, for I think your servants make the tavern their +pleasure-ground. I must come to some decision. I have two propositions +to submit to you: the first is, that you will allow me to see you +occasionally; there are numerous promenades about here; you go out +alone, so it would be very easy.” + +“Let us hear the second,” said Clemence, with a shrug of the shoulders. + +“If you will not grant my first, I beg of you to persuade your aunt that +she is ill and to take her with you to Plombieres or Baden. The season +is not very far advanced; there, at least, I should be able to see you.” + +“Let us end this folly,” said the Baroness; “I have listened patiently +to you; now, in your turn, listen to me. You will be sensible, will you +not? You will leave me and go. You will go to Switzerland, and return +to the Montanvert, where you met me for the first time, which I shall +always remember, if you, yourself, do not make it painful for me to do +so. You will obey me, Octave, will you not? Give me this proof of your +esteem and friendship. You know very well that it is impossible for me +to grant what you ask; believe me, it is painful to me to be forced to +refuse you. So, say farewell to me; you shall see me again next winter +in Paris. Adieu!” + +She arose and extended her hand; he took it, but, thinking to profit by +the emotion betrayed by Madame de Bergenheim’s voice, he exclaimed in a +sort of transport: + +“No! I will not wait until next winter to see you. I was about to submit +to your will; if you repulse me I will consult only myself; if you +repulse me, Clemence, I warn you that tomorrow I shall be in your house, +seated at your table and admitted to your drawing-room.” + +“You?” “I!” + +“To-morrow?” + +“To-morrow.” + +“And how will you do it, pray?” said she, defiantly. + +“That is my secret, Madame,” he replied, coldly. + +Although her curiosity was greatly aroused, Clemence felt that it +would be beneath her to ask any more questions. She replied with an +affectation of mocking indifference: + +“Since I am to have the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow, I hope you will +permit me to leave you today. You know that I am not well, and it is +showing me very little attention to allow me to stand here in this wet +grass.” + +She raised her skirt a trifle and extended her foot, showing her +slipper, which was really covered with pearly drops of rain. Octave +threw himself quickly upon his knees, and, taking a silk handkerchief +from his pocket, began to wipe away all traces of the storm. His action +was so rapid that Madame de Bergenheim stood for a moment motionless and +speechless, but when she felt her foot imprisoned in the hand of the +man who had just declared war against her, her surprise gave place to a +mingled feeling of impatience and anger. She drew her foot back with a +sudden movement, but unfortunately the foot went one way and the slipper +another. A fencing-master, who sees his foil carried ten steps away from +him by a back stroke, could not feel more astonishment than that felt +by Madame de Bergenheim. Her first movement was to place her foot, so +singularly undressed, upon the ground; an instinctive horror of the +damp, muddy walk made her draw it quickly back. She stood thus with one +foot lifted; the movement which she had started to make threw her off +her balance and as she was about to fall she extended her hand to find +some support. This support proved to be Octave’s head, for he still +remained upon his knees. With the usual presumption of lovers, he +believed that he had the right to give her the assistance which she +seemed to ask for, and passed his arm about the slender waist which was +bent toward him. + +Clemence drew herself up at once, and with frowning brow regained her +coolness, standing upright upon one foot, like Cupid in the painting by +Gerard; like him, also, she seemed about to fly away, there was so much +airy lightness in her improvised attitude. + +Many puerile incidents and ridiculous events occur in life, which it +would render impossible for the most imperturbable of mandarins to +struggle against in order to preserve his gravity. When Louis XIV, +this king so expert in courtly ways, dressed his hair alone behind his +curtains before presenting himself to the eyes of his courtiers, he +feared that this disarray of costume might compromise even his royal +majesty. So, upon such authority, if one looks upon a complete head +of hair as indispensable to the dignity of manhood, the same reasoning +should exist for the covering of one’s feet. In less than a second, +Madame de Bergenheim comprehended that in such circumstances prudish +airs would fail of their effect. Meanwhile, the agreeable side of her +position operated within her; she felt unable to keep up the show of +anger that she had wished to assume. The involuntary smile upon her lips +smoothed her forehead as a ray of sun dissipates a cloud. Thus, disposed +to clemency by reflection or fascination, it was in a very sweet and +coaxing voice that she said: “Octave, give me my slipper.” Gerfaut +gazed at the lovely face bent toward him with an expression of childish +entreaty, then he glanced with an irresolute air at the trophy which he +held in his hand. This slipper, which was as small as Cinderella’s, was +not green, but gray, the lining was of rose-colored silk, and the whole +was so pretty, coquettish, and dainty that it seemed impossible its +owner could be vexed with him if he examined it closely. “I will give it +back to you,” said he, at last, “on condition that you will allow me to +put it on for you.” + +“As to that, certainly not,” said she, in a sharp tone; “I should much +prefer to leave it with you and return home as I am.” + +Gerfaut shook his head and smiled incredulously. + +“Think of your delicate lungs and of this terrible mud?” + +Clemence drew her foot suddenly back under her skirt, concealing it +entirely from the sight of the young man, who gazed at it more than +she thought proper. Then she exclaimed, with the obstinacy of a spoiled +child: + +“Very well! I will return hopping on one foot; I could hop very well +when I was young, I should be able to do so now.” + +To give more weight to this observation, she took two little jumps with +a grace and sprightliness worthy of Mademoiselle Taglioni. + +Octave arose. + +“I have had the pleasure of seeing you waltz,” said he; “but I admit +that I shall be pleased to witness a new dance, and one executed for me +alone.” + +As he said these words, he pretended to conceal the innocent object +of this dispute in his blouse. The pretty dancer saw by this that a +compromise would be necessary. Recourse to concessions is often as +fatal to women as to kings; but what can one do when every other exit is +closed? Obliged by absolute necessity to accept the conditions imposed +upon her, Clemence wished at least to cover this defeat with sufficient +dignity, and escape from an awkward position with the honors of war. + +“Get down upon your knees, then,” she said, haughtily, “and put on my +slipper, since you exact it, and let this end this ridiculous scene. I +think you should be too proud to regard a maid’s privilege as a favor.” + +“As a favor which a king would envy,” replied Gerfaut, in a voice as +tender as hers had been disdainful. He put one knee on the ground, +placed the little slipper upon the other and seemed to await his enemy’s +pleasure. But the latter found a new subject for complaint in the +pedestal offered her, for she said with increased severity: + +“On the ground, Monsieur; and let that end it.” + +He obeyed, without a reply, after giving her a reproachful glance by +which she was as much moved as by his silent obedience. She put out her +foot with a more gracious air, and thrust it into the slipper. To be a +correct historian, we must admit that this time she left it in the hands +which softly pressed it longer than was strictly necessary. When Octave +had fastened it with skill but with no haste, he bent his head and +pressed his lips to the openwork stocking, through which he could catch +a glimpse of white, satiny skin. + +“My husband!” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, as she heard the clatter +of horses’ hoofs at the end of the avenue; and without adding a word she +fled rapidly toward the chateau. Gerfaut arose from his position no less +rapidly and darted into the woods. A rustling of branches which he heard +a few steps from him made him uneasy at first, for he feared that an +invisible witness had been present at this imprudent interview; but he +was soon reassured by the silence which reigned about him. + +After the Baron and his sister had passed, he crossed the avenue and +soon disappeared over the winding road on the other side of the bridge. + + + + +CHAPTER V. ART AND MUSIC + +A league below the castle of Bergenheim, the village of La Fauconnerie +was situated, at the junction of several valleys the principal of which, +by means of an unfrequented road, opened communications between Lorraine +and upper Alsatia. This position had been one of some importance in the +Middle Ages, at the time when the Vosges were beset with partisans +from the two countries, always ready to renew border hostilities, +the everlasting plague of all frontiers. Upon a cliff overlooking the +village were situated the ruins which had given the village its name; +it owed it to the birds of prey [falcons, in French: ‘faucons’], the +habitual guests of the perpendicular rocks. To render proper justice to +whom it belongs, we should add that the proprietors of La Fauconnerie +had made it a point at all times to justify this appellation by customs +more warlike than hospitable; but for some time the souvenirs of their +feudal prowess had slept with their race under the ruins of the manor; +the chateau had fallen without the hamlet extending over its ruins; +from a bourg of some importance La Fauconnerie had come down to a small +village, and had nothing remarkable about it but the melancholy ruins of +the chateau. + +It would be impossible to imagine anything more miserably prosaic than +the houses that bordered the road, in regular order; their one story +with its thatched roof blackened by rain; the sorry garden surrounded by +a little low wall and presenting as vegetables patches of cabbage and a +few rows of beans, gave an idea of the poverty of its inhabitants. Save +the church, which the Bishop of St.-Die had caused to be built, and the +manse that had naturally shared this fortunate privilege, only one house +rose above the condition of a thatched cottage; this was the tavern +called ‘La Femme-sans-Tete’, and kept by Madame Gobillot, an energetic +woman, who did not suggest in the least the name of her establishment, +“The Headless Woman.” + +A large sign shared with the inevitable bunch of juniper, the honor +of decorating the entrance and justified an appellation one might have +regarded as disrespectful to the fair sex. The original design had been +repainted in dazzling colors by the artist charged with restoring the +church. This alliance of the profane with the sacred had, it is true, +scandalized the parish priest, but he did not dare say a word too much, +as Madame Gobillot was one of his most important parishioners. A +woman in a rose-colored dress and large panniers, standing upon very +high-heeled shoes, displayed upon this sign the rejuvenated costume +of 1750; an enormous green fan, which she held in her hand, entirely +concealed her face, and it was through this caprice of the painter that +the tavern came to have the name it bore. + +At the right of this original figure was painted, in a very appetizing +manner, a pie out of whose crust peeped a trio of woodcocks’ heads. A +little farther, upon a bed of watercresses, floated a sort of marine +monster, carp or sturgeon, trout or crocodile. The left of the sign was +none the less tempting; it represented a roast chicken lying upon its +back with its head under its wing, and raising its mutilated legs in the +air with a piteous look; it had for its companion a cluster of crabs, +of a little too fine a red to have been freshly caught. The whole was +interspersed with bottles and glasses brimful of wine. There were +stone jugs at each extremity, the sergeants of the rear-rank of this +gastronomic platoon, whose corks had blown out and were still flying +in space, while a bubbling white foam issued from their necks and +fell majestically over their sides after describing a long parabola. A +misleading sign, indeed! + +A remorseful conscience, or a desire to protect herself from all +reproach of mendacity on the part of the customers, had made the owner +of the inn place a wire cupboard upon the sill of one of the windows +near the door; in which receptacle were some eggs on a plate, a bit of +bread with which David might have loaded his sling, a white glass bottle +filled with a liquid of some color intended to represent kirsch, but +which was in reality only water. This array gave a much more correct +idea of the resources of the establishment and formed a menu like an +anchorite’s repast, and even this it was difficult for the kitchen’s +resources to maintain. + +A carriage-gate led into the yard and to the stables, cart-drivers being +the principal habitues of the place; another entrance, the one which +was crowned with the fantastic sign, was flanked by two stone seats and +opened directly into the kitchen, which also served as parlor for the +guests. A fireplace with an enormous mantel, under which a whole family +might warm themselves, occupied the middle of one side of the room. +There was a large oven in one corner which opened its huge mouth, the +door partly hiding the shovels and tongs employed in its service. Two or +three thoroughly smoked hams, suspended from the beams, announced +that there was no fear of a famine before the gastronomic massacres of +Middlemas. Opposite the window, a large, polished oak dresser displayed +an array of large flowered plates and little octagon-shaped glasses. A +huge kitchen kettle and some wooden chairs completed the furniture of +the room. + +From the kitchen one passed into another room, where a permanent table +surrounded by benches occupied its entire length. The wall paper, once +green, was now a dirty gray; it was embellished by half a dozen black +frames representing the story of Prince Poniatowski, who shares the +honor of decorating village inns with Paul and Virginia and Wilhelm +Tell. On the upper floor-for this aristocratic dwelling had a second +story--several sleeping-rooms opened upon a long corridor, at the end of +which was a room with two beds in it. This room was very neat and clean, +and was destined for any distinguished guests whose unlucky star led +them into this deserted country. + +That evening the inn presented an unaccustomed lively appearance; the +long seats, each side of the door, were occupied by rustics stripping +hemp, by some village lads, and three or four cart-drivers smoking +short pipes as black as coal. They were listening to two girls who were +singing in a most mournful way a song well known to all in this country: + + “Au chateau de Belfort + Sont trois jolies filles, etc.” + +The light from the hearth, shining through the open door, left this +group in the shadow and concentrated its rays upon a few faces in the +interior of the kitchen. First, there was Madame Gobillot in person, +wearing a long white apron, her head covered with an immense cap. She +went from oven to dresser, and from dresser to fireplace with a very +important air. A fat little servant disappeared frequently through the +dining-room door, where she seemed to be laying the cover for a feast. +With that particular dexterity of country girls, she made three trips to +carry two plates, and puffed like a porpoise at her work, while the look +of frightened amazement showed upon her face that every fibre of her +intelligence was under unaccustomed tension. Before the fire, and upon +the range, three or four stew-pans were bubbling. A plump chicken was +turning on the spit, or, rather, the spit and its victim were turned by +a bright-looking boy of about a dozen years, who with one hand turned +the handle and with the other, armed with a large cooking-ladle, basted +the roast. + +But the two principal persons in this picture were a young country girl +and a young man seated opposite her, who seemed busily engaged in making +her portrait. One would easily recognize, from the airs and elegance of +the young woman, that she was the daughter of the house, Mademoiselle +Reine Gobillot, the one whose passion for fashion-plates had excited +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s anger. She sat as straight and rigid +upon her stool as a Prussian corporal carrying arms, and maintained an +excessively gracious smile upon her lips, while she made her bust more +prominent by drawing back her shoulders as far as she could. + +The young painter, on the contrary, was seated with artistic abandon, +balancing himself upon a two-legged chair with his heels resting against +the mantel; he was dressed in a black velvet coat, and a very small Tam +O’Shanter cap of the same material covered the right side of his head, +allowing a luxuriant crop of brown hair to be seen upon the other side. +This head-dress, accompanied by long moustaches and a pointed beard +covering only his chin, gave the stranger’s face the mediaeval look +he probably desired. This travelling artist was sketching in an album +placed upon his knees, with a freedom which indicated perfect confidence +in his own talents. A cigar, skilfully held in one corner of his mouth, +did not prevent him from warbling between each puff some snatches of +Italian airs of which he seemed to possess a complete repertoire. In +spite of this triple occupation he sustained a conversation with the +ease of a man who, like Caesar, could have dictated to three secretaries +at once if necessary. + + “Dell’ Assiria, ai semidei + Aspirar--” + +“I have already asked you not to purse up your mouth so, Mademoiselle +Reine; it gives you a Watteau air radically bourgeois.” + +“What sort of air does it give me?” she asked, anxiously. + +“A Watteau, Regence, Pompadour air. You have a large mouth, and we will +leave it natural, if you please.” + +“I have a large mouth!” exclaimed Reine, blushing with anger; “how +polite you are!” + +And she pinched up her lips until she reduced them to nearly the size of +Montmorency cherries. + +“Stop this vulgar way of judging of art, queen of my heart. Learn that +there is nothing more appetizing than a large mouth. I do not care for +rosebud mouths!” + +“If it is the fashion!” murmured the young girl, in a pleased tone, +as she spread out horizontally her vermillion lips, which might have +extended from ear to ear, not unlike--if we can credit that slanderer, +Bussy-Rabutin-the amorous smile of Mademoiselle de la Valliere. + +“Why did you not let me put on my gold necklace? + +“That would have given my portrait a smarter look. Sophie Mitoux had +hers painted with a coral comb and earrings. How shabby this style is!” + +“I beg of you, my good Reine, let me follow my own fancy; an artist is a +being of inspiration and spontaneity. Meanwhile, you make your bust too +prominent; there is no necessity for you to look as if you had swallowed +a whale. L’art n’est pas fait pour toi, tu n’en as pas besoin. Upon my +word, you have a most astonishing bust; a genuine Rubens.” + +Madame Gobillot was an austere woman, though an innkeeper, and watched +over her daughter with particular care, lest any ill-sounding or +insiduous expression should reach her child’s ear. Considering the +company which frequented the house, the task was not easy. So she was +shocked at the young man’s last words, and although she did not quite +understand his meaning, for that very reason she thought she scented a +concealed poison more dangerous for Mademoiselle Reine than the awful +words used by the drivers. She dared not, however, show her displeasure +to a customer, and one who seemed disposed to spend money freely; and, +as usual in such circumstances, she vented her displeasure upon the +persons immediately under her charge. + +“Hurry now, Catherine! Will you never finish setting the table? I told +you before to put on the Britannia; these gentlemen are used to eating +with silver. Listen to me when I am talking to you. Who washed these +glasses? What a shame! You are as afraid of water as a mad-dog. And you! +what are you staring at that chicken for, instead of basting it? If +you let it burn you shall go to bed without any supper. If it is not +provoking!” she continued, in a scolding tone, visiting her stewpans one +after another, “everything is dried up; a fillet that was as tender as +it could be will be scorched! This is the third time that I have diluted +the gravy. Catherine! bring me a dish. Now, then, make haste.” + +“One thing is certain,” interrupted the artist, “that Gerfaut is making +a fool of me. I do not see what can have become of him. Tell me, Madame +Gobillot, are you certain that an amateur of art and the picturesque, +travelling at this hour, would not be eaten by wolves or plundered by +robbers in these mountains?” + +“Our mountains are safe, Monsieur,” replied the landlady, with offended +dignity; “except for the pedler who was assassinated six months ago and +whose body was found in the Combe-aux-Renards--” + +“And the driver who was stopped three weeks ago in the Fosse,” added +Mademoiselle Reine; “the thieves did not quite kill him, but he is still +in the hospital at Remiremont.” + +“Oh! that is enough to make one’s hair stand on end! This is worse than +the forest of Bondy! Truly, if I knew what direction my friend took this +morning, I would follow him with my pistols.” + +“Here is Fritz,” said Madame Gobillot. “He met a stranger in the woods +who gave him ten sous for telling him the way to Bergenheim. From his +description, it seems that it must be the gentleman you speak of. Tell +us about it, Fritz.” + +The child related in his Alsatian patois his meeting of the afternoon, +and the artist was convinced that it was Gerfaut he had met. + +“He must be wandering in the valley,” said he, “dreaming about our play. +But did you not say something about Bergenheim? Is there a village near +here by that name?” + +“There is a chateau of that name, Monsieur, and it is about a league +from here as you go up the river.” + +“And does this chateau happen to belong to the Baron de Bergenheim--a +large, blond, good-looking fellow, with rather reddish moustache?” + +“That’s the picture of its owner, only that the Baron does not wear +a moustache now, not since he left the service. Do you know him, +Monsieur?” + +“Yes, I know him! Speaking of service, I once rendered him one which was +of some account. Is he at the castle?” + +“Yes, Monsieur, and his lady also.” + +“Ah! his wife, too. She was a Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, of Provence. +Is she pretty?” + +“Pretty,” said Mademoiselle Gobillot, pursing up her lips, “that depends +upon tastes. If a person likes a face as white as a ghost, she is. And, +then, she is so thin! It certainly can not be very difficult to have a +slender waist when one is as thin as that.” + +“Not everybody can have rosy cheeks and a form like an enchantress,” + said the painter, in a low voice, as he looked at his model in a +seductive manner. + +“There are some people who think that Monsieur’s sister is prettier than +Madame,” observed Madame Gobillot. + +“O mother! how can you say that?” exclaimed Reine with a disdainful air. +“Mademoiselle Aline! A child of fifteen! She certainly is not wanting in +color; her hair is such a blond, such a red, rather! It looks as if it +were on fire.” + +“Do not say anything against red hair, I beg of you,” said the artist, +“it is an eminently artistic shade, which is very popular.” + +“With some it may be so, but with Christians! It seems to me that black +hair--” + +“When it is long and glossy like yours, it is wonderful,” said the young +man, darting another killing glance. “Madame Gobillot, would you mind +closing that door? One can not hear one’s self think here. I am a +little critical, so far as music is concerned, and you have two sopranos +outside who deafen me with their shrieks.” + +“It is Marguerite Mottet and her sister. Since our cure has taken to +teaching them, they bore us to death, coming here and singing their fine +songs. One of these days I shall notify them to leave.” + +As she said these words, Madame Gobillot went to close the door in order +to please her guest; as soon as her back was turned, the latter leaned +forward with the boldness of a Lovelace and imprinted a very loving kiss +upon the rosy cheek of Mademoiselle Reine, who never thought of drawing +back until the offence was committed. + +The sole witness to this incident was the little kitchen drudge, whose +blue eyes had been fastened upon the artist’s moustache and beard for +some time. They seemed to plunge him into a deep admiration. But at this +unexpected event his amazement was so complete that he dropped his spoon +into the ashes. + +“Eh! mein herr, do you wish to go to bed without your supper, as has +been promised you?” said the young man, while the beautiful Reine was +trying to recover her countenance. “Now, then, sing us a little song +instead of staring at me as if I were a giraffe. Your little cook has +a nice voice, Madame Gobillot. Now, then, mein herr, give us a little +German lied. I will give you six kreutzers if you sing in tune, and a +flogging if you grate upon my ears.” + +He arose and put his album under his arm. + +“And my portrait?” exclaimed the young girl, whose cheek was still +burning from the kiss she had just received. + +The painter drew near her, smiling, and said in a mysterious tone: + +“When I make a portrait of a pretty person like you, I never finish it +the first day. If you will give me another sitting in the morning before +your mother arises I promise to finish this sketch in a way that will +not be displeasing to you.” + +Mademoiselle Reine saw that her mother was watching her, and walked away +with no reply save a glance which was not discouraging. + +“Now, then! You droll little fellow!” exclaimed the artist, as he +whirled on one foot; “triple time; one, two, begin.” + +The child burst into an Alsatian song in a high, ringing voice. + +“Wait a moment! What devilish key are you singing that in? La, la, la, +la; mi, in E major, key of four sharps. By Jove, my little man! here is +a fellow who sings B’s and C’s away up in the clouds; an E sharp, too!” + he continued, with astonishment, while the singer made a hold upon the +keynote an octave higher in a voice as clear as a crystal. + +The artist threw into the fire the cigar which he had just lighted, and +began pacing the kitchen floor, paying no more attention to Mademoiselle +Reine, who felt a little piqued at seeing herself neglected for a +kitchen drudge. + +“A rare voice,” said he, as he took a great stride; “per Bacco, a very +rare voice. Added to that, he sings very deep; two octaves and a half, a +clear, ringing tone, the two registers are well united. He would make an +admirable ‘primo musico’. And the little fellow has a pretty face, too. +After supper I will make him wash his face, and I will sketch it. I am +sure that in less than a year’s study, he could make his debut with the +greatest success. By Jove! I have an idea! Why does not that Gerfaut +return? Now, then, he would do very well for ‘Pippo’ in La Gazza, or for +Gemma in Wilhelm Tell. But we must have a role for him to make his debut +in. What subject could we take properly to introduce a child’s part? Why +does not that Gerfaut come? A child, girl or boy; a boy part would be +better. ‘Daniel,’ of course; viva ‘Daniel!’ ‘The Chaste Suzannah,’ opera +in three acts. Madame Begrand would be fine as Suzannah. By Jove! if +Meyerbeer would only take charge of the score! That falls to him by +right as a compatriot. Then, that would give him an opportunity to break +lances with Mehul and Rossini. If that fool of a Gerfaut would only +come! Let us see what would be the three characters: Soprano, Suzannah; +contralto, David; the old men, two basses; as for the tenor, he would +be, of course, Suzannah’s husband. There would be a superb entrance for +him upon his return from the army, ‘cavatina guerriera con cori’. Oh! +that terrible Gerfaut! the wolves must have devoured him. If he were +here, we would knock off the thing between our fruit and cheese.” + +Just at that moment the door opened suddenly. “Is supper ready?” asked a +deep voice. + +“Eh, here he is, the dear friend! + + “O surprise extreme! + Grand Dieu! c’est lui-meme-- + +alive and in the flesh.” + +“And hungry,” said Gerfaut, as he dropped into a chair near the fire. + +“Would you like to compose an opera in three acts, The Chaste Suzannah, +music by Meyerbeer?” + +“I should like some supper first. Madame Gobillot, I beseech you, give +me something to eat. Thanks to your mountain air, I am almost starved.” + +“But, Monsieur, we have been waiting two hours for you,” retorted the +landlady, as she made each stewpan dance in succession. + +“That is a fact,” said the artist; “let us go into the dining-room, +then. + + “Gia la mensa a preparata.” + +“While supping, I will explain my plans to you. I have just found a +Daniel in the ashes--” + +“My dear Marillac, drop your Daniel and Suzannah,” replied Gerfaut, as +he sat down to the table; “I have something much more important to talk +to you about.” + + + + +BOOK 2. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. GERFAUT’S STORY + +While the two friends are devouring to the very last morsel the feast +prepared for them by Madame Gobillot, it may not be out of place to +explain in a few words the nature of the bonds that united these two +men. + +The Vicomte de Gerfaut was one of those talented beings who are the +veritable champions of an age when the lightest pen weighs more in the +social balance than our ancestors’ heaviest sword. He was born in +the south of France, of one of those old families whose fortune had +diminished each generation, their name finally being almost all that +they had left. After making many sacrifices to give their son an +education worthy of his birth, his parents did not live to enjoy the +fruits of their efforts, and Gerfaut became an orphan at the time when +he had just finished his law studies. He then abandoned the career of +which his father had dreamed for him, and the possibilities of a red +gown bordered with ermine. A mobile and highly colored imagination, +a passionate love for the arts, and, more than all, some intimacies +contracted with men of letters, decided his vocation and launched him +into literature. + +The ardent young man, without a murmur or any misgivings, drank to +the very dregs the cup poured out to neophytes in the harsh career of +letters by editors, theatrical managers, and publishers. With some, +this course ends in suicide, but it only cost Gerfaut a portion of his +slender patrimony; he bore this loss like a man who feels that he is +strong enough to repair it. When his plans were once made, he followed +them up with indefatigable perseverance, and became a striking example +of the irresistible power of intelligence united to will-power. +Reputation, for him, lay in the unknown depths of an arid and rocky +soil; he was obliged, in order to reach it, to dig a sort of artesian +well. Gerfaut accepted this heroic labor; he worked day and night +for several years, his forehead, metaphorically, bathed in a painful +perspiration alleviated only by hopes far away. At last the untiring +worker’s drill struck the underground spring over which so many noble +ones breathlessly bend, although their thirst is never quenched. At this +victorious stroke, glory burst forth, falling in luminous sparks, making +this new name--his name--flash with a brilliancy too dearly paid for not +to be lasting. + +At the time of which we speak, Octave had conquered every obstacle +in the literary field. With a versatility of talent which sometimes +recalled Voltaire’s “proteanism,” he attacked in succession the most +difficult styles. Besides their poetic value, his dramas had this +positive merit, the highest in the theatre world they were money-makers; +so the managers greeted him with due respect, while collaborators +swarmed about him. The journals paid for his articles in their weight +in gold; reviews snatched every line of his yet unfinished novels; his +works were illustrated by Porret and Tony Johannot--the masters of +the day--and shone resplendent behind the glass cases in the Orleans +gallery. Gerfaut had at last made a place for himself among that +baker’s dozen of writers who call themselves, and justly, too, the +field-marshals of French literature, of which Chateaubriand was then +commander-in-chief. + +What was it that had brought such a person a hundred leagues from the +opera balcony, to put on a pretty woman’s slipper? Was the fair lady one +of those caprices, so frequent and fleeting in an artist’s thoughts, or +had she given birth to one of those sentiments that end by absorbing the +rest of one’s life? + +The young man seated opposite Gerfaut was, physically and morally, as +complete a contrast to him as one could possibly imagine. He was one +of the kind very much in request in fashionable society. There is not +a person who has not met one of these worthy fellows, destined to make +good officers, perfect merchants, and very satisfactory lawyers, +but who, unfortunately, have been seized with a mania for notoriety. +Ordinarily they think of it on account of somebody else’s talent. +This one is brother to a poet, another son-in-law to a historian; they +conclude that they also have a right to be poet and historian in their +turn. Thomas Corneille is their model; but we must admit that very few +of our writers reach the rank attained by Corneille the younger. + +Marillac was train-bearer to Gerfaut, and was rewarded for this bondage +by a few bribes of collaboration, crumbs that fall from the rich man’s +table. They had been close friends since they both entered the law +school, where they were companions in folly rather than in study. +Marillac also had thrown himself into the arena of literature; then, +different fortunes having greeted the two friends’ efforts, he had +descended little by little from the role of a rival to that of an +inferior. Marillac was an artist, talent accepted, from the tip of his +toes to the sole of his boots, which he wished to lengthen by pointed +toes out of respect for the Middle Ages; for he excelled above +all things in his manner of dressing, and possessed, among other +intellectual merits, the longest moustache in literature. + +If he had not art in his brain, to make up for it he always had its name +at his tongue’s end. Vaudeville writing or painting, poetry or music, he +dabbled in all these, like those horses sold as good for both riding +and driving, which are as bad in the saddle as in front of a tilbury. +He signed himself “Marillac, man of letters”; meanwhile, aside from his +profound disdain for the bourgeois, whom he called vulgar, and for +the French Academy, to which he had sworn never to belong, one +could reproach him with nothing. His penchant for the picturesque in +expression was not always, it is true, in the most excellent taste, but, +in spite of these little oddities, his unfortunate passion for art, and +his affection for the Middle Ages, he was a brave, worthy, and happy +fellow, full of good qualities, very much devoted to his friends, +above all to Gerfaut. One could, therefore, pardon him for being a +pseudo-artist. + +“Will your story be a long one?” said he to the playwright, when +Catherine had conducted them after supper to the double-bedded room, +where they were to pass the night. + +“Long or short, what does it matter, since you must listen to it?” + +“Because, first, I would make some grog and fill my pipe; otherwise, I +would content myself with a cigar.” + +“Take your pipe and make your grog.” + +“Here!” said the artist, running after Catherine, “don’t rush downstairs +so. You are wanted. Fear nothing, interesting maid; you are safe with +us; but bring us a couple of glasses, brandy, sugar, a bowl, and some +hot water.” + +“They want some hot water,” cried the servant, rushing into the kitchen +with a frightened look; “can they be ill at this hour?” + +“Give the gentlemen what they want, you little simpleton!” replied +Mademoiselle Reine; “they probably want to concoct some of their Paris +drinks.” + +When all the articles necessary for the grog were on the table, Marillac +drew up an old armchair, took another chair to stretch his legs upon, +replaced his cap with a handkerchief artistically knotted about his +head, his boots with a pair of slippers, and, finally, lighted his pipe. + +“Now,” said he, as he seated himself, “I will listen without moving an +eyelid should your story last, like the creation, six days and nights.” + +Gerfaut took two or three turns about the room with the air of an orator +who is seeking for a beginning to a speech. + +“You know,” said he, “that Fate has more or less influence over our +lives, according to the condition of mind in which we happen to be. In +order that you may understand the importance of the adventure I am about +relating to you, it will be necessary for me to picture the state of +mind which I was in at the time it happened; this will be a sort of +philosophical and psychological preamble.” + +“Thunder!” interrupted Marillac, “if I had known that, I would have +ordered a second bowl.” + +“You will remember,” continued Gerfaut, paying no attention to this +pleasantry, “the rather bad attack of spleen which I had a little over a +year ago?” + +“Before your trip to Switzerland?” + +“Exactly.” + +“If I remember right,” said the artist, “you were strangely cross and +whimsical at the time. Was it not just after the failure of our drama at +the Porte Saint-Martin?” + +“You might also add of our play at the Gymnase.” + +“I wash my hands of that. You know very well that it only went as far as +the second act, and I did not write one word in the first.” + +“And hardly one in the second. However, I take the catastrophe upon +my shoulders; that made two perfect failures in that d----d month of +August.” + +“Two failures that were hard to swallow,” replied Marillac, “We can say, +for our consolation, that there never were more infamous conspiracies +against us, above all, than at the Gymnase. My ears ring with the hisses +yet! I could see, from our box, a little villain in a dress coat, in +one corner of the pit, who gave the signal with a whistle as large as a +horse-pistol. How I would have liked to cram it down his throat!” As he +said these words, he brought his fist down upon the table, and made the +glasses and candles dance ‘upon it. + +“Conspiracy or not, this time they judged the play aright. I believe it +would be impossible to imagine two worse plays; but, as Brid Oison +says, ‘These are things that one admits only to himself’; it is always +disagreeable to be informed of one’s stupidity by an ignorant audience +that shouts after you like a pack of hounds after a hare. In spite of my +pretension of being the least susceptible regarding an author’s +vanity of all the writers in Paris, it is perfectly impossible to be +indifferent to such a thing--a hiss is a hiss. However, vanity aside, +there was a question of money which, as I have a bad habit of spending +regularly my capital as well as my income, was not without its +importance. It meant, according to my calculation, some sixty +thousand francs cut off from my resources, and my trip to the East was +indefinitely postponed. + +“They say, with truth, that misfortunes never come singly. You know +Melanie, whom I prevented from making her debut at the Vaudeville? By +taking her away from all society, lodging her in a comfortable manner +and obliging her to work, I rendered her a valuable service. She was +a good girl, and, aside from her love for the theatre and a certain +indolence that was not without charm, I did not find any fault in her +and grew more attached to her every day. Sometimes after spending long +hours with her, a fancy for a retired life and domestic happiness would +seize me. Gentlemen with brains are privileged to commit foolish acts at +times, and I really do not know what I might have ended in doing, had I +not been preserved from the danger in an unexpected manner. + +“One evening, when I arrived at Melanie’s, I found the bird had flown. +That great ninny of a Ferussac, whom I never had suspected, and had +introduced to her myself, had turned her head by making capital out +of her love for the stage. As he was about to leave for Belgium, he +persuaded her to go there and dethrone Mademoiselle Prevost. I have +since learned that a Brussels banker revenged me by taking this Helene +of the stage away from Ferussac. Now she is launched and can fly with +her own wings upon the great highway of bravos, flowers, guineas--” + +“And wreck and ruin,” added Marillac. “Here’s to her health!” + +“This triple disappointment of pride, money, and heart did not cause, I +hope you will believe me, the deep state of melancholy into which I soon +fell; but the malady manifested itself upon this occasion, for it had +been lurking about me for a long time, as the dormant pain of a wound is +aroused if one pours a caustic upon its surface. + +“There is some dominant power in each individual which is developed at +the expense of the other faculties, above all when the profession one +chooses suits his nature. The vital powers thus condensed manifest +themselves externally, and gush out with an abundance which would become +impossible if all the faculties were used alike, and if life filtered +away, so to speak. To avoid such destruction, and concentrate life upon +one point, in order to increase the action, is the price of talent and +individuality. Among athletes, the forehead contracts according as the +chest enlarges; with men of thought, it is the brain which causes the +other organs to suffer, insatiable vampire, exhausting at times the last +drop of blood in the body which serves as its victim. This vampire was +my torturer. + +“For ten years I had crowded romance upon poetry, vaudeville upon drama, +literary criticism upon leader; I proved, through my own self, in +a physical way, the phenomena of the absorption of the senses by +intelligence. Many times, after several nights of hard work, the chords +of my mind being too violently stretched, they relaxed and gave only +indistinct harmony. Then, if I happened to resist this lassitude of +nature demanding repose, I felt the pressure of my will exhausting the +sources at the very depths of my being. It seemed to me that I dug out +my ideas from the bottom of a mine, instead of gathering them upon the +surface of the brain. The more material organs came to the rescue of +their failing chief. The blood from my heart rushed to my head to revive +it; the muscles of my limbs communicated to the fibres of the brain +their galvanic tension. Nerves turned into imagination, flesh into life. +Nothing has developed my materialistic beliefs like this decarnation of +which I had such a sensible, or rather visible perception. + +“I destroyed my health with these psychological experiments, and the +abuse of work perhaps shortened my life. When I was thirty years old +my face was wrinkled, my cheeks were pallid, and my heart blighted and +empty. For what result, grand Dieu! For a fleeting and fruitless renown! + +“The failure of my two plays warned me that others judged me as I judged +myself. I recalled to mind the Archbishop of Granada, and I thought +I could hear Gil Blas predicting the failure of my works. We can not +dismiss the public as we can our secretary; meanwhile, I surrendered to +a too severe justice in order to decline others’ opinions. A horrible +thought suddenly came into my mind; my artistic life was ended, I was +a worn-out man; in one word, to picture my situation in a trivial but +correct manner, I had reached the end of my rope. + +“I could not express to you the discouragement that I felt at this +conviction. Melanie’s infidelity was the crowning touch. It was not my +heart, but my vanity which had been rendered more irritable by recent +disappointments. This, then, was the end of all my ambitious dreams! I +had not enough mind left, at thirty years of age, to write a vaudeville +or to be loved by a grisette! + +“One day Doctor Labanchie came to see me. + +“‘What are you doing there’ said he, as he saw me seated at my desk. + +“‘Doctor,’ said I, reaching out my hand to him, ‘I believe that I am a +little feverish.’ + +“‘Your pulse is a little rapid,’ said he, after making careful +examination, ‘but your fever is more of imagination than of blood.’ + +“I explained to him my condition, which was now becoming almost +unendurable. Without believing in medicine very much, I had confidence +in him and knew him to be a man who would give good advice. + +“‘You work too much,’ said he, shaking his head. ‘Your brain is put to +too strong a tension. This is a warning nature gives you, and you will +make a mistake if you do not follow it. When you are sleepy, go to bed; +when you are tired, you must have rest. It is rest for your brain that +you now need. Go into the country, confine yourself to a regular and +healthy diet: vegetables, white meat, milk in the morning, a very +little wine, but, above all things, no coffee. Take moderate exercise, +hunt--and avoid all irritating thoughts; read the ‘Musee des familles’ +or the ‘Magasin Pittoresque’. This regime will have the effect of a +soothing poultice upon your brain, and before the end of six months you +will be in your normal condition again.’ + +“‘Six months!’ I exclaimed. ‘You wretch of a doctor, tell me, then, to +let my beard and nails grow like Nebuchadnezzar. Six months! You do not +know how I detest the country, partridges, rabbits and all. For heaven’s +sake, find some other remedy for me.’ + +“‘There is homoeopathy,’ said he, smiling. ‘Hahnemann is quite the +fashion now.’ + +“‘Let us have homoeopathy!’ + +“‘You know the principles of the system: ‘Similia similibus!’ If you +have fever, redouble it; if you have smallpox, be inoculated with a +triple dose. So far as you are concerned, you are a little used up and +‘blase’, as we all are in this Babylon of ours; have recourse, then, as +a remedy, to the very excesses which have brought you into this state. +Homoeopathize yourself morally. It may cure you, it may kill you; I wash +my hands of it.’ + +“The doctor was joking, I said to myself after he had left. Does he +think that passions are like the Wandering Jew’s five sous, that there +is nothing to do but to put your hand in your pocket and take them out +at your convenience when necessary. However, this idea, strange as it +seemed, struck me forcibly. I decided to try it. + +“The next day at seven o’clock in the evening, I was rolling along the +road to Lyons. Eight days later, I was rowing in a boat on Lake Geneva. +For a long time I had wanted to go to Switzerland, and it seemed as if I +could not have chosen a better time. I hoped that the fresh mountain air +and the soft pure breezes from the lakes would communicate some of their +calm serenity to my heart and brain. + +“There is something in Parisian life, I do not know what, so exclusive +and hardening, that it ends by making one irresponsive to sensations of +a more simple order. + +“‘My kingdom for the gutter in the Rue du Bac!’ I exclaimed with Madame +de Stael from the height of the Coppet terrace. The spectacle of nature +interests only contemplative and religious minds powerfully. Mine was +neither the one nor the other. My habits of analysis and observation +make me find more attraction in a characteristic face than in a +magnificent landscape; I prefer the exercising of thought to the +careless gratification of ecstasy, the study of flesh and soul to +earthly horizons, of human passions to a perfectly pure atmosphere. + +“I met at Geneva an Englishman, who was as morose as myself. We vented +our spleen in common and were both bored together. We travelled thus +through the Oberland and the best part of Valais; we were often rolled +up in our travelling robes in the depths of the carriage, and fast +asleep when the most beautiful points of interest were in sight. + +“From Valais we went to Mont-Blanc, and one night we arrived at +Chamounix--” + +“Did you see any idiots in Valais?” suddenly interrupted Marillac, as he +filled his pipe the second time. + +“Several, and they were all horrible.” + +“Do you not think we might compose something with an idiot in it? It +might be rather taking.” + +“It would not equal Caliban or Quasimodo; will you be so kind as to +spare me just now these efforts of imagination, and listen to me, for I +am reaching the interesting part of my story?” + +“God be praised!” said the artist, as he puffed out an enormous cloud of +smoke. + +“The next day the Englishman was served with tea in his bedroom, and +when I asked him to go to the ‘Mer de Glace’ he turned his head toward +the wall; so, leaving my phlegmatic companion enveloped in bedclothes up +to his ears, I started alone for the Montanvert. + +“It was a magnificent morning, and small parties of travellers, some on +foot, others mounted, skirted the banks of the Arve or climbed the sides +of the mountain. They looked like groups of mice in the distance, and +this extreme lessening in size made one comprehend, better than anything +else, the immense proportions of the landscape. As for myself, I was +alone: I had not even taken a guide, this was too favorite a resort +for tourists, for the precaution to be necessary. For a wonder, I felt +rather gay, with an elasticity of body and mind which I had not felt in +some time. + +“I courageously began climbing the rough pathway which led to the Mer de +Glace, aiding myself with a long staff, which I had procured at the inn. + +“At every step I breathed with renewed pleasure the fresh, pure, morning +air; I gazed vaguely at the different effects of the sun or mist, at the +undulations of the road, which sometimes rose almost straight up in the +air, sometimes followed a horizontal line, while skirting the open abyss +at the right. The Arve, wending its course like a silvery ribbon, seemed +at times to recede, while the ridges of the perpendicular rocks stood +out more plainly. At times, the noise of a falling avalanche was +repeated, echo after echo. A troupe of German students below me were +responding to the voice of the glaciers by a chorus from Oberon. +Following the turns in the road, I could see through the fir-trees, or, +rather, at my feet, their long Teutonic frock-coats, their blond beards, +and caps about the size of one’s fist. As I walked along, when the path +was not too steep, I amused myself by throwing my stick against the +trunks of the trees which bordered the roadside; I remember how pleased +I was when I succeeded in hitting them, which I admit was not very +often. + +“In the midst of this innocent amusement, I reached the spot where the +reign of the Alpine plants begins. All at once I saw, above me, a rock +decked with rhododendrons; these flowers looked like tufts of oleanders +through the dark foliage of the fir-trees, and produced a charming +effect. I left the path in order to reach them sooner, and when I had +gathered a bouquet, I threw my staff and at the same time uttered a +joyous cry, in imitation of the students, my companions on this trip. + +“A frightened scream responded to mine. My staff in its flight had +crossed the path and darted into an angle in the road. At that same +moment, I saw a mule’s head appear with ears thrown back in terror, then +the rest of its body, and upon its back a lady ready to fall into the +abyss. Fright paralyzed me. All aid was impossible on account of the +narrowness of the road, and this stranger’s life depended upon her +coolness and the intelligence of her beast. Finally the animal seemed +to regain its courage and began to walk away, lowering its head as if +it could still hear the terrible whistle of the javelin in his ears. +I slipped from the rock upon which I stood and seized the mule by the +bridle, and succeeded in getting them out of a bad position. I led the +animal in this way for some distance, until I reached a place where the +path was broader, and danger was over. + +“I then offered my apologies to the person whose life I had just +compromised by my imprudence, and for the first time took a good look +at her. She was young and well dressed; a black silk gown fitted her +slender form to perfection; her straw hat was fastened to the saddle, +and her long chestnut hair floated in disorder over her pale cheeks. +As she heard my voice, she opened her eyes, which in her fright she had +instinctively closed; they seemed to me the most beautiful I had ever +seen in my life. + +“She looked at the precipice and turned away with a shudder. Her glance +rested upon me, and then upon the rhododendrons which I held in my hand. + +“The frightened expression on her face was replaced immediately by one +of childish curiosity. + +“‘What pretty flowers!’ she exclaimed, in a fresh, young voice. ‘Are +those rhododendrons, Monsieur?’ + +“I presented her my bouquet without replying; as she hesitated about +taking it, I said: + +“‘If you refuse these flowers, Madame, I shall not believe that you have +pardoned me.’ + +“By this time, the persons who were with her had joined us. There were +two other ladies, three or four men mounted upon mules, and several +guides. At the word rhododendron, a rather large, handsome fellow, +dressed in a pretentious style, slipped from his mule and climbed the +somewhat steep precipice in quest of the flowers which seemed to be so +much in favor. When he returned, panting for breath, with an enormous +bunch of them in his hand, the lady had already accepted mine. + +“‘Thank you, Monsieur de Mauleon,’ said she, with a rather scornful air; +‘offer your flowers to these ladies.’ Then, with a slight inclination of +the head to me, she struck her mule with her whip, and they rode away. + +“The rest of the company followed her, gazing at me as they passed, +the big, fashionable fellow especially giving me a rather impertinent +glance. I did not try to pick a quarrel with him on account of this +discourteous manifestation. When the cavalcade was at some distance, I +went in search of my stick, which I found under a tree on the edge of +the precipice; then I continued climbing the steep path, with my eyes +fastened upon the rider in the black silk gown, her hair flying in the +wind and my bouquet in her hand. + +“A few moments later, I reached the pavilion at the Montanvert, where +I found a gay company gathered together, made up principally of English +people. As for myself, I must admit the frivolous, or, rather mundane, +bent of my tastes; the truly admirable spectacle presented to my eyes +interested me much less than the young stranger, who at this moment was +descending with the lightness of a sylph the little road which led to +the Mer de Glace. + +“I do not know what mysterious link bound me to this woman. I had met +many much more beautiful, but the sight of them had left me perfectly +indifferent. This one attracted me from the first. The singular +circumstances of this first interview, doubtless, had something to do +with the impression. I felt glad to see that she had kept my bouquet; +she held it in one hand, while she leaned with the other upon a staff +somewhat like my own. The two other ladies, and even the men had stopped +on the edge of the ice. + +“Monsieur de Mauleon wished to fulfil his duties as escort, but at the +first crevasse he had also halted without manifesting the slightest +desire to imitate the chamois. The young woman seemed to take a +malicious pleasure in contemplating her admirer’s prudent attitude, and, +far from listening to the advice he gave her, she began to run upon +the ice, bounding over the crevasses with the aid of her stick. I was +admiring her lightness and thoughtlessness, but with an uneasy feeling, +when I saw her suddenly stop. I instinctively ran toward her. An +enormous crevasse of great depth lay at her feet, blue at its edges and +dark in its depths. She stood motionless before this frightful gulf with +hands thrown out before her in horror, but charmed like a bird about to +be swallowed by a serpent. I knew the irresistible effect upon nervous +temperaments of this magnetic attraction toward an abyss. I seized her +by the arm, the suddenness of the movement made her drop her staff and +flowers, which fell into the depths of the chasm. + +“I tried to lead her away, but after she had taken a few steps, I felt +her totter; she had grown pale; her eyes were closed. I threw my arm +about her, in order to support her and turned her face toward the north; +the cold air striking her revived her, and she soon opened her beautiful +brown eyes. I do not know what sudden tenderness seized me then, but +I pressed this lovely creature within my grasp, and she remained in my +arms unresistingly. I felt that I loved her already. + +“She remained for a moment with her languishing eyes fixed on mine, +making no response, perhaps not even having heard me. The shouts of +her party, some of whom were coming toward her, broke the charm. With a +rapid movement, she withdrew from my embrace, and I offered her my arm, +just as if we were in a drawing-room and I was about to lead her out +for a dance; she took it, but I did not feel elated at this, for I could +feel her knees waver at every step. The smallest crevasse, which she had +crossed before with such agility, now inspired her with a horror which +I could divine by the trembling of her arm within mine. I was obliged +to make numerous detours in order to avoid them, and thus prolonged the +distance, for which I was not sorry. Did I not know that when we reached +our destination, the world, that other sea of ice, was going to take her +away from me, perhaps forever? We walked silently, occasionally making +a few trivial remarks, both deeply embarrassed. When we reached the +persons who awaited her, I said, as she disengaged my arm: + +“‘You dropped my flowers, Madame; will it be the same with your memory +of me?’ + +“She looked at me, but made no reply. I loved this silence. I bowed +politely to her and returned to the pavilion, while she related her +adventure to her friends; but I am quite sure she did not tell all the +details. + +“The register for travellers who visit the Montan-Vert is a mixture of +all nationalities, and no tourist refuses his tribute; modest ones write +down their names only. I hoped in this way to learn the name of the +young traveller, and I was not disappointed. I soon saw the corpulent +Monsieur de Mauleon busily writing his name upon the register in +characters worthy of Monsieur Prudhomme; the other members of the little +party followed his example. The young woman was the last to write down +her name. I took the book in my turn, after she had left, and with +apparent composure I read upon the last line these words, written in a +slender handwriting: + +“Baroness Clemence de Bergenheim.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. GERFAUT ASKS A FAVOR + +“The Baroness de Bergenheim!” exclaimed Marillac. “Ah! I understand it +all now, and you may dispense with the remainder of your story. So this +was the reason why, instead of visiting the banks of the Rhine as we +agreed, you made me leave the route at Strasbourg under the pretext of +walking through the picturesque sites of the Vosges. It was unworthy of +you to abuse my confidence as a friend. And I allowed myself to be led +by the nose to within a mile of Bergenheim!” + +“Peace,” interrupted Gerfaut; “I have not finished. Smoke and listen. + +“I followed Madame de Bergenheim as far as Geneva. She had gone there +from here with her aunt, and had availed herself of this journey to +visit Mont Blanc. She left for her home the next day without my meeting +her again; but I preserved her name, and it was not unknown to me. I had +heard it spoken in several houses in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and I +knew that I should certainly have an opportunity of meeting her during +the winter. + +“So I remained at Geneva, yielding to a sensation as new as it was +strange. It first acted upon my brain whose ice I felt melting away, +and its sources ready to gush forth. I seized my pen with a passion not +unlike an access of rage. I finished in four days two acts of a drama +that I was then writing. I never had written anything more vigorous or +more highly colored. My unconstrained genius throbbed in my arteries, +ran through my blood, and bubbled over as if it wished to burst forth. +My hand could not keep even with the course of my imagination; I was +obliged to write in hieroglyphics. + +“Adieu to the empty reveries brought about by spleen, and to the +meditations ‘a la Werther’! The sky was blue, the air pure, life +delightful--my talent was not dead. + +“After this first effort, I slackened a little! Madame de Bergenheim’s +face, which I had seen but dimly during this short time, returned to me +in a less vaporous form; I took extreme delight in calling to mind the +slightest circumstances of our meeting, the smallest details of her +features, her toilette, her manner of walking and carrying her head. +What had impressed me most was the extreme softness of her dark eyes, +the almost childish tone of her voice, a vague odor of heliotrope with +which her hair was perfumed; also the touch of her hand upon my arm. +I sometimes caught myself embracing myself in order to feel this last +sensation again, and then I could not help laughing at my thoughts, +which were worthy of a fifteen-year-old lover. + +“I had felt so convinced of my powerlessness to love, that the thought +of a serious passion did not at first enter my mind. However, a +remembrance of my beautiful traveller pervaded my thoughts more and +more, and threatened to usurp the place of everything else. I then +subjected myself to a rigid analysis; I sought for the exact location +of this sentiment whose involuntary yoke I already felt; I persuaded +myself, for some time yet, that it was only the transient excitement of +my brain, one of those fevers of imagination whose fleeting titillations +I had felt more than once. + +“But I realized that the evil, or the good--for why call love an +evil?--had penetrated into the most remote regions of my being, and I +realized the energy of my struggle like a person entombed who tries to +extricate himself. From the ashes of this volcano which I had believed +to be extinct, a flower had suddenly blossomed, perfumed with the most +fragrant of odors and decked with the most charming colors. Artless +enthusiasm, faith in love, all the brilliant array of the fresh +illusions of my youth returned, as if by enchantment, to greet this +new bloom of my life; it seemed to me as if I had been created a second +time, since I was aided by intelligence and understood its mysteries +while tasting of its delights. My past, in the presence of this +regeneration, was nothing more than a shadow at the bottom of an abyss. +I turned toward the future with the faith of a Mussulman who kneels with +his face toward the East--I loved! + +“I returned to Paris, and applied to my friend Casorans, who knows the +Faubourg Saint-Germain from Dan to Beersheba. + +“‘Madame de Bergenheim,’ he said to me, ‘is a very popular society +woman, not very pretty, perhaps, rather clever, though, and very +amiable. She is one of our coquettes of the old nobility, and with her +twenty-four carats’ virtue she always has two sufferers attached to her +chariot, and a third on the waiting-list, and yet it is impossible for +one to find a word to say against her behavior. Just at this moment, +Mauleon and d’Arzenac compose the team; I do not know who is on the +waiting-list. She will probably spend the winter here with her aunt, +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, one of the hatefullest old women on the +Rue de Varennes. The husband is a good fellow who, since the July +revolution, has lived upon his estates, caring for his forests and +killing wild boars without troubling himself much about his wife.’ + +“He then told me which houses these ladies frequented, and left me, +saying with a knowing air: + +“‘Take care, if you intend to try the power of your seductions upon the +little Baroness; whoever meddles with her smarts for it!’ + +“This information from a viper like Casorans satisfied me in every way. +Evidently the place was not taken; impregnable, that was another thing. + +“Before Madame de Bergenheim’s return, I began to show myself +assiduously at the houses of which my friend had spoken. My position +in the Faubourg Saint-Germain is peculiar, but good, according to my +opinion. I have enough family ties to be sustained by several should I +be attacked by many, and this is the essential point. It is true that, +thanks to my works, I am regarded as an atheist and a Jacobin; aside +from these two little defects, they think well enough of me. Besides, it +is a notorious fact that I have rejected several offers from the present +government, and refused last year the ‘croix d’honneur’; this makes +amends and washes away half my sins. Finally, I have the reputation +of having a certain-knowledge of heraldry, which I owe to my uncle, +a confirmed hunter after genealogical claims. This gains me a respect +which makes me laugh sometimes, when I see people who detest me greet me +as cordially as the Cure of Saint-Eustache greeted Bayle, for fear that +I might destroy their favorite saint. However, in this society, I am +no longer Gerfaut of the Porte-Saint-Martin, but I am the Vicomte de +Gerfaut. Perhaps, with your bourgeois ideas, you do not understand--” + +“Bourgeois!” exclaimed Marillac, bounding from his seat, “what are +you talking about? Do you wish that we should cut each other’s +throats before breakfast to-morrow? Bourgeois! why not grocer? I am an +artist--don’t you know that by this time?” + +“Don’t get angry, my dear fellow; I meant to say that in certain places +the title of a Vicomte has still a more powerful attraction than you, +with your artistic but plebeian ideas, would suppose in this year of our +Lord 1832.” + +“Well and good. I accept your apology.” + +“A vicomte’s title is a recommendation in the eyes of people who still +cling to the baubles of nobility, and all women are of this class. There +is something, I know not what, delicate and knightly in this title, +which suits a youngish bachelor. Duke above all titles is the one that +sounds the best. Moliere and Regnard have done great harm to the title +of marquis. Count is terribly bourgeois, thanks to the senators of the +empire. As to a Baron, unless he is called Montmorency or Beaufremont, +it is the lowest grade of nobility; vicomte, on the contrary, is above +reproach; it exhales a mixed odor of the old regime and young France; +then, don’t you know, our Chateaubriand was a vicomte. + +“I departed from my subject in speaking of nobility. I accidentally +turned over one day to the article upon my family in the Dictionnaire de +Saint-Allais; I found that one of my ancestors, Christophe de Gerfaut, +married, in 1569, a Mademoiselle Yolande de Corandeuil. + +“‘O my ancestor! O my ancestress!’ I exclaimed, ‘you had strange +baptismal names; but no matter, I thank you. You are going to serve +me as a grappling iron; I shall be very unskilful if at the very first +meeting the old aunt escapes Christophe.’ + +“A few days later I went to the Marquise de Chameillan’s, one of +the most exclusive houses in the noble Faubourg. When I enter her +drawing-room, I usually cause the same sensation that Beelzebub would +doubtless produce should he put his foot into one of the drawing-rooms +in Paradise. That evening, when I was announced, I saw a certain +undulation of heads in a group of young women who were whispering to +one another; many curious eyes were fastened upon me, and among these +beautiful eyes were two more beautiful than all the others: they were +those of my bewitching traveller. + +“I exchanged a rapid glance with her, one only; after paying my respects +to the mistress of the house, I mingled with a crowd of men, and +entered into conversation with an old peer upon some political question, +avoiding to look again toward Madame de Bergenheim. + +“A moment later, Madame de Chameillan came to ask the peer to play +whist; he excused himself, he could not remain late. + +“‘I dare not ask you to play with Mademoiselle de Corandeuil,’ said +she, turning toward me; ‘besides, I understand too well that it is to my +interest and the pleasure of these ladies, not to exile you to a whist +table.’ + +“I took the card which she half offered me with an eagerness which might +have made her suppose that I had become a confirmed whist expert during +my voyage. + +“Mademoiselle de Corandeuil certainly was the ugly, crabbed creature +that Casorans had described; but had she been as frightful as the +witches in Macbeth I was determined to make her conquest. So I began +playing with unusual attention. I was her partner, and I knew from +experience the profound horror which the loss of money inspires in old +women. Thank heaven, we won! Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who has an +income of one hundred thousand francs, was not at all indifferent to the +gain of two or three louis. She, therefore, with an almost gracious air, +congratulated me, as we left the table, upon my manner of playing. + +“‘I would willingly contract an alliance, offensive and defensive with +you,’ said she to me. + +“‘The alliance is already contracted, Mademoiselle,’ said I, seizing the +opportunity. + +“‘How is that, Monsieur?’ she replied, raising her head with a dignified +air, as if she were getting ready to rebuke some impertinent speech. + +“I also gravely straightened up and gave a feudal look to my face. + +“‘Mademoiselle, I have the honor of belonging to your family, a little +distantly, to be sure; that is what makes me speak of an alliance +between us as a thing already concluded. One of my ancestors, Christophe +de Gerfaut, married Mademoiselle Yolande de Corandeuil, one of your +great-grand-aunts, in 1569.’ + +“‘Yolande is really a family name,’ replied the old lady, with the +most affable smile that her face would admit; ‘I bear it myself. The +Corandeuils, Monsieur, never have denied their alliances, and it is a +pleasure for me to recognize my relationship with such a man as you. We +address by the title of cousin relatives as far back as 1300.’ + +“‘I am nearer related to you by three centuries,’ I replied, in my most +insinuating voice; ‘may I hope that this good fortune will authorize me +to pay my respects to you?’ + +“Mademoiselle de Corandeuil replied to my ‘tartuferie’ by granting me +permission to call upon her. My attention was not so much absorbed in +our conversation that I did not see in a mirror, during this time, the +interest with which Madame de Bergenheim watched my conversation with +her aunt; but I was careful not to turn around, and I let her take her +departure without giving her a second glance. + +“Three days later, I made my first call. Madame de Bergenheim received +my greeting like a woman who had been warned and was, therefore, +prepared. We exchanged only one rapid, earnest glance, that was all. +Availing myself of the presence of other callers, numerous enough to +assure each one his liberty, I began to observe, with a practised eye, +the field whereon I had just taken my position. + +“Before the end of the evening, I recognized the correctness of +Casorans’s information. Among all the gentlemen present I found only +two professed admirers: Monsieur de Mauleon, whose insignificance was +notorious, and Monsieur d’Arzenac, who appeared at first glance as if +he might be more to be feared. D’Arzenac, thanks to an income of ten +thousand livres, beside being a man of rank, occupies also one of the +finest positions that one could desire; he is not unworthy of his name +and his fortune. Irreproachable in morals as in manners; sufficiently +well informed; of an exquisite but reserved politeness; understanding +perfectly the ground that he is walking upon; making also more advances +than is customary among the pachas of modern France, he was, without +doubt, the flower of the flock in Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s +drawing-room. In spite of all these advantages, an attentive examination +showed me that his passion was hopeless. Madame de Bergenheim received +his attentions very kindly--too kindly. She usually listened to him with +a smile in which one could read gratitude for the devotion he lavished +upon her. She willingly accepted him as her favorite partner in the +galop, which he danced to perfection. His success stopped there. + +“At the end of several days, the ground having been carefully explored +and the admirers, dangerous and otherwise, having been passed in review, +one after another, I felt convinced that Clemence loved nobody. + +“‘She shall love me,’ said I, on the day I reached this conclusion. In +order to formulate in a decisive manner the accomplishment of my desire, +I relied upon the following propositions, which are to me articles of +faith. + +“No woman is unattainable, except when she loves another. Thus, a woman +who does not love, and who has resisted nine admirers, will yield to +the tenth. The only question for me was to be the tenth. Here began the +problem to be solved. + +“Madame de Bergenheim had been married only three years; her husband, +who was good-looking and young, passed for a model husband; if these +latter considerations were of little importance, the first was of great +weight. According to all probability, it was too soon for any serious +attack. Without being beautiful, she pleased much and many; a second +obstacle, since sensibility in women is almost always developed in +inverse ratio to their success. She had brains; she was wonderfully +aristocratic in all her tastes. + +“Last, being very much the fashion, sought after and envied, she was +under the special surveillance of pious persons, old maids, retired +beauties in one word, all that feminine mounted police, whose eyes, +ears, and mouths seem to have assumed the express mission of annoying +sensitive hearts while watching over the preservation of good morals. + +“This mass of difficulties, none of which escaped me, traced as many +lines upon my forehead as if I had been commanded to solve at once +all the propositions in Euclid. She shall love me! these words flashed +unceasingly before my eyes; but the means to attain this end? No +satisfactory plan came to me. Women are so capricious, deep, and +unfathomable! It is, with them, the thing soonest done which is soonest +ended! A false step, the least awkwardness, a want of intelligence, a +quarter of an hour too soon or too late! One thing only was evident: +it needed a grand display of attractions, a complete plan of gallant +strategy; but, then, what more? + +“That earthly paradise of the Montanvert was far from us, where I had +been able in less time than it would take to walk over a quadrille, to +expose her to death, to save her afterward, and finally to say to her ‘I +love you!’ Passion in drawing-rooms is not allowed those free, dramatic +ways; flowers fade in the candle-light; the oppressive atmosphere of +balls and fetes stifles the heart, so ready to dilate in pure mountain +air. The unexpected and irresistible influence of the glacier would have +been improper and foolish in Paris. There, an artless sympathy, +stronger than social conventions, had drawn us to each other--Octave and +Clemence. Here, she was the Baroness de Bergenheim, and I the Vicomte +de Gerfaut. I must from necessity enter the ordinary route, begin the +romance at the first page, without knowing how to connect the prologue +with it. + +“What should be my plan of campaign? + +“Should I pose as an agreeable man, and try to captivate her attention +and good graces by the minute attentions and delicate flattery which +constitute what is classically called paying court? But D’Arzenac +had seized this role, and filled it in such a superior way that all +competition would be unsuccessful. I saw where this had led him. It +needed, in order to inflame this heart, a more active spark than foppish +gallantry; the latter flatters the vanity without reaching the heart. + +“There was the passionate method--ardent, burning, fierce love. There +are some women upon whom convulsive sighs drawn from the depths of the +stomach, eyebrows frowning in a fantastic manner, and eyes in which only +the whites are to be seen and which seem to say: ‘Love me, or I will +kill you!’ produce a prodigious effect. I had myself felt the power +of this fascination while using it one day upon a softhearted blond +creature who thought it delightful to have a Blue-Beard for a lover. +But the drooping corners of Clemence’s mouth showed at times an ironical +expression which would have cooled down even an Othello’s outbursts. + +“‘She has brains, and she knows it,’ said I to myself; ‘shall I attack +her in that direction?’ Women rather like such a little war of words; it +gives them an opportunity for displaying a mine of pretty expressions, +piquant pouts, fresh bursts of laughter, graceful peculiarities of which +they well know the effect. Should I be the Benedict to this Beatrice? +But this by-play would hardly fill the prologue, and I very much wished +to reach the epilogue. + +“I passed in review the different routes that a lover might take to +reach his end; I recapitulated every one of the more or less infallible +methods of conquering female hearts; in a word, I went over my tactics +like a lieutenant about to drill a battalion of recruits. When I had +ended I had made no farther advance than before. + +“‘To the devil with systems!’ exclaimed I; ‘I will not be so foolish as +wilfully to adopt the role of roue when I feel called upon to play the +plain role of true lover. Let those who like play the part of Lovelace! +As for myself, I will love; upon the whole, that is what pleases best.’ +And I jumped headlong into the torrent without troubling myself as to +the place of landing. + +“While I was thus scheming my attack, Madame de Bergenheim was upon +her guard and had prepared her means of defence. Puzzled by my reserve, +which was in singular contrast with my almost extravagant conduct at our +first meeting, her woman’s intelligence had surmised, on my part, a plan +which she proposed to baffle. I was partly found out, but I knew it and +thus kept the advantage. + +“I could not help smiling at the Baroness’s clever coquetry, when I +decided to follow the inspirations of my heart, instead of choosing +selfish motives as my guide. Every time I took her hand when dancing +with her, I expected to feel a little claw ready to pierce the cold +glove. But, while waiting for the scratch, it was a very soft, velvety +little hand that was given me; and I, who willingly lent myself to her +deception, did not feel very much duped. It was evident that the sort +of halo which my merited or unmerited reputation had thrown over me had +made me appear to her as a conquest of some value, a victim upon whom +one could lavish just enough flowers in order to bring him to the +sacrificial altar. In order to wind the first chain around my neck, +Mauleon and D’Arzenac, ‘a tutti quanti’, were sacrificed for me without +my soliciting, even by a glance, this general disbandment. I could +interpret this discharge. I saw that the fair one wished to concentrate +all her seductions against me, so as to leave me no means of escape; +people neglect the hares to hunt for the deer. You must excuse my +conceit. + +“This conduct wounded me at first, but I afterward forgave her, when +a more careful examination taught me to know this adorable woman’s +character. Coquetry was with her not a vice of the heart or of an +unscrupulous mind; having nothing better to do, she enjoyed it as a +legitimate pastime, without giving it any importance or feeling any +scruples. Like all women, she liked to please; her success was sweet to +her vanity; perhaps flattery turned her head at times, but in the midst +of this tumult her heart remained in perfect peace. She found so little +danger for herself in the game she played that it did not seem to her +that it could be very serious for others. Genuine love is not common +enough in Parisian parlors for a pretty woman to conceive any great +remorse at pleasing without loving. + +“Madame de Bergenheim was thus, ingenuously, unsuspectingly, a matchless +coquette. Never having loved, not even her husband, she looked upon +her little intriguing as one of the rights earned on the day of her +marriage, the same as her diamonds and cashmeres. There was something +touching in the sound of her voice and in her large, innocent eyes which +she sometimes allowed to rest upon mine, without thinking to turn them +away, and which said, ‘I have never loved.’ As for myself, I believed it +all; one is so happy to believe! + +“Far from being annoyed at the trap she laid for me, I, on the contrary, +ran my head into it and presented my neck to the yoke with a docility +which must have amused her, I think; but I hoped not to bear it alone. +A coquette who coolly flaunts her triumphs to the world resembles those +master-swimmers who, while spectators are admiring the grace of their +poses, are struck by an unexpected current; the performer is sometimes +swept away and drowned without his elegant strokes being of much service +to him. Throw Celimene into the current of genuine passion--I do not +mean the brutality of Alceste--I will wager that coquetry will be swept +away by love. I had such faith in mine that I thought to be able to +fix the moment when I should call myself victorious and sure of being +obeyed. + +“You know that sadness and ennui were considered etiquette last winter, +in a certain society, which was thrown into mourning by the July +revolution. Reunions were very few; there were no balls or soirees; +dancing in drawing-rooms to the piano was hardly permissible, even +with intimate friends. When once I was installed in Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil’s drawing-room upon a friendly footing, this cessation of +worldly festivities gave me an opportunity to see Clemence in a rather +intimate way. + +“It would take too long to tell you now all the thousand and one little +incidents which compose the history of all passions. Profiting by her +coquetry, which made her receive me kindly in order to make me expiate +my success afterward, my love for her was soon an understood thing +between us; she listened to me in a mocking way, but did not dispute +my right to speak. She ended by receiving my letters, after being +constrained to do so through a course of strategies in which, truly, I +showed incredible invention. I was listened to and she read my letters; +I asked for nothing more. + +“My love, from the first, had been her secret as well as mine; but every +day I made to sparkle some unexpected facet of this prism of a thousand +colors. Even after telling her a hundred times how much I adored her, +my love still had for her the attraction of the unknown. I really had +something inexhaustible in my heart, and I was sure, in the end, to +intoxicate her with this philtre, which I constantly poured out and +which she drank, while making sport of it like a child. + +“One day I found her thoughtful and silent. She did not reply to me with +her usual sprightliness during the few moments that I was able to talk +with her; the expression of her eyes had changed; there was something +deeper and less glowing in their depths; instead of dazzling me by their +excessive splendor, as had often happened to me before, they seemed to +soften as they rested on mine; she kept her eyelids a trifle lowered, as +if she were tired of being gazed at by me. Her voice, as she spoke, had +a low, soft sound, a sort of inexplicable something which came from the +very depths of her soul. She never had looked at me with that glance or +spoken to me in that tone before. Upon that day I knew that she loved +me. + +“I returned to my home unutterably happy, for I loved this woman with a +love of which I believed myself incapable. + +“When I met Madame de Bergenheim again, I found her completely +changed toward me; an icy gravity, an impassible calm, an ironical and +disdainful haughtiness had taken the place of the delicious abandon of +her former bearing. In spite of my strong determination to allow myself +to love with the utmost candor, it was impossible for me to return to +that happy age when the frowning brows of the beautiful idol to whom we +paid court inspired us with the resolve to drown ourselves. I could not +isolate myself from my past experiences. My heart was rejuvenated, but +my head remained old. I was, therefore, not in the least discouraged by +this change of humor, and the fit of anger which it portended. + +“‘Now,’ said I to myself, ‘there is an end to coquetry, it is beaten on +all sides; it is gone, never to return. She has seen that the affair is +a little too deep for that, and the field not tenable. She will erect +barriers in order to defend herself and will no longer attack.’ Thus we +pass from the period of amiable smiles, sweet glances, and half-avowals +to that of severity and prudery, while waiting for the remorse and +despair of the denouement. I am sure that at this time she called to +her help all her powers of resistance. From that day she would retreat +behind the line of duty, conjugal fidelity, honor, and all the other +fine sentiments which would need numbering after the fashion of Homer. +At the first attack, all this household battalion would make a furious +sortie; should I succeed in overthrowing them and take up my quarters in +the trenches, there would then be a gathering of the reserve force, +and boiling oil or tar would rain upon my head, representing virtue, +religion, heaven, and hell.” + +“A sort of conjugal earthquake,” interrupted Marillac. + +“I calculated the strength and approximate duration of these means of +defence. The whole thing appeared to me only a question of time, a few +days or weeks at most--so long on the husband’s account, so long on the +father confessor’s account. I deserved to be boxed on the ears for my +presumption; I was. + +“A combat is necessary in order to secure a victory. In spite of all my +efforts and ruses, it was not possible for me to fight this combat; +I did not succeed, in spite of all my challenges, in shattering, as I +expected, this virtuous conjugal fortress. Madame de Bergenheim still +persisted in her systematic reserve, with incredible prudence and +skill. During the remainder of the winter, I did not find more than one +opportunity of speaking to her alone. As I was a permanent fixture every +evening in her aunt’s parlors, she entered them only when other guests +were there. She never went out alone, and in every place where I was +likely to meet her I was sure to find a triple rampart of women erected +between us, through which it was impossible to address one word to her. +In short, I was encountering a desperate resistance; and, yet, she loved +me! I could see her cheeks gradually grow pale; her brilliant eyes often +had dark rings beneath them, as if sleep had deserted her. Sometimes, +when she thought she was not observed, I surprised them fastened upon +me; but she immediately turned them away. + +“She had been coquettish and indifferent; she was now loving but +virtuous. + +“Spring came. One afternoon I went to call upon Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil, who had been ill for several days. I was received, however, +probably through some mistake of the servants. As I entered the room I +saw Madame de Bergenheim; she was alone at her embroidery, seated upon +a divan. There were several vases of flowers in the windows, whose +curtains only permitted a soft, mysterious light to penetrate the room. +The perfume from the flowers, the sort of obscurity, the solitude in +which I found her, overcame me for a moment; I was obliged to pause in +order to quiet the beating of my heart. + +“She arose as she heard my name announced; without speaking or laying +down her work, she pointed to a chair and seated herself; but instead of +obeying her, I fell upon my knees before her and seized her hands, which +she did not withdraw. It had been impossible for me to say another word +to her before, save ‘I love you!’ I now told her of all my love. Oh! I +am sure of it, my words penetrated to the very depth of her heart, for +I felt her hands tremble as they left mine. She listened without +interrupting me or making any reply, with her face bent toward me as if +she were breathing the perfume of a flower. When I begged her to answer +me, when I implored her for one single word from her heart, she +withdrew one of her hands, imprisoned within mine, and placed it upon +my forehead, pushing back my head with a gesture familiar to women. She +gazed at me thus for a long time; her eyes were so languishing under +their long lashes, and their languor was so penetrating, that I closed +mine, not being able to endure the fascination of this glance any +longer. + +“A shiver which ran over her and which went through me also, like an +electric shock, aroused me. When I opened my eyes I saw her face bathed +in tears. She drew back and repelled me. I arose impetuously, seated +myself by her side and took her in my arms. + +“‘Am I not a wretched, unhappy woman?’ said she, and fell upon my +breast, sobbing. + +“‘Madame la Comtesse de Pontiviers,’ announced the servant, whom I would +willingly have assassinated, as well as the visiting bore who followed +in his footsteps. + +“I never saw Madame de Bergenheim in Paris again. I was obliged to go to +Bordeaux the next day, on account of a lawsuit which you know all about. +Upon my return, at the end of three weeks, I found she had left. I +finally learned that she had come to this place, and I followed her. +That is the extent of my drama. + +“Now you know very well that I have not related this long story to you +for the sole pleasure of keeping you awake until one o’clock in the +morning. I wanted to explain to you that it was really a serious thing +for me, so that you might not refuse to do what I wish to ask of you.” + +“I think I understand what you are aiming at,” said Marillac, rather +pensively. + +“You know Bergenheim; you will go to see him to-morrow. He will invite +you to pass a few days with him; you will stay to dinner. You will see +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, in whose presence you will speak my name as +you refer to our journey; and before night, my venerable cousin of 1569 +shall send me an invitation to come to see her.” + +“I would rather render you any other service than this,” replied the +artist, walking up and down the room in long strides. “I know very well +that in all circumstances bachelors should triumph over husbands, but +that does not prevent my conscience from smiting me. You know that I +saved Bergenheim’s life?” + +“Rest assured that he runs no very great danger at present. Nothing will +result from this step save the little enjoyment I shall take in annoying +the cruel creature who defied me today. Is it agreed?” + +“Since you insist upon it. But then, when our visit is ended, shall we +go to work at our drama or upon ‘The Chaste Suzannah’ opera in three +acts? For, really, you neglected art terribly for the sake of your love +affairs.” + +“The Chaste Suzannah or the whole Sacred History we shall put into +vaudeville, if you exact it. Until to-morrow, then.” + +“Until to-morrow.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A LOVER’S RUSE + +It was three o’clock in the afternoon; the drawing-room of the Chateau +de Bergenheim presented its usual aspect and occupants. The fire on the +hearth, lighted during the morning, was slowly dying, and a beautiful +autumn sun threw its rays upon the floor through the half-opened +windows. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, stretched on the couch before the +fireplace with Constance at her feet, was reading, according to her +habit, the newspapers which had just arrived. Madame de Bergenheim +seemed very busily occupied with a piece of tapestry in her lap; but +the slow manner in which her needle moved, and the singular mistakes +she made, showed that her mind was far away from the flowers she was +working. She had just finished a beautiful dark lily, which contrasted +strangely with its neighbors, when a servant entered. + +“Madame,” said he, “there is a person here inquiring for Monsieur le +Baron de Bergenheim.” + +“Is Monsieur de Bergenheim not at home?” asked Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil. + +“Monsieur has gone to ride with Mademoiselle Aline.” + +“Who is this person?” + +“It is a gentleman; but I did not ask his name.” + +“Let him enter.” + +Clemence arose at the servant’s first words and threw her work upon a +chair, making a movement as if to leave the room; but after a moment’s +reflection, she resumed her seat and her work, apparently indifferent as +to who might enter. + +“Monsieur de Marillac,” announced the lackey, as he opened the door a +second time. + +Madame de Bergenheim darted a rapid glance at the individual who +presented himself, and then breathed freely again. + +After setting to rights his coiffure ‘a la Perinet’, the artist entered +the room, throwing back his shoulders. Tightly buttoned up in his +travelling redingote, and balancing with ease a small gray hat, he bowed +respectfully to the two ladies and then assumed a pose a la Van Dyke. + +Constance was so frightened at the sight of this imposing figure that, +instead of jumping at the newcomer’s legs, as was her custom, she +sheltered herself under her mistress’s chair, uttering low growls; at +first glance the latter shared, if not the terror, at least the aversion +of her dog. Among her numerous antipathies, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil +detested a beard. This was a common sentiment with all old ladies, who +barely tolerated moustaches: “Gentlemen did not wear them in 1780,” they +would say. + +Marillac’s eyes turned involuntarily toward the portraits, and other +picturesque details of a room which was worthy the attention of a +connoisseur; but he felt that the moment was not opportune for indulging +in artistic contemplation, and that he must leave the dead for the +living. + +“Ladies,” said he, “I ought, first of all, to ask your pardon for thus +intruding without having had the honor of an introduction. I hoped to +find here Monsieur de Bergenheim, with whom I am on very intimate terms. +I was told that he was at the chateau.” + +“My husband’s friends do not need to be presented at his house,” said +Clemence; “Monsieur de Bergenheim probably will return soon.” And with a +gracious gesture she motioned the visitor to a seat. + +“Your name is not unknown to me,” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil in +her turn, having succeeded in calming Constance’s agitation. “I remember +having heard Monsieur de Bergenheim mention you often.” + +“We were at college together, although I am a few years younger than +Christian.” + +“But,” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, struck by some sudden thought, +“there is more than a college friendship between you. Are you not, +Monsieur, the person who saved my husband’s life in 1830?” + +Marillac smiled, bowed his head, and seated himself. Mademoiselle +de Corandeuil herself could not but graciously greet her nephew’s +preserver, had he had a moustache as long as that of the Shah of Persia, +who ties his in a bow behind his neck. + +After the exchange of a few compliments, Madame de Bergenheim, with the +amiability of a mistress of the house who seeks subjects of conversation +that may show off to best advantage the persons she receives, continued: + +“My husband does not like to talk of himself, and never has told us the +details of this adventure, in which he ran such great danger. Will you +be kind enough to gratify our curiosity on this point?” + +Marillac, among his other pretensions, had that of being able to relate +a story in an impressive manner. These words were as pleasing to +his ears as the request for a song is to a lady who requires urging, +although she is dying to sing. + +“Ladies,” said he, crossing one leg over the other and leaning upon +one arm of his chair, “it was on the twenty-eighth of July, 1830; the +disastrous decrees had produced their effects; the volcano which--” + +“Pardon me, Monsieur, if I interrupt you,” said Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil, quickly; “according to my opinion, and that of many others, +the royal decrees you speak of were good and necessary. The only mistake +of Charles Tenth was not to have fifty thousand men around Paris to +force their acceptance. I am only a woman, Monsieur, but if I had had +under my command twenty cannon upon the quays, and as many upon the +boulevards, I assure you that your tricolored flag never should have +floated over the Tuileries.” + +“Pitt and Cobourg!” said the artist between his teeth, as, with an +astonished air, he gazed at the old lady; but his common-sense told +him that republicanism was not acceptable within this castle. Besides, +remembering the mission with which he was charged, he did not think +his conscience would feel much hurt if he made a little concession of +principles and manoeuvred diplomatically. + +“Madame,” replied he, “I call the decrees disastrous when I think of +their result. You will certainly admit that our situation to-day ought +to make everybody regret the causes which brought it about.” + +“We are exactly of the same opinion regarding that point, Monsieur,” + said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, resuming her serenity. + +“The open volcano beneath our feet,” continued Marillac, who still stuck +to his point, “warned us by deep rumblings of the hot lava which was +about to gush forth. The excitement of the people was intense. Several +engagements with the soldiers had already taken place at different +points. I stood on the Boulevard Poissonniere, where I had just taken +my luncheon, and was gazing with an artist’s eye upon the dramatic +scene spread out before me. Men with bare arms and women panting with +excitement were tearing up the pavements or felling trees. An omnibus +had just been upset; the rioters added cabriolets, furniture, and casks +to it; everything became means of defence. The crashing of the trees as +they fell, the blows of crowbars on the stones, the confused roaring of +thousands of voices, the Marseillaise sung in chorus, and the irregular +cannonading which resounded from the direction of the Rue Saint-Denis, +all composed a strident, stupefying, tempestuous harmony, beside which +Beethoven’s Tempest would have seemed like the buzzing of a bee. + +“I was listening to the roaring of the people, who were gnawing at their +chains before breaking them, when my eyes happened to fall upon a window +of a second-floor apartment opposite me. A man about sixty years of age, +with gray hair, a fresh, plump face, an honest, placid countenance, and +wearing a mouse-colored silk dressing-gown, was seated before a small, +round table. The window opened to the floor, and I could see him in this +frame like a full-length portrait. There was a bowl of coffee upon the +table, in which he dipped his roll as he read his journal. I beg your +pardon, ladies, for entering into these petty details, but the habit of +writing--” + +“I assure you, Monsieur, your story interests me very much,” said Madame +de Bergenheim, kindly. + +“A King Charles spaniel, like yours, Mademoiselle, was standing near the +window with his paws resting upon it; he was gazing with curiosity +at the revolution of July, while his master was reading his paper and +sipping his coffee, as indifferent to all that passed as if he had been +in Pekin or New York. + +“‘Oh, the calm of a pure, sincere soul!’ I exclaimed to myself, at +the sight of this little tableau worthy of Greuze; ‘oh, patriarchal +philosophy! in a few minutes perhaps blood will flow in the streets, and +here sits a handsome old man quietly sipping his coffee.’ He seemed like +a lamb browsing upon a volcano.” + +Marillac loved volcanoes, and never lost an opportunity to bring one in +at every possible opportunity. + +“Suddenly a commotion ran through the crowd; the people rushed in every +direction, and in an instant the boulevard was empty. Plumes waving from +high caps, red-and-white flags floating from the ends of long lances, +and the cavalcade that I saw approaching through the trees told me the +cause of this panic. A squadron of lancers was charging. Have you ever +seen a charge of lancers?” + +“Never!” said both of the ladies at once. + +“It is a very grand sight, I assure you. Fancy, ladies, a legion of +demons galloping along upon their horses, thrusting to the right and +left with long pikes, whose steel points are eighteen inches long. That +is a charge of lancers. I beg you to believe that I had shown before +this the mettle there was in me, but I will not conceal from you that at +this moment I shared with the crowd the impression which the coming of +these gentlemen made. I had only time to jump over the sidewalk and +to dart up a staircase which ran on the outside of a house, every door +being closed. I never shall forget the face of one of those men who +thrust the point of a lance at me, long enough to pierce through six men +at once. I admit that I felt excited then! The jinn having passed--” + +“The--what?” asked Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who was not familiar with +Eastern terms. + +“I beg a thousand pardons, it was a poetical reminiscence. The lancers, +having rushed through the boulevard like an avalanche, a laggard rider, +a hundred steps behind the others, galloped proudly by, erect in +his stirrups and flourishing his sword. Suddenly the report of a gun +resounded, the lancer reeled backward, then forward, and finally fell +upon his horse’s neck; a moment later he turned in his saddle and lay +stretched upon the ground, his foot caught in the stirrup; the horse, +still galloping, dragged the man and the lance, which was fastened to +his arm by a leather band.” + +“How horrible!” said Clemence, clasping her hands. + +Marillac, much pleased with the effect of his narration, leaned back in +his chair and continued his tale with his usual assurance. + +“I looked to the neighboring roofs to discover whence came this shot; +as I was glancing to the right and left I saw smoke issuing through the +blinds of the room on the second floor, which had been closed at the +approach of the lancers. + +“‘Good God!’ I exclaimed; ‘it must be this handsome old man in the +mouse-colored silk dressing-gown who amuses himself by firing upon the +lancers, as if they were rabbits in a warren!’ + +“Just then the blinds were opened, and the strange fellow with the +unruffled countenance leaned out and gazed with a smiling face in the +direction the horse was taking, dragging his master’s body after him. +The patriarch had killed his man between two sips of his coffee.” + +“And that is the cowardly way in which members of the royal guard were +assassinated by the ‘heroes’ of your glorious insurrection!” exclaimed +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, indignantly. + +“When the troops had passed,” Marillac continued, “the crowd returned, +more excited and noisy than ever. Barricades were erected with wonderful +rapidity; two of those were on the boulevard close to the place where I +was. I saw a horseman suddenly bound over the first; he wore a tuft of +red-and-white feathers in his hat. I saw that it was a staff officer, +doubtless carrying some despatch to headquarters. He continued his +way, sabre in its sheath, head erect, proud and calm in the midst of +insulting shouts from the crowd; stones were thrown at him and sticks +at his horse’s legs; he looked as if he were parading upon the Place du +Carrousel. + +“When he reached the second barricade, he drew his horse up, as if it +were merely a question of jumping a hurdle in a steeplechase just then +I saw the window on the first floor open again. ‘Ah! you old rascal!’ +I exclaimed. The report of a gun drowned my voice; the horse which had +just made the leap, fell on his knees; the horseman tried to pull him +up, but after making one effort the animal fell over upon his side. The +ball had gone through the steed’s head.” + +“It was that poor Fidele that I gave your husband,” said Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil, who was always very sentimental in the choice of names she +gave to animals. + +“He merited his name, Mademoiselle, for the poor beast died for his +master, for whom the shot was in tended. Several of those horrible +faces, which upon riot days suddenly appear as if they came out of the +ground, darted toward the unhorsed officer. I, and several other young +men who were as little disposed as myself to allow a defenceless man to +be slaughtered, ran toward him. I recognized Christian as I approached; +his right leg was caught under the horse, and he was trying to unsheath +his sword with his left hand. Sticks and stones were showered at him. +I drew out the sword, which his position prevented him from doing, and +exclaimed as I waved it in the air: ‘The first rascal who advances, I +will cut open like a dog.’ + +“I accompanied these words with a flourish which kept the cannibals at a +distance for the time being. + +“The young fellows who were with me followed my example. One took a +pickaxe, another seized the branch of a tree, while others tried to +release Christian from his horse. During this time the crowd increased +around us; the shouts redoubled: ‘Down with the ordinances! These are +disguised gendarmes! Vive la liberte!--We must kill them! Let’s hang the +spies to the lamp-posts!’ + +“Danger was imminent, and I realized that only a patriotic harangue +would get us out of the scrape. While they were releasing Christian, I +jumped upon Fidele so as to be seen by all and shouted: + +“‘Vive la liberte!’ + +“‘Vive la liberte!’ replied the crowd. + +“‘Down with Charles Tenth! Down with the ministers! Down with the +ordinances!’ + +“‘Down!’ shouted a thousand voices at once. + +“You understand, ladies, this was a sort of bait, intended to close the +mouths of these brutes. + +“‘We are all citizens, we are all Frenchmen,’ I continued; ‘we must not +soil our hands with the blood of one of our disarmed brothers. After +a victory there are no enemies. This officer was doing his duty in +fulfilling his chief’s commands; let us do ours by dying, if necessary, +for our country and the preservation of our rights.’ + +“‘Vive la liberte! vive la liberte!’ shouted the crowd. ‘He is right; +the officer was doing his duty. It would be assassination!’ exclaimed +numerous voices. + +“‘Thanks, Marillac,’ said Bergenheim to me, as I took his hand to lead +him away, availing ourselves of the effect of my harangue; ‘but do not +press me so hard, for I really believe that my right arm is broken; only +for that, I should ask you to return me my sword that I might show this +rabble that they can not kill a Bergenheim as they would a chicken.’ + +“‘Let him cry: Vive la Charte!’ roared out a man, with a ferocious face. + +“‘I receive orders from nobody,’ Christian replied, in a very loud +voice, as he glared at him with eyes which would have put a rhinoceros +to flight.” + +“Your husband is really a very brave man,” said Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil, addressing Clemence. + +“Brave as an old warrior. This time he pushed his courage to the verge +of imprudence; I do not know what the result might have been if the +crowd had not been dispersed a second time by the approach of the +lancers, who were returning through the boulevard. I led Bergenheim into +a cafe; fortunately, his arm was only sprained.” Just at this moment +Marillac’s story was interrupted by a sound of voices and hurried steps. +The door opened suddenly, and Aline burst into the room with her usual +impetuosity. + +“What has happened to you, Aline?” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, +hurrying to her sister’s side. The young girl’s riding-habit and hat +were covered with splashes of mud. + +“Oh, nothing,” replied the young girl, in a broken voice; “it was +only Titania, who wanted to throw me into the river. Do you know where +Rousselet is? They say it is necessary to bleed him; and he is the only +one who knows how to do it.” + +“Whom do you mean, child? Is my husband wounded?” asked Clemence, +turning pale. + +“No, not Christian; it is a gentleman I do not know; only for him I +should have been drowned. Mon Dieu! can not Rousselet be found?” + +Aline left the room in great agitation. They all went over to the +windows that opened out into the court, whence the sound of voices +seemed to arise, and where they could hear the master’s voice thundering +out his commands. Several servants had gone to his assistance: one of +them held Titania by the bridle; she was covered with foam and mud, and +was trembling, with distended nostrils, like a beast that knows it has +just committed a wicked action. A young man was seated upon a stone +bench, wiping away blood which streamed from his forehead. It was +Monsieur de Gerfaut. + +At this sight Clemence supported herself against the framework of the +window, and Marillac hurriedly left the room. + +Pere Rousselet, who had at last been found in the kitchen, advanced +majestically, eating an enormous slice of bread and butter. + +“Good heavens! have you arrived at last?” exclaimed Bergenheim. “Here +is a gentleman this crazy mare has thrown against a tree, and who has +received a violent blow on the head. Do you not think it would be the +proper thing to bleed him?” + +“A slight phlebotomy might be very advantageous in stopping the +extravasation of blood in the frontal region,” replied the peasant, +calling to his aid all the technical terms he had learned when he was a +hospital nurse. + +“Are you sure you can do this bleeding well?” + +“I’ll take the liberty of saying to Monsieur le Baron that I +phlebotomized Perdreau last week and Mascareau only a month ago, without +any complaint from them.” + +“Indeed! I believe you,” sneered the groom, “both are on their last +legs.” + +“I am neither Perdreau nor Mascareau,” observed the wounded man with a +smile. + +Rousselet drew himself up at full height, with the dignity of a man of +talent who scorns to reply to either criticism or mistrust. + +“Monsieur,” said Gerfaut, turning to the Baron, “I am really causing you +too much trouble. This trifle does not merit the attention you give it. +I do not suffer in the least. Some water and a napkin are all that +I need. I fancy that I resemble an Iroquois Indian who has just been +scalped; my pride is really what is most hurt,” he added, with a smile, +“when I think of the grotesque sight I must present to the ladies whom I +notice at the window.” + +“Why, it is Monsieur de Gerfaut!” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, +toward whom he raised his eyes. + +Octave bowed to her with a gracious air. His glance wandered from the +old lady to Clemence, who did not seem to have the strength to leave +the window. M. de Bergenheim, after hurriedly greeting Marillac, finally +yielded to the assurance that a surgeon was unnecessary, and conducted +the two friends to his own room, where the wounded man could find +everything that he needed. + +“What the devil was the use in sending me as ambassador, since you were +to make such a fine entrance upon the stage?” murmured Marillac in his +friend’s ear. + +“Silence!” replied the latter as he pressed his hand; “I am only behind +the scenes as yet.” + +During this time Clemence and her aunt had led Aline to her room. + +“Now, tell us what all this means?” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, +while the young girl was changing her dress. + +“It was Christian’s fault,” replied Aline. “We were galloping along +beside the river when Titania became frightened by the branch of a +tree. ‘Do not be afraid!’ exclaimed my brother. I was not in the least +frightened; but when he saw that my horse was about to run away, he +urged his on in order to join me. When Titania heard the galloping +behind her she did run away in earnest; she left the road and started +straight for the river. Then I began to be a little frightened. Just +fancy, Clemence, I bounded in the saddle at each leap, sometimes upon +the mare’s neck, sometimes upon the crupper; it was terrible! I tried +to withdraw my foot from the stirrup as Christian had told me to do; +but just then Titania ran against the trunk of a tree, and I rolled over +with her. A gentleman, whom I had not seen before, and who, I believe, +actually jumped out of the ground, raised me from the saddle, where I +was held by something, I do not know what; then that naughty Titania +threw him against the tree as he was helping me to my feet, and when +I was able to look at him his face was covered with blood. Christian +rushed on the scene, and, when he saw that I was not badly hurt, he ran +after Titania and beat her! Oh! how he beat her! Mon Dieu! how cruel men +are! It was in vain for me to cry for mercy; he would not listen to me. +Then we came home, and, since this gentleman is not badly wounded, it +seems that my poor dress has fared worst of all.” + +The young girl took her riding-habit from the chair as she said these +words, and could not restrain a cry of horror when she saw an enormous +rent in it. + +“Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed, as she showed it to her sister-in-law. It was +all that she had strength to articulate. + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil took the skirt in her turn, and looked at +it with the practised eye of a person who had made a special study of +little disasters of the toilet and the ways of remedying them. + +“It is in the fullness,” said she, “and by putting in a new breadth it +will never be seen.” + +Aline, once convinced that the evil could be repaired, soon recovered +her serenity. + +When the three ladies entered the drawing-room they found the Baron and +his two guests chatting amicably. Gerfaut had his forehead tied up with +a black silk band which gave him a slight resemblance to Cupid with his +bandage just off his eyes. His sparkling glance showed that blindness +was not what there was in common between him and the charming little +god. After the first greetings, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who was +always strict as to etiquette, and who thought that Titania had been a +rather unceremonious master of ceremonies between her nephew and M. de +Gerfaut, advanced toward the latter in order to introduce them formally +to each other. + +“I do not think,” said she, “that Monsieur de Bergenheim has had the +honor of meeting you before today; allow me then to present you to him. +Baron, this is Monsieur le Vicomte de Gerfaut, one of my relatives.” + +When Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was in good humor, she treated Gerfaut +as a relative on account of their family alliance of 1569. At this +moment the poet felt profoundly grateful for this kindness. + +“Monsieur has presented himself so well,” said Christian frankly, “that +your recommendation, my dear aunt, in spite of the respect I have for +it, will not add to my gratitude. Only for Monsieur de Gerfaut, here is +a madcap little girl whom we should be obliged to look for now at the +bottom of the river.” + +As he said these words, he passed his arm about his sister’s waist and +kissed her tenderly, while Aline was obliged to stand upon the tips of +her toes to reach her brother’s lips. + +“These gentlemen,” he continued, “have agreed to sacrifice for us the +pleasure of the Femme-sans-Tete, as well as Mademoiselle Gobillot’s +civilities, and establish their headquarters in my house. They can +pursue their picturesque and romantic studies from here just as well; I +suppose, Marillac, that you are still a determined dauber of canvas?” + +“To tell the truth,” replied the poet, “art absorbs me a great deal.” + +“As to myself, I never succeeded in drawing a nose that did not resemble +an ear and vice versa. But for that worthy Baringnier, who was kind +enough to look over my plans, I ran a great risk of leaving Saint Cyr +without a graduating diploma. But seriously, gentlemen, when you are +tired of sketching trees and tumbledown houses, I can give you some good +boar hunting. Are you a hunter, Monsieur de Gerfaut?” + +“I like hunting very much,” replied the lover, with rare effrontery. + +The conversation continued thus upon the topics that occupy people +who meet for the first time. When the Baron spoke of the two friends +installing themselves at the chateau, Octave darted a glance at Madame +de Bergenheim, as if soliciting a tacit approbation of his conduct; but +met with no response. Clemence, with a gloomy, sombre air fulfilled the +duties that politeness imposed upon her as mistress of the house. Her +conduct did not change during the rest of the evening, and Gerfaut +no longer tried by a single glance to soften the severity she seemed +determined to adopt toward him. All his attentions were reserved for +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil and Aline, who listened with unconcealed +pleasure to the man whom she regarded as her saviour; for the young +girl’s remembrance of the danger which she had run excited her more and +more. + +After supper Mademoiselle de Corandeuil proposed a game of whist to M. +de Gerfaut, whose talent for the game had made a lasting impression upon +her. The poet accepted this diversion with an enthusiasm equal to that +he had shown for hunting, and quite as sincere too. Christian and his +sister--a little gamester in embryo, like all of her family--completed +the party, while Clemence took up her work and listened with an +absentminded air to Marillac’s conversation. It was in vain for the +latter to call art and the Middle Ages to his aid, using the very +quintessence of his brightest speeches--success did not attend his +effort. After the end of an hour, he had a firm conviction that Madame +de Bergenheim was, everything considered, only a woman of ordinary +intelligence and entirely unworthy of the passion she had inspired in +his friend. + +“Upon my soul,” he thought, “I would a hundred times rather have +Reine Gobillot for a sweetheart. I must take a trip in that direction +tomorrow.” + +When they separated for the night, Gerfaut, bored by his evening and +wounded by his reception from Clemence, which, he thought, surpassed +anything he could have expected of her capricious disposition, addressed +to the young woman a profound bow and a look which said: + +“I am here in spite of you; I shall stay here in spite of you; you shall +love me in spite of yourself.” + +Madame de Bergenheim replied by a glance none the less expressive, in +which a lover the most prone to conceit could read: + +“Do as you like; I have as much indifference for your love as disdain +for your presumption.” + +This was the last shot in this preliminary skirmish. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. GERFAUT, THE WIZARD + +There are some women who, like the heroic Cure Merino, need but one +hour’s sleep. A nervous, irritable, subtle organization gives them a +power for waking, without apparent fatigue, refused to most men. And +yet, when a strong emotion causes its corrosive waters to filtrate into +the veins of these impressionable beings, it trickles there drop by +drop, until it has hollowed out in the very depths of their hearts a +lake full of trouble and storms. Then, in the silence of night and the +calm of solitude, insomnia makes the rosy cheeks grow pale and dark +rings encircle the most sparkling eyes. It is in vain for the burning +forehead to seek the cool pillow; the pillow grows warm without the +forehead cooling. In vain the mind hunts for commonplace ideas, as a +sort of intellectual poppy-leaves that may lead to a quiet night’s rest; +a persistent thought still returns, chasing away all others, as an eagle +disperses a flock of timid birds in order to remain sole master of its +prey. If one tries to repeat the accustomed prayer, and invoke the aid +of the Virgin, or the good angel who watches at the foot of young girls’ +beds, in order to keep away the charms of the tempter, the prayer is +only on the lips, the Virgin is deaf, the angel sleeps! The breath of +passion against which one struggles runs through every fibre of the +heart, like a storm over the chords of an Tolian harp, and extorts from +it those magic melodies to which a poor, troubled, and frightened woman +listens with remorse and despair; but to which she listens, and with +which at last she is intoxicated, for the allegory of Eve is an immortal +myth, that repeats itself, through every century and in every clime. + +Since her entrance into society, Madame de Bergenheim had formed the +habit of keeping late hours. When the minute details of her toilette +for the night were over, and she had confided her beautiful body to the +snowy sheets of her couch, some new novel or fashionable magazine helped +her wile away the time until sleep came to her. Christian left his room, +like a good country gentleman, at sunrise; he left it either for the +chase--or to oversee workmen, who were continually being employed +upon some part of his domain. Ordinarily, he returned only in time for +dinner, and rarely saw Clemence except between that time and supper, at +the conclusion of which, fatigued by his day’s work, he hastened to seek +the repose of the just. Husband and wife, while living under the same +roof, were thus almost completely isolated from each other; night for +one was day for the other. + +By the haste with which Clemence shortened her preparations for the +night, one would have said that she must have been blessed with an +unusually sleepy sensation. But when she lay in bed, with her head under +her arm, like a swan with his neck under his wing, and almost in the +attitude of Correggio’s Magdalen, her eyes, which sparkled with a +feverish light, betrayed the fact that she had sought the solitude of +her bed in order to indulge more freely in deep meditation. + +With marvelous fidelity she went over the slightest events of the +day, to which by a constant effort of willpower, she had seemed so +indifferent. First, she saw Gerfaut with his face covered with blood, +and the thought of the terrible sensation which this sight caused her +made her heart throb violently. She then recalled him as she next saw +him, in the drawing-room by her husband’s side, seated in the very +chair that she had left but a moment before. This trifling circumstance +impressed her; she saw in this a proof of sympathetic understanding, a +sort of gift of second sight which Octave possessed, and which in her +eyes was so formidable a weapon. According to her ideas, he must have +suspected that this was her own favorite chair and have seized it for +that reason, just as he would have loved to take her in his arms. + +For the first time, Clemence had seen together the man to whom she +belonged and the man whom she regarded somewhat as her property. For, +by one of those arrangements with their consciences of which women alone +possess the secret, she had managed to reason like this: “Since I am +certain always to belong to Monsieur de Bergenheim only, Octave can +certainly belong to me.” An heterodoxical syllogism, whose two premises +she reconciled with an inconceivable subtlety. A feeling of shame had +made her dread this meeting, which the most hardened coquette could +never witness without embarrassment. A woman, between her husband and +her lover, is like a plant one sprinkles with ice-cold water while a +ray of sunlight is trying to comfort it. The sombre and jealous, or even +tranquil and unsuspecting, face of a husband has a wonderful power of +repression. One is embarrassed to love under the glance of an eye +that darts flashes as bright as steel; and a calm, kindly look is more +terrible yet, for all jealousy seems tyrannical, and tyranny leads to +revolt; but a confiding husband is like a victim strangled in his sleep, +and inspires, by his very calmness, the most poignant remorse. + +The meeting of these two men naturally led Clemence to a comparison +which could but be to Christian’s advantage. Gerfaut had nothing +remarkable about him save an intelligent, intensely clever air; there +was a thoughtful look in his eyes and an archness in his smile, but his +irregular features showed no mark of beauty; his face wore an habitually +tired expression, peculiar to those people who have lived a great deal +in a short time, and it made him look older than Christian, although he +was really several years younger. The latter, on the contrary, owed to +his strong constitution, fortified by country life, an appearance of +blooming youth that enhanced his noble regularity of features. + +In a word, Christian was handsomer than his rival, and Clemence +exaggerated her husband’s superiority over her lover. Not being able to +find the latter awkward or insignificant, she tried to persuade herself +that he was ugly. She then reviewed in her mind all M. de Bergenheim’s +good qualities, his attachment and kindness to her, his loyal, generous +ways; she recalled the striking instance that Marillac had related of +his bravery, a quality without which there is no hope of success for a +man in the eyes of any woman. She did all in her power to inflame her +imagination and to see in her husband a hero worthy of inspiring the +most fervent love. When she had exhausted her efforts toward such +enthusiasm and admiration, she turned round, in despair, and, burying +her head in her pillow, she sobbed: + +“I cannot, I cannot love him!” + +She wept bitterly for a long while. As she recalled her own severity in +the past regarding women whose conduct had caused scandal, she employed +in her turn the harshness of her judgment in examining her own actions. +She felt herself more guilty than all the others, for her weakness +appeared less excusable to her. She felt that she was unworthy and +contemptible, and wished to die that she might escape the shame that +made her blush scarlet, and the remorse that tortured her soul. + +How many such unhappy tears bathe the eyes of those who should shed only +tears of joy! How many such sighs break the silence of the night! There +are noble, celestial beings among women whom remorse stretches out upon +its relentless brasier, but in the midst of the flames that torture them +the heart palpitates, imperishable as a salamander. Is it not human fate +to suffer? After Madame de Bergenheim had given vent, by convulsive sobs +and stifled sighs, to her grief for this love which she could not tear +from her breast, she formed a desperate resolution. From the manner in +which M. de Gerfaut had taken possession of the chateau the very first +day, she recognized that he was master of the situation. The sort of +infatuation which Mademoiselle de Corandeuil seemed to have for him, +and Christian’s courteous and hospitable habits, would give him an +opportunity to prolong his stay as long as he desired. She thus compared +herself to a besieged general, who sees the enemy within his ramparts. + +“Very well! I will shut myself up in the fortress!” said she, smiling +in spite of herself in the midst of her tears. “Since this insupportable +man has taken possession of my drawing-room, I will remain in my own +room; we will see whether he dares to approach that!” + +She shook her pretty head with a defiant air, but she could not help +glancing into the room which was barely lighted with a night lamp. She +sat up and listened for a moment rather anxiously, as if Octave’s dark +eyes might suddenly glisten in the obscurity. When she had assured +herself that all was tranquil, and that the throbbing of her heart was +all that disturbed the silence, she continued preparing her plan of +defense. + +She decided that she would be ill the next day and keep to her bed, +if necessary, until her persecutor should make up his mind to beat +a retreat. She solemnly pledged herself to be firm, courageous, and +inflexible; then she tried to pray. It was now two o’clock in the +morning. For some time Clemence remained motionless, and one might +have thought that at least she was asleep. Suddenly she arose. Without +stopping to put on her dressing-gown, she lighted a candle by the +night-lamp, pushed the bolt of her door and then went to the windows, +the space between them forming a rather deep projection on account of +the thickness of the walls. A portrait of the Duke of Bordeaux hung +there; she raised it and pressed a button concealed in the woodwork. +A panel opened, showing a small empty space. The shelf in this sort of +closet contained only a rosewood casket. She opened this mysterious box +and took from it a package of letters, then returned to her bed with the +eagerness of a miser who is about to gaze upon his treasures. + +Had she not struggled and prayed? Had she not offered upon the +tyrannical altar of duty as an expiation, tears, pale cheeks and a +tortured soul? Had she not just taken a solemn vow, in the presence of +God and herself, which should protect her against her weakness? Was she +not a virtuous wife, and had she not paid dearly enough for a moment of +sad happiness? Was it a crime to breathe for an instant the balmy air +of love through the gratings of this prison-cell, the doors of which she +had just locked with her own hand? Admirable logic for loving hearts, +which, not being able to control their feelings, suffer in order to +prove themselves less guilty, and clothe themselves in haircloth so that +each shudder may cause a pain that condones the sin! + +Being at peace with herself, she read as women read who are in love; +leaning her head upon her hand, she drew out the letters, one by one, +from her bosom where she had placed them. She drank with her heart and +eyes the poison these passionate words contained; she allowed herself +to be swayed at will by these melodies which lulled but did not benumb. +When one of those invincible appeals of imploring passion awoke all the +echoes of her love, and ran through her veins with a thrill, striking +the innermost depths of her heart, she threw herself back and imprinted +her burning lips upon the cold paper. With one letter pressed to her +heart, and another pressed to her lips, she gave herself up completely, +exclaiming in an inaudible voice: “I love thee! I am thine!” + +The next morning, when Aline entered her sister-in law’s room, +according to her usual custom, the latter was not obliged to feign the +indisposition she had planned; the sensations of this sleepless night +had paled her cheeks and altered her features; it would have been +difficult to imagine a more complete contrast than that between these +two young women at this moment. Clemence, lying upon her bed motionless +and white as the sheet which covered her, resembled Juliet sleeping in +her tomb; Aline, rosy, vivacious, and more petulant than usual, looked +very much the madcap Mademoiselle de Corandeuil had reproached her with +being. Her face was full of that still childish grace, more lovely than +calm, more pleasing than impressive, which makes young girls so charming +to the eye but less eloquent to the heart; for are they not fresh +flowers more rich in coloring than in perfume? + +Clemence could hardly stifle a sigh as she gazed at those rosy checks, +those sparkling eyes, that life so full of the rich future. She recalled +a time when she was thus, when grief glided over her cheeks without +paling them, when tears dried as they left her eyes; she also had had +her happy, careless days, her dreams of unalloyed bliss. + +Aline, after presenting her face like a child who asks for a +kiss, wished to tease her as usual, but, with a tired gesture, her +sister-in-law begged for mercy. + +“Are you ill?” asked the young girl anxiously, as she seated herself +upon the edge of the bed. + +Madame de Bergenheim smiled, a forced smile. + +“Thank me for my poor health,” said she, “for it obliges you to do the +honors; I shall doubtless not be able to go down to dinner, and you must +take my place. You know that it tires my aunt to have to trouble herself +about others.” + +Aline made a little grimace as she replied: + +“If I thought you were speaking seriously, I would go and get into my +own bed at once!” + +“Child! will you not in your turn be mistress of a home? Is it not +necessary for you to become accustomed to it? It is an excellent +opportunity, and, with my aunt as a guide, you are sure to acquit +yourself well.” + +These last words were spoken rather maliciously, for the young woman +knew that of all the possible mentors, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was +the one whom Aline dreaded most. + +“I beg of you, my kind sister,” replied the girl, clasping her hands, +“do not be ill to-day. Is it the neuralgia of the day before yesterday +you are suffering from? Do be a good sister, and get up and come and +take a walk in the park; the fresh air will cure you, I am sure of it.” + +“And I shall not be obliged to preside at the dinner-table, you would +add; is it not so? You selfish girl!” + +“I am afraid of Monsieur de Gerfaut,” said the child, lowering her +voice. + +When she heard pronounced this name, so deeply agitating her, Madame de +Bergenheim was silent for a moment; at last she said: + +“What has Monsieur de Gerfaut done to you? Is it not downright +ungrateful to be afraid of him so soon after the service he has rendered +you?” + +“No, I am not ungrateful,” replied the young girl quickly. “I never +shall forget that I owe my life to him, for certainly, but for him, I +should have been dragged into the river. But he has such black, piercing +eyes that they seem to look into your very soul; and then, he is such a +brilliant man! I am all the time afraid of saying something that he may +laugh at. You know, some people think I talk too much; but I shall never +dare open my mouth in his presence. Why do some persons’ eyes make such +an impression upon one?” + +Clemence lowered her own beautiful eyes and made no reply. + +“His friend, Monsieur Marillac, does not frighten me one bit, in +spite of his big moustache. Tell me, does not this Monsieur de Gerfaut +frighten you a little too?” + +“Not at all, I assure you,” replied Madame de Bergenheim, trying to +smile. “But,” she continued, in order to change the conversation, “how +fine you look! You have certainly some plan of conquest. What! a city +gown at nine o’clock in the morning, and hair dressed as if for a ball?” + +“Would you like to know the compliment your aunt just paid me?” + +“Some little jest of hers, I suppose?” + +“You might say some spiteful remark, for she is the hatefulest thing! +She told me that blue ribbons suited red hair very badly and advised me +to change one or the other. Is it true that my hair is red?” + +Mademoiselle de Bergenheim asked this question with so much anxiety that +her sister-in-law could not repress a smile. + +“You know that my aunt delights in annoying you,” said she. “Your hair +is very pretty, a bright blond, very pleasant to the eye; only Justine +waves it a little too tight; it curls naturally. She dresses your hair +too high; it would be more becoming to you if she pushed it back from +your temples a little than to wave it as much as she does. Come a little +nearer to me.” + +Aline knelt before Madame de Bergenheim’s bed, and the latter, adding +a practical lesson to verbal advice, began to modify the maid’s work to +suit her own taste. + +“It curls like a little mane,” said the young girl, as she saw the +trouble her sister-in-law had in succeeding; “it was my great trouble +at the Sacred Heart. The sisters wished us to wear our hair plain, and +I always had a terrible time to keep it in place. However, blond hair +looks ugly when too plainly dressed, and Monsieur de Gerfaut said +yesterday that it was the shade he liked best.” + +“Monsieur de Gerfaut told you he liked blond hair best!” + +“Take care; you are pulling my hair! Yes, blond hair and blue eyes. He +said that when speaking of Carlo Dolci’s Virgin, and he said she was of +the most beautiful Jewish type; if he intended it as a compliment to me, +I am very much obliged to him. Do you think that my eyes are as blue as +that of the painted Virgin’s. Monsieur de Gerfaut pretends that there is +a strong resemblance.” + +Madame de Bergenheim withdrew her hand so quickly that she pulled out +half a dozen or more hairs from her sister-in-law’s head, and buried +herself up to the chin in the bedclothes. + +“Oh! Monsieur de Gerfaut knows how to pay very pretty compliments!” she +said. “And you doubtless are very well pleased to resemble Carlo Dolci’s +Madonna?” + +“She is very pretty!--and then it is the Holy Virgin, you know--Ah! I +hear Monsieur de Gerfaut’s voice in the garden.” + +The young girl arose quickly and ran to the window, where, concealed +behind the curtains, she could see what was going on outside without +being seen herself. + +“He is with Christian,” she continued. “There, they are going to the +library. They must have just taken a long walk, for they are bespattered +with mud. If you could only see what a pretty little cap Monsieur de +Gerfaut has on!” + +“Truly, he will turn her head,” thought Madame de Bergenheim, with a +decided feeling of anger; then she closed her eyes as if she wished to +sleep. + +Gerfaut had, in fact, just returned from paying his respects to the +estate. He had followed his host, who, under the pretext of showing him +several picturesque sights, promenaded him, in the morning dew, through +the lettuce in the kitchen garden and the underbrush in the park. But +he knew through experience that all was not roses in a lover’s path; +watching in the snow, climbing walls, hiding in obscure closets, +imprisonment in wardrobes, were more disagreeable incidents than a quiet +tete-a-tete with a husband. + +He listened, therefore, complacently enough to Bergenheim’s prolix +explanations, interested himself in the planting of trees, thought +the fields very green, the forests admirable, the granite rocks more +beautiful than those of the Alps, went into ecstasies over the smallest +vista, advised the establishment of a new mill on the river, which, +being navigable for rafts, might convey lumber to all the cities on the +Moselle, and thus greatly increase the value of the owner’s woods. They +fraternized like Glaucus and Diomede; Gerfaut hoping, of course, to play +the part of the Greek, who, according to Homer, received in return for a +common iron armor a gold one of inestimable value. There is always such +a secret mental reservation in the lover’s mind when associating with +the husband of his inamorata. + +When he entered the room of his wife, whose indisposition had been +reported to him, Christian’s first words were: + +“This Monsieur de Gerfaut appears to be a very excellent fellow, and I +shall be delighted if he will stay with us a while. It is too bad that +you are ill. He is a good musician, as well as Marillac; you might have +sung together. Try to get better quickly and come down to dinner.” + +“I can not really tell him that Monsieur de Gerfaut has loved me for +more than a year,” said Madame de Bergenheim to herself. + +A moment later, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil appeared, and with a prim air +seated herself beside the bed. + +“Perhaps you think that I am fooled by this indisposition. I see plainly +that you wish to be impolite to Monsieur de Gerfaut, for you can not +endure him. It seems to me, however, that a relative of your family +ought to be treated with more respect by you, above all, when you know +how much I esteem him. This is unheard-of absurdity, and I shall end by +speaking to your husband about it; we shall see if his intervention will +not have more effect than mine.” + +“You shall not do that, aunt,” Clemence interrupted, sitting up in bed +and trying to take her aunt’s hand. + +“If you wish that your discourteous conduct should rest a secret between +us, I advise you to get rid of your neuralgia this very day. Now, you +had better decide immediately--” + +“This is genuine persecution,” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, falling +back upon her bed when the old lady had departed. “He has bewitched +everybody! Aline, my aunt, and my husband; to say nothing of myself, for +I shall end by going mad. I must end this, at any price.” She rang the +bell violently. + +“Justine,” said she to her maid, “do not let any one enter this room +under any pretext whatsoever, and do not come in yourself until I ring; +I will try to sleep.” + +Justine obeyed, after closing the blinds. She had hardly gone out +when her mistress arose, put on her dressing-gown and slippers with a +vivacity which betokened anger; she then seated herself at her desk and +began to write rapidly, dashing her pen over the satiny paper without +troubling herself as to blots. The last word was ended with a dash as +energetically drawn as the Napoleonic flourish. + +When a young man who, according to custom, begins to read the end of his +letters first finds an arabesque of this style at the bottom of a lady’s +letter, he ought to arm himself with patience and resignation before he +reads its contents. + + + + +CHAPTER X. PLOTS + +That evening, when Gerfaut entered his room he hardly took time to place +the candlestick which he held in his hand upon the mantel before he took +from his waistcoat pocket a paper reduced to microscopic dimensions, +which he carried to his lips and kissed passionately before opening. His +eyes fell first upon the threatening flourish of the final word; this +word was: Adieu! + +“Hum!” said the lover, whose exaltation was sensibly cooled at this +sight. + +He read the whole letter with one glance of the eye, darting to the +culminating point of each phrase as a deer bounds over ledges of rocks; +he weighed the plain meaning as well as the innuendoes of the slightest +expression, like a rabbi who comments upon the Bible, and deciphered +the erasures with the patience of a seeker after hieroglyphics, so as +to detach from them some particle of the idea they had contained. +After analyzing and criticising this note in all its most imperceptible +shades, he crushed it within his hand and began to pace the floor, +uttering from time to time some of those exclamations which the +Dictionnaire de l’Academie has not yet decided to sanction; for all +lovers resemble the lazzaroni who kiss San-Gennaro’s feet when he acts +well, but who call him briconne as soon as they have reason to complain +of him. However, women are very kind, and almost invariably excuse +the stones that an angry lover throws at them in such moments of acute +disappointment, and willingly say with the indulgent smile of the Roman +emperor: “I feel no wound!” + +In the midst of this paroxysm of furious anger, two or three knocks +resounded behind the woodwork. + +“Are you composing?” asked a voice like that of a ventriloquist; “I am +with you.” + +A minute later, Marillac appeared upon the threshold, in his slippers +and with a silk handkerchief tied about his head, holding his +candlestick in one hand and a pipe in the other; he stood there +motionless. + +“You are fine,” said he, “you are magnificent, fatal and accursed--You +remind me of Kean in Othello-- + + “Have you pray’d to-night, Desdemona?” + +Gerfaut gazed at him with frowning brows, but made no reply. + +“I will wager that it is the last scene in our third act,” replied the +artist, placing his candlestick upon the mantel; “it seems that it is +to be very tragic. Now listen! I also feel the poetical afflatus coming +over me, and, if you like, we will set about devouring paper like two +boa-constrictors. Speaking of serpents, have you a rattle? Ah, yes! +Here is the bell-rope. I was about to say that we would have a bowl of +coffee. Or rather, I will go into the kitchen myself; I am very good +friends with Marianne, the cook; besides, the motto of the house of +Bergenheim is liberte, libertas. Coffee is my muse; in this respect, I +resemble Voltaire--” + +“Marillac!” exclaimed Gerfaut, as the artist was about to leave the +room. The artist turned, and meekly retraced his steps. + +“You will be so good as to do me the favor of returning to your room,” + said Gerfaut. “You may work or you may sleep, just as you like; between +us, you would do well to sleep. I wish to be alone.” + +“You say that as if you meditated an attempt upon your illustrious +person. Are you thinking of suicide? Let us see whether you have some +concealed weapon, some poisoned ring. Curse upon it! the poison of the +Borgias! Is the white substance in this china bowl, vulgarly called +sugar, by some terrible chance infamous arsenic disguised under the +appearance of an honest colonial commodity?” + +“Be kind enough to spare your jokes,” said Octave, as his friend poked +about in all the corners of the room with an affectation of anxiety, +“and, as I can not get rid of you, listen to my opinion: if you think +that I brought you here for you to conduct yourself as you have for the +last two days, you are mistaken.” + +“What have I done?” + +“You left me the whole morning with that tiresome Bergenheim on my +hands, and I verily believe he made me count every stick in his park and +every frog in his pond. Tonight, when that old witch of Endor proposed +her infernal game of whist, to which it seems I am to be condemned +daily, you-excused yourself upon the pretext of ignorance, and yet you +play as good a game as I.” + +“I can not endure whist at twenty sous a point.” + +“Do I like it any better?” + +“Well, you are a nice fellow! You have an object in view which should +make you swallow all these disagreeable trifles as if they were as sweet +as honey. Is it possible you would like me to play Bertrand and Raton? I +should be Raton the oftener of the two!” + +“But, really, what did you do all day?” + +Marillac posed before the mirror, arranged his kerchief about his +head in a more picturesque fashion, twisted his moustache, puffed out, +through the corner of his mouth, a cloud of smoke, which surrounded his +face like a London fog, then turned to his friend and said, with the air +of a person perfectly satisfied with himself: + +“Upon my faith, my dear friend, each one for himself and God for us all! +You, for example, indulge in romantic love-affairs; you must have titled +ladies. Titles turn your head and make you exclusive. You make love to +the aristocracy; so be it, that is your own concern. As for me, I +have another system; I am, in all matters of sentiment, what I am in +politics: I want republican institutions.” + +“What is all that nonsense about?” + +“Let me tell you. I want universal suffrage, the cooperation of all +citizens, admission to all offices, general elections, a popular +government, in a word, a sound, patriotic hash. Which means regarding +women that I carry them all in my heart, that I recognize between them +no distinction of caste or rank. Article First of my set of laws: all +women are equal in love, provided they are young, pretty, admirably +attractive in shape and carriage, above all, not too thin.” + +“And what of equality?” + +“So much the worse. With this eminently liberal and constitutional +policy, I intend to gather all the flowers that will allow themselves to +be gathered by me, without one being esteemed more fresh than another, +because it belongs to the nobility, or another less sweet, because +plebeian. And as field daisies are a little more numerous than imperial +roses, it follows that I very often stoop. That is the reason why, at +this very moment, I am up to my ears in a little rustic love affair: + + Simple et naive bergerette, elle regne--” + +“Stop that noise; Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s room is just underneath.” + +“I will tell you then, since I must give an account of myself, that I +went into the park to sketch a few fir-trees before dinner; they are +more beautiful of their kind than the ancient Fontainebleau oaks. That +is for art. At dinner, I dined nobly and well. To do the Bergenheims +justice, they live in a royal manner. That is for the stomach. Afterward +I stealthily ordered a horse to be saddled and rode to La Fauconnerie +in a trice, where I presented the expression of my adoration to +Mademoiselle Reine Gobillot, a minor yet, but enjoying her full rights +already. That is for the heart.” + +“Indeed!” + +“No sarcasm, if you please; not everybody can share your taste for +princesses, who make you go a hundred leagues to follow them and then +upon your arrival, only give you the tip of a glove to kiss. Such +intrigues are not to my fancy. + + Je suis sergent, + Brave--” + +“Again, I say, will you stop that noise? Don’t you know that I have +nobody on my side at present but this respectable dowager on the first +floor below? If she supposes that I am making all this racket over her +head we shall be deadly enemies by to-morrow.” + + “Zitto, zitto, piano, piano, + Senza strepito e rumore,” + +replied Marillac, putting his finger to his lips and lowering his voice. +“What you say is a surprise to me. From the way in which you offered +your arm to Madame de Bergenheim to lead her into the drawing-room +after supper, I thought you understood each other perfectly. As I was +returning, for I made it my duty to offer my arm to the old lady--and +you say that I do nothing for you--it seemed to me that I noticed a +meeting of hands--You know that I have an eagle eye. She slipped a note +into your hand as sure as my name is Marillac.” + +Gerfaut took the note which he held crumpled up in his hand, and held it +in the flame of one of the candles. The paper ignited, and in less than +a second nothing of it remained but a few dark pieces which fell into +ashes upon the marble mantel. + +“You burn it! You are wrong,” said the artist; “as for me, I keep +everything, letters and hair. When I am old, I shall have the letters to +read evenings, and shall weave an allegorical picture with the hair. I +shall hang it before my desk, so as to have before me a souvenir of the +adorable creatures who furnished the threads. I will answer for it that +there will be every shade in it from that of Camille Hautier, my first +love, who was an albino, to this that I have here.” + +As he spoke, he took out of his pocket a small parcel from which he drew +a lock of coal-black hair, which he spread out upon his hand. + +“Did you pull this hair from Titania’s mane?” asked Gerfaut, as he drew +through his fingers the more glossy than silky lock, which he ridiculed +by this ironical supposition. + +“They might be softer, I admit,” replied Marillac negligently; and he +examined the lock submitted to this merciless criticism as if it were +simply a piece of goods, of the fineness of whose texture he wished to +assure himself. + +“You will admit at least that the color is beautiful, and the quantity +makes up for the quality. Upon my word, this poor Reine has given me +enough to make a pacha’s banner. Provincial and primitive simplicity! I +know of one woman in particular who never gave an adorer more than seven +of her hairs; and yet, at the end of three years, this cautious beauty +was obliged to wear a false front. All her hair had disappeared. + +“Are you like me, Octave? The first thing I ask for is one of these +locks. Women rather like this sort of childishness, and when they have +granted you that, it is a snare spread for them which catches them.” + +Marillac took the long, dark tress and held it near the candle; but +his movement was so poorly calculated that the hair caught fire and was +instantly destroyed. + +“A bad sign,” exclaimed Gerfaut, who could not help laughing at his +friend’s dismayed look. + +“This is a day of autos-de-fe,” said the artist, dropping into a chair; +“but bah! small loss; if Reine asks to see this lock, I will tell her +that I destroyed it with kisses. That always flatters them, and I am +sure it will please this little field-flower. It is a fact that she has +cheeks like rosy apples! On my way back I thought of a vaudeville that +I should like to write about this. Only I should lay the scene in +Switzerland and I should call the young woman Betty or Kettly instead of +Reine, a name ending in ‘Y’ which would rhyme with Rutly, on account +of local peculiarities. Will you join in it? I have almost finished the +scenario. First scene--Upon the rising of the curtain, harvesters are +discovered--” + +“Will you do me the favor of going to bed?” interrupted Gerfaut. + +“Chorus of harvesters: + + Deja l’aurore + Qui se colore--” + +“If you do not leave me alone, I will throw the contents of this +water-pitcher at your head.” + +“I never have seen you in such a surly temper. It looks indeed as if +your divinity had treated you cruelly.” + +“She has treated me shamefully!” exclaimed the lover, whose anger was +freshly kindled at this question; “she has treated me as one would +treat a barber’s boy. This note, which I just burned, was a most +formal, unpleasant, insolent dismissal. This woman is a monster, do you +understand me?” + +“A monster! your angel, a monster!” said Marillac, suppressing with +difficulty a violent outburst of laughter. + +“She, an angel? I must say that she is a demon--This woman--” + +“Do you not adore her?” + +“I hate her, I abhor her, she makes me shudder. You may laugh, if you +like!” + +As he said these words, Gerfaut struck a violent blow upon the table +with his fist. + +“You forget that Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s room is just beneath us,” + said the artist, in a teasing way. + +“Listen to me, Marillac! Your system with women is vulgar, gross, and +trivial. The daisies which you gather, the maidens from whom you cut +handfuls of hair excellent for stuffing mattresses, your rustic beauties +with cheeks like rosy apples are conquests worthy of counter-jumpers +in their Sunday clothes. That is nothing but the very lowest grade +of love-making, and yet you are right, a thousand times right, and +wonderfully wise compared with me.” + +“You do me too much honor! So, then, you are not loved?” + +“Truly, I had an idea I was, or, if I was not loved to-day, I hoped to +be to-morrow. But you are mistaken as to what discourages me. I simply +fear that her heart is narrow. I believe that she loves me as much as +she is able to love; unfortunately, that is not enough for me.” + +“It certainly seems to me that, so far, she has not shown herself madly +in love with you.” + +“Ah, madly! Do you know many women who love madly with their hearts +and souls? You talk like a college braggart. There are conquerors like +yourself who, if we are to believe them, would devour a whole convent +at their breakfast. These men excite my pity. As for me, really, I have +always felt that it was most difficult to make one’s self really loved. +In these days of prudery, almost all women of rank appear ‘frappe a la +glace’, like a bottle of champagne. It is necessary to thaw them first, +and there are some of them whose shells are so frigid that they would +put out the devil’s furnace. They call this virtue; I call it social +servitude. But what matters the name? the result is the same.” + +“But, really, are you sure that Madame de Bergenheim loves you?” asked +Marillac, emphasizing the word “love” so strongly as to attract his +friend’s attention. + +“Sure? of course I am!” replied the latter. “Why do you ask me?” + +“Because, when you are not quite so angry, I want to ask you something.” + He hesitated a moment. “If you learned that she cares more for another +than for you, what would you do?” + +Gerfaut looked at him and smiled disdainfully. + +“Listen!” said he, “you have heard me storm and curse, and you took this +nonsense for genuine hatred. My good fellow! do you know why I raved +in such a manner? It was because, knowing my temperament, I felt the +necessity of getting angry and giving vent to what was in my heart. If +I had not employed this infallible remedy, the annoyance which this note +caused me would have disturbed my nerves all night, and when I do not +sleep my complexion is more leaden than usual and I have dark rings +under my eyes.” + +“Fop!” + +“Simpleton!” + +“Why simpleton?” + +“Do you take me for a dandy? Do you not understand why I wish to sleep +soundly? It is simply because I do not wish to appear before her with a +face like a ghost. That would be all that was needed to encourage her in +her severity. I shall take good care that she does not discover how hard +her last thrust has hit me. I would give you a one-hundred-franc note +if I could secure for to-morrow morning your alderman’s face and your +complexion a la Teniers.” + +“Thanks, we are not masquerading just at present.” + +“Nevertheless, all that you have said does not prove in the slightest +that she loves you.” + +“My dear Marillac, words may have escaped me in my anger which have +caused you to judge hastily. Now that I am calm and that my remedy has +brought back my nervous system to its normal state, I will explain to +you my real position. She is my Galatea, I her Pygmalion. ‘An allegory +as old as the world,’ you are about to say; old or not, it is my true +story. I have not yet broken the marble-virtue, education, propriety, +duty, prejudices--which covers the flesh of my statue; but I am nearing +my goal and I shall reach it. Her desperate resistance is the very proof +of my progress. It is a terrible step for a woman to take, from No to +Yes. My Galatea begins to feel the blows from my heart over her heart +and she is afraid--afraid of the world, of me, of her husband, of +herself, of heaven and hell. Do you not adore women who are afraid of +everything? She, love another! never! It is written in all eternity that +she shall be mine. What did you wish to say to me?” + +“Nothing, since you are so sure of her.” + +“Sure--more than of my eternal life! But I wish to know what you mean.” + +“But you won’t be told just a suspicion that came to me; something that +was told to me the other day; a conjecture so vague that it would be +useless to dwell upon it.” + +“I am not good at guessing enigmas,” said Octave, in a dry tone. + +“We will speak of this again to-morrow.” + +“As you like,” replied the lover, with somewhat affected indifference. +“If you wish to play the part of Iago with me, I warn you I am not +disposed to jealousy.” + +“To-morrow, I tell you, I shall enlighten myself as to this affair; +whatever the result of my inquiries may be, I will tell you the truth. +After all, it was nothing but woman’s gossip.” + +“Very well, take your time. But I have another favor to ask of you. +Tomorrow I shall try to persuade the ladies to take a walk in the park. +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil will probably not go; you must do me the +favor of sticking to Bergenheim and the little sister, and gradually +to walk on ahead of us, in such a way as to give me an opportunity of +speaking with this cruel creature alone for a few moments; for she has +given me to understand that I shall not succeed in speaking with her +alone under any circumstances, and it is absolutely necessary that I +should do so.” + +“There will be one difficulty in the way, though--they expect about +twenty persons at dinner, and all her time will probably be taken up +with her duties as hostess.” + +“That is true,” exclaimed Gerfaut, jumping up so suddenly that he upset +his chair. + +“You still forget that Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s room is beneath us.” + +“The devil is playing her hand!” exclaimed the lover, as he paced the +room in long strides. “I wish that during the night he would wring the +neck of all these visitors. Now; then, she has her innings. Today and +tomorrow this little despot’s battle of Ligny will be fought and won; +but the day after to-morrow, look out for her Waterloo!” + +“Good-night, my Lord Wellington,” said Marillac, as he arose and took up +his candlestick. + +“Good-night, Iago! Ah! you think you have annoyed me with your +mysterious words and melodramatic reticence?” + +“To-morrow! to-morrow!” replied the artist as he left the room. + + “Ce secret-la + Se trahira.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. A QUARREL + +The next morning, before most of the inhabitants of the chateau had +thought of leaving their beds, or at least their rooms, a man, on +horseback, and alone, took his departure through a door opening from the +stable-yard into the park. He wore a long travelling redingote trimmed +with braid and fur, rather premature clothing for the season, but which +the sharp cold air that was blowing at this moment made appear very +comfortable. He galloped away, and continued this pace for about +three-quarters of a mile, in spite of the unevenness of the road, which +followed a nearly straight line over hilly ground. It would have been +difficult to decide which to admire more, the horse’s limbs or the +rider’s lungs; for the latter, during this rapid ride, had sung without +taking breath, so to speak, the whole overture to Wilhelm Tell. We +must admit that the voice in which he sang the andante of the Swiss +mountaineer’s chorus resembled a reed pipe more than a hautboy; but, to +make amends when he reached the presto, his voice, a rather good bass, +struck the horse’s ears with such force that the latter redoubled his +vigor as if this melody had produced upon him the effect of a trumpet +sounding the charge on the day of battle. + +The traveller, whom we have probably recognized by his musical feat, +concluded his concert by stopping at the entrance to some woods which +extended from the top of the rocks to the river, breaking, here and +there, the uniformity of the fields. After gazing about him for some +time, he left the road and, entering the woods on the right, stopped at +the foot of a large tree. Near this tree was a very small brook, which +took its source not far away and descended with a sweet murmur to the +river, making a narrow bed in the clayey ground which it watered. Such +was the modesty of its course that a little brighter green and fresher +grass a few feet away from it were the only indications of its presence. +Nothing was wanting to make this an idyllic place for a rendezvous, +neither the protecting shade, the warbling of birds in the trees, the +picturesque landscape surrounding it, nor the soft grass. + +After dismounting from his steed and tying him to the branches of an +oak, thus conforming to the time-honored custom of lovers, the cavalier +struck his foot upon the ground three or four times to start the +circulation in his legs, and then drew from his pocket a very pretty +Breguet watch. + +“Ten minutes past eight,” said he; “I am late and yet I am early. It +looks as if the clocks at La Fauconnerie were not very well regulated.” + He walked up and down with a quick step whistling with a vengeance: + + “Quand je quittai la Normandie + J’attends--j’attends--” + +a refrain which the occasion brought to his mind. When this pastime was +exhausted he had recourse to another, the nature of which proved that if +the expected beauty had not punctuality for a virtue, she was not one of +those little exacting creatures always ready to faint or whose delicate +nerves make them intolerant of their lovers’ imperfections. Plunging his +hand into one of the pockets in his redingote, the waiting cavalier drew +out a sealskin case filled with Havana cigars, and, lighting one, began +to smoke, while continuing his promenade. + +But at the end of a few moments this palliative, like the first, had +exhausted its effect. + +“Twenty-five minutes past eight!” exclaimed Marillac, as he looked +at his watch a second time; “I should like to know what this little +miniature rose takes me for? It was hardly worth the trouble of +over-straining this poor horse, who looks as wet as if he had come out +of the river. It is enough to give him inflammation of the lungs. If +Bergenheim were to see him sweating and panting like this in this bleak +wind, he would give me a sound blowing-up. Upon my word, it is becoming +comical! There are no more young girls! I shall see her appear presently +as spruce and conceited as if she had been playing the finest trick in +the world. It will do for once; but if we sojourn in these quarters some +time yet, she must be educated and taught to say, ‘If you please’ and +‘Thanks.’ Ah! ha! she has no idea what sort of man she is dealing with! +Half past eight! If she is not here in five minutes I shall go to La +Fauconnerie and raise a terrible uproar. I will break every bit of +crockery there is in the ‘Femme-sans-Tete’ with blows from my whip. What +can I do to kill time?” He raised his head quickly, as he felt himself +suddenly almost smothered under a shower of dust. This was a fatal +movement for him, for his eyes received part of the libation destined +for his hair. He closed them with a disagreeable sensation, after seeing +Mademoiselle Reine Gobillot’s fresh, chubby face, her figure prim beyond +measure in a lilac-and-green plaid gingham dress, and carrying a basket +on her arm, a necessary burden to maidens of a certain class who play +truant. + +“What sort of breeding is this?” exclaimed Marillac, rubbing his eyes; +“you have made me dance attendance for an hour and now you have blinded +me. I do not like this at all, you understand.” + +“How you scold me, just for a little pinch of dust!” replied Reine, +turning as red as a cherry as she threw the remainder of the handful +which she had taken from a mole-heap close by them. + +“It is because it smarts like the devil,” replied the artist, in a +milder tone, for he realized the ridiculousness of his anger; “since you +have hurt me, try at least to ease the pain; they say that to blow in +the eye will cure it.” + +“No. I’ll do nothing of the kind--I don’t like to be spoken to harshly.” + +The artist arose at once as he saw the young girl make a movement as if +to go; he put his arm about her waist and half forced her to sit beside +him. + +“The grass is damp and I shall stain my dress,” said she, as a last +resistance. + +A handkerchief was at once spread upon the ground, in lieu of a carpet, +by the lover, who had suddenly become very polite again. + +“Now, my dear Reine,” continued he, “will you tell me why you come +so late? Do you know that for an hour I have been tearing my hair in +despair?” + +“Perhaps the dust will make it grow again,” she replied, with a +malicious glance at Marillac, whose head was powdered with brown dust as +if a tobacco-box had been emptied upon it. + +“Naughty girl!” he exclaimed, laughing, although his eyes looked as +if he were crying; and, acting upon the principle of retaliation less +odious in love than in war, he tried to snatch a kiss to punish her. + +“Stop that, Monsieur Marillac! you know very well what you promised me.” + +“To love you forever, you entrancing creature,” said he, in the voice of +a crocodile that sighs to attract his prey. + +Reine pursed up her lips and assumed important airs, but, in order to +obey the feminine instinct which prescribes changing the subject of +conversation after too direct an avowal, with the firm intention of +returning to it later through another channel, she said: + +“What were you doing just as I arrived? You were so busy you did not +hear me coming. You were so droll; you waved your arms in the air and +struck your forehead as you talked.” + +“I was thinking of you.” + +“But it was not necessary, in order to do that, to strike your head with +your fist. It must have hurt you.” + +“Adorable woman!” exclaimed the artist, in a passionate tone. + +“Mon Dieu! how you frighten me. If I had known I would not have come +here at all. I must go away directly.” + +“Leave me already, queen of my heart! No! do not expect to do that; I +would sooner lose my life--” + +“Will you stop! what if some one should hear you? they might be +passing,” said Reine, gazing anxiously about her. “If you knew how +frightened I was in coming! I told mamma that I was going to the mill +to see my uncle; but that horrid old Lambernier met me just as I entered +the woods. What shall I do if he tells that he saw me? This is not +the road to the mill. It is to be hoped that he has not followed me! I +should be in a pretty plight!” + +“You can say that you came to gather berries or nuts, or to hear the +nightingale sing; Mother Gobillot will not think anything of it. Who is +this Lambernier?” + +“You know--the carpenter. You saw him at our house the other day.” + +“Ah! ah!” said Marillac, with interest, “the one who was turned away +from the chateau?” + +“Yes, and they did well to do it, too; he is a downright bad man.” + +“He is the one who told you something about Madame de Bergenheim. Tell +me the story. Your mother interrupted us yesterday just as you began +telling it to me.--What was it that he said?” + +“Oh! falsehoods probably. One can not believe anything that he says.” + +“But what did he tell you?” + +“What difference does it make to you what is said about the Baroness?” + replied the young girl, rather spitefully, as she saw that Marillac was +not occupied in thinking of her exclusively. + +“Pure curiosity. He told you then that he would tell the Baron what he +knew, and that the latter would give him plenty of money to make him +keep silent?” + +“It makes no difference what he told me. Ask him if you wish to know. +Why did you not stay at the chateau if you can think only of the +Baroness? Are you in love with her?” + +“I am in love with you, my dear. [The devil take me if she is not +jealous now! How shall I make her talk?] I am of the same opinion as +you,” he replied, in a loud voice, “that all this talk of Lambernier’s +is pure calumny.” + +“There is no doubt about it. He is well known about the place; he has a +wicked tongue and watches everything that one does or says in order to +report it at cross-purposes. Mon Dieu! suppose he should make some story +out of his seeing me enter these woods!” + +“Madame de Bergenheim,” continued the artist, with affectation, “is +certainly far above the gossip of a scoundrel of this kind.” + +Reine pursed up her lips, but made no reply. + +“She has too many good qualities and virtues for people to believe +anything he says.” + +“Oh, as to that, there are hypocrites among the Parisian ladies as well +as elsewhere,” said the young girl, with a sour look. + +“Bless me!” thought Marillac, “we have it now. I’d wager my last franc +that I’ll loosen her tongue.” + +“Madame de Bergenheim,” he replied, emphasizing each word, “is such a +good woman, so sensible and so pretty!” + +“Mon Dieu! say that you love her at once, then--that’ll be plain talk,” + exclaimed Reine, suddenly disengaging herself from the arm which was +still about her waist. “A great lady who has her carriages and footmen +in livery is a conquest to boast of! While a country girl, who has only +her virtue--” + +She lowered her eyes with an air of affected modesty, and did not finish +her sentence. + +“A virtue which grants a rendezvous at the end of three days’ +acquaintance, and in the depths of the woods! That is amusing!” thought +the artist. + +“Still, you will not be the first of the fine lady’s lovers,” she +continued, raising her head and trying to conceal her vexation under an +ironical air. + +“These are falsehoods.” + +“Falsehoods, when I tell you that I know what I am speaking about! +Lambernier is not a liar.” + +“Lambernier is not a liar?” repeated a harsh, hoarse voice, which seemed +to come from the cavity of the tree under which they were seated. “Who +has said that Lambernier was a liar?” + +At the same moment, the carpenter in person suddenly appeared upon the +scene. He stood before the amazed pair with his brown coat thrown over +his shoulders, as usual, and his broad-brimmed gray hat pulled down over +his ears, gazing at them with his deep, ugly eyes and a sardonic laugh +escaping from his lips. + +Mademoiselle Reine uttered a shriek as if she had seen Satan rise up +from the ground at her feet; Marillac rose with a bound and seized his +whip. + +“You are a very insolent fellow,” said he, in his ringing bass voice. +“Go your way!” + +“I receive no such orders,” replied the workman, in a tone which +justified the epithet which had just been bestowed upon him; “we are +upon public ground, and I have a right to be here as well as you.” + +“If you do not take to your heels at once,” said the artist, becoming +purple with rage, “I will cut your face in two.” + +“Apples are sometimes cut in two,” said Lambernier, sneeringly advancing +his face with an air of bravado. “My face is not afraid of your whip; +you can not frighten me because you are a gentleman and I am a workman! +I snap my fingers at bourgeois like--” + +This time he did not have time to finish his comparison; a blow from the +whip cut him in the face and made him reel in spite of himself. + +“By heaven!” he exclaimed, in a voice like thunder, “may I lose my name +if I do not polish you off well!” + +He threw his coat on the grass, spat, in his hands and rubbed them +together, assuming the position of an athlete ready for a boxing-bout. + +Mademoiselle Gobillot, arose, trembling with fright at this +demonstration, and uttered two or three inarticulate cries; but, instead +of throwing herself between the combatants in the approved style, she +ran away as fast as she could. + +Although the weapons of the adversaries were not of a nature to +spill blood upon the turf, there was something warlike about their +countenances which would have done honor to ancient paladins. Lambernier +squatting upon his legs, according to the rules of pugilism, and with +his fists on a level with his shoulders, resembled, somewhat, a cat +ready to bound upon its prey. The artist stood with his body thrown +backward, his legs on a tension, his chin buried up to his moustache +in the fur collar of his coat, with whip lowered, watching all his +adversary’s movements with a steady eye. When he saw the carpenter +advancing toward him, he raised his arm and gave him on the left side a +second lash from his whip, so vigorously applied that the workman beat a +retreat once more, rubbing his hands and roaring: + +“Thunder! I’ll finish you--” + +He put his hands in his trousers’ pockets and drew out one of those +large iron compasses such as carpenters use, and opened it with a rapid +movement. He then seized it in the centre and was thus armed with a +sort of double-pointed stiletto, which he brandished with a threatening +gesture. + +Marillac, at this sight, drew back a few paces, passed his whip to his +left hand and, arming himself with his Corsican poniard, placed himself +in a position of defence. + +“My friend,” said he, with perfect deliberation, “my needle is shorter +than yours, but it pricks better. If you take one step nearer me, if you +raise your hand, I will bleed you like a wild boar.” + +Seeing the firm attitude of the artist, whose solid figure seemed to +denote rather uncommon vigor, and whose moustache and sparkling eyes +gave him a rather formidable aspect at this moment; above all, when he +saw the large, sharp blade of the poniard, Lambernier stopped. + +“By the gods!” exclaimed Marillac, who saw that his bold looks had +produced their effect, “you are a Provencal, and I a Gascon. You have a +quick hand, comrade--” + +“But, by Jove! you are the one who has the quick hand; you struck me +with your whip as if I had been a horse. You have put my eye almost +out. Do you imagine that I am well provided for like yourself and have +nothing to do but to flirt with girls? I need my eyes in order to work, +by God! Because you are a bourgeois and I am a workman--” + +“I am not more of a bourgeois than you,” replied the artist, rather glad +to see his adversary’s fury exhaust itself in words, and his attitude +assume a less threatening character; “pick up your compass and return +to your work. Here,” he added, taking two five-franc pieces from his +pocket. “You were a little boorish and I a little hasty. Go and bathe +your eyes with a glass of wine.” + +Lambernier scowled and his eyes darted ugly, hateful glances. He +hesitated a moment, as if he were thinking what he had better do, and +was weighing his chances of success in case of a hostile resolve. After +a few moments’ reflection, prudence got the better of his anger. He +closed his compass and put it in his pocket, but he refused the silver +offered him. + +“You are generous,” said he, with a bitter smile; “five francs for each +blow of the whip! I know a good many people who would offer you their +cheek twelve hours of the day at that price. But I am not one of that +kind; I ask nothing of nobody.” + +“If Leonardo da Vinci could have seen this fellow’s face just now,” + thought the artist, “he would not have had to seek so long for his model +for the face of Judas. Only for my poniard, my fate would have been +settled. This man was ready to murder me.” + +“Listen, Lambernier,” said he, “I was wrong to strike you, and I would +like to atone for it. I have been told that you were sent away from +the chateau against your will. I am intimate enough with Monsieur de +Bergenheim to be useful to you; do you wish me to speak to him for you?” + +The carpenter stood motionless in his place, with his eyes fixed upon +his adversary while the latter was preparing his horse to mount, eyes +which seemed filled with hatred to their very depths. His face suddenly +changed its expression and became abjectly polite when he heard himself +addressed anew. He shook his head two or three times before replying. + +“Unless you are the very devil,” he said, “I defy you to make this +gentleman say yes when he has once said no. He turned me away like a +dog; all right. Let them laugh that win. It was that old idiot of +a Rousselet and that old simpleton of a coachman of Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil’s who told tales about me. I could tell tales also if I +liked.” + +“But what motive could they have to send you away?” continued Marillac, +“you are a clever workman. I have seen your work at the chateau; there +are some rooms yet unfinished; there must have been some very grave +reason for their not employing you just at the moment when they needed +you most.” + +“They said that I talked with Mademoiselle Justine, and Madame caused me +to be discharged. She is mistress there, is she not? But I am the one to +make her repent for it.” + +“And how can you make her repent for it?” asked the artist, whose +curiosity, left ungratified by Mademoiselle Reine, was growing more and +more excited, “what can you have in common with Madame la Baronne?” + +“Because she is a lady and I am a workman, you mean? All the same, if I +could only whisper two or three words in her ear, she would give me more +gold than I have earned since I worked at the chateau, I am sure of it.” + +“By the powers! if I were in your place, I would say those words to her +this very day.” + +“So as to be thrown out by that band of idle fellows in their red coats. +None of that for me. I have my own scheme; let them laugh that win!” + +As he repeated this proverb, the workman uttered his usual sardonic +laugh. + +“Lambernier,” said the artist, in a serious tone, “I have heard of +certain very strange speeches that you have made within the last few +days. Do you know that there is a punishment by law for those who invent +calumnies?” + +“Is it a calumny, when one can prove what he says?” replied the +carpenter, with assurance. + +“What is it that you undertake to prove?” exclaimed Marillac, suddenly. + +“Eh! you know very well that if Monsieur le Baron--” he did not +continue, but with a coarse gesture he finished explaining his thoughts. + +“You can prove this?” + +“Before the courts, if necessary.” + +“Before the courts would not amount to very much for you; but if you +will cease this talk and never open your mouth about all this, whatever +it may be, and will give to me, and me only, this proof of which you +speak, I will give you ten napoleons.” + +For a moment Lambernier gazed at the artist with a singularly +penetrating glance. + +“So you have two sweethearts, then--one from the city and one from the +country, a married woman and this poor girl,” said he, in a jeering +tone; “does little Reine know that she is playing second fiddle?” + +“What do you mean to insinuate?” + +“Oh! you are more clever than I.” + +The two men looked at each other in silence, trying to read each other’s +thoughts. + +“This is a lover of Madame de Bergenheim,” thought Lambernier, with the +barefaced impudence of his kind; “if I were to tell him what I know, +my vengeance would be in good hands, without my taking the trouble to +commit myself.” + +“Here is a sneaking fellow who pretends to be deucedly strong in +diplomacy,” said Marillac to himself; “but he is revengeful and I must +make him explain himself.” + +“Ten napoleons are not to be found every day,” continued the carpenter, +after a moment’s silence; “you may give them to me, if you like, in a +week.” + +“You will be able to prove to me, then, what you have said,” replied +Marillac, with hesitation, blushing in spite of himself at the part he +was playing at that moment, upon the odious side of which he had not +looked until now. “Bah!” said he to himself, in order to quiet his +conscience, “if this rascal really knows anything it is much better that +I should buy the secret than anybody else. I never should take advantage +of it, and I might be able to render the lady a service. Is it not a +gentleman’s sworn duty to devote himself to the defence of an imprudent +beauty who is in danger?” + +“I will bring you the proof you want,” said the carpenter. + +“When?” + +“Meet me Monday at four o’clock in the afternoon at the cross-roads near +the corner of the Come woods.” + +“At the end of the park?” + +“Yes, a little above the rocks.” + +“I will be there. Until then, you will not say a word to anybody?” + +“That is a bargain, since you buy the goods I have for sale--” + +“Here is some money to bind the trade,” replied the artist. And he +handed him the silver pieces he still held in his hand; Lambernier took +them this time without any objections, and put them in his pocket. + +“Monday, at four o’clock!” + +“Monday, at four o’clock!” repeated Marillac, as he mounted his horse +and rode away in great haste as if eager to take leave of his companion. +He turned when he reached the road, and, looking behind him, saw the +workman standing motionless at the foot of the tree. + +“There is a scamp,” thought he, “whose ball and chain are waiting for +him at Toulon or Brest, and I have just concluded a devilish treaty with +him. Bah! I have nothing to reproach myself with. Of two evils choose +the least; it remains to be seen whether Gerfaut is the dupe of a +coquette or whether his love is threatened with some catastrophe; at all +events, I am his friend, and I ought to clear up this mystery and put +him on his guard.” + +“Ten francs to-day, and ten napoleons Monday,” said Lambernier as, with +an eye in which there was a mixture of scorn and hatred, he watched the +traveller disappear. “I should be a double idiot to refuse. But this +does not pay for the blows from your whip, you puppy; when we have +settled this affair of the fine lady, I shall attend to you.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. AN INHARMONIOUS MUSICALE + +The visitors referred to in the conversation between the two friends +arrived at the castle at an early hour, according to the custom in the +country, where they dine in the middle of the day. Gerfaut saw from +his chamber, where he had remained like Achilles under his tent, half +a dozen carriages drive one after another up the avenue, bringing the +guests announced by Marillac. Little by little the company scattered +through the gardens in groups; four or five young girls under Aline’s +escort hurried to a swing, to which several good-natured young men +attached themselves, and among them Gerfaut recognized his Pylades. +During this time Madame de Bergenheim was doing the honors of the house +to the matrons, who thought this amusement too youthful for their age +and preferred a quiet walk through the park. Christian, on his side, +was explaining methods of improvements to gentlemen of agricultural and +industrial appearance, who seemed to listen to him with great interest. +Three or four others had taken possession of the billiard-table; while +the more venerable among the guests had remained in the parlor with +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil. + +“Have you a pair of clean trousers?” asked Marillac, hastily entering +his friend’s room as the first bell rang for dinner. An enormous green +stain upon one of his knees was all the explanation necessary on this +subject. + +“You, lose no time,” said Gerfaut, as he opened a drawer in his closet. +“Which of these rustic beauties has had the honor of seeing you on your +knees at her feet?” + +“It was that confounded swing! Silly invention! To sacrifice one’s self +to please little girls! If I am ever caught at it again I’ll let you +know! Your selfish method is a better, one. By the way, Madame de +Bergenheim asked me, with a rather sly look, whether you were ill and +whether you would not come down to dinner?” + +“Irony!” + +“It: seemed like it. The lady smiled in a decidedly disagreeable manner. +I am not timid, but I would rather write a vaudeville in three acts than +to be obliged to make a declaration to her if she had that impish smile +on her lips. She has a way of protruding her under lip-ugh! do you know +you are terribly slender? Will you let me cut the band of your trousers? +I never could dance with my stomach compressed in this manner.” + +“What about this secret you were to reveal to me?” Gerfaut interrupted, +with a smile which seemed to denote perfect security. + +Marillac looked at his friend with a grave countenance, then began to +laugh in an embarrassed manner. + +“We will leave serious matters until to-morrow,” he replied. “The +essential thing to-day is to make ourselves agreeable. Madame de +Bergenheim asked me a little while ago whether we would be kind enough +to sing a few duets? I accepted for us both. I do not suppose that the +inhabitants of this valley have often heard the duet from Mose with the +embellishments a la Tamburini: + + Palpito a quello aspetto, + ‘Gemo nel suo dolor.’ + +“Would you prefer that or the one from ‘Il Barbiere’? although that is +out of date, now.” + +“Whatever pleases you, but do not split my head about it in advance. I +wish that music and dancing were at the bottom of the Moselle.” + +“With all my heart, but not the dinner. I gave a glance into the +dining-room; it promises to be very fine. Now, then, everybody has +returned to the house; to the table!” + +The time has long since passed when Paris and the province formed two +regions almost foreign to each other. To-day, thanks to the rapidity of +communication, and the importations of all kinds which reach the centre +from the circumference without having time to spoil on the way, Paris +and the rest of France are only one immense body excited by the same +opinions, dressed in the same fashions, laughing at the same bon mot, +revolutionized by the same opinions. + +Provincial customs have almost entirely lost their peculiarities; +a drawing-room filled with guests is the same everywhere. There are +sometimes exceptions, however. The company gathered at the Bergenheim +chateau was an example of one of those heterogeneous assemblies which +the most exclusive mistress of a mansion can not avoid if she wishes to +be neighborly, and in which a duchess may have on her right at the table +the village mayor, and the most elegant of ladies a corpulent justice of +the peace who believes he is making himself agreeable when he urges his +fair neighbor to frequent potations. + +Madame de Bergenheim had discovered symptoms of haughty jealousy among +her country neighbors, always ready to feel themselves insulted and +very little qualified to make themselves agreeable in society. So she +resolved to extend a general invitation to all those whom she felt +obliged to receive, in order to relieve herself at once of a nuisance +for which no pleasure could prove an equivalent. This day was one of her +duty days. + +Among these ladies, much more gorgeously than elegantly attired, these +healthy young girls with large arms, and feet shaped like flat-irons, +ponderous gentlemen strangled by their white cravats and puffed up in +their frock-coats, Gerfaut, whose nervous system had been singularly +irritated by his disappointment of the night before, felt ready to burst +with rage. He was seated at the table between two ladies, who seemed to +have exhausted, in their toilettes, every color in the solar spectrum, +and whose coquettish instincts were aroused by the proximity of a +celebrated writer. But their simperings were all lost; the one for whom +they were intended bore himself in a sulky way, which fortunately passed +for romantic melancholy; this rendered him still more interesting in the +eyes of his neighbor on the left, a plump blonde about twenty-five years +old, fresh and dimpled, who doted upon Lord Byron, a common pretension +among pretty, buxom women who adore false sentimentality. + +With the exception of a bow when he entered the drawing-room, Octave +had not shown Madame de Bergenheim any attention. The cold, disdainful, +bored manner in which he patiently endured the pleasures of the day +exceeded even the privilege for boorish bearing willingly granted to +gentlemen of unquestionable talent. Clemence, on the contrary, seemed to +increase in amiability and liveliness. There was not one of her tiresome +guests to whom she did not address some pleasant remark, not one +of those vulgar, pretentious women to whom she was not gracious and +attentive; one would have said that she had a particular desire to +be more attractive than usual, and that her lover’s sombre air added +materially to her good humor. + +After dinner they retired to the drawing-room where coffee was served. A +sudden shower, whose drops pattered loudly against the windows, rendered +impossible all plans for amusement out of doors. Gerfaut soon noticed a +rather animated conversation taking place between Madame de Bergenheim, +who was somewhat embarrassed as to how to amuse her guests for the +remainder of the afternoon, and Marillac, who, with his accustomed +enthusiasm, had constituted himself master of ceremonies. A moment +later, the drawing-room door opened, and servants appeared bending +under the burden of an enormous grand piano which was placed between +the windows. At this sight, a tremor of delight ran through the group +of young girls, while Octave, who was standing in one corner near the +mantel, finished his Mocha with a still more melancholy air. + +“Now, then!” said Marillac, who had been extremely busy during these +preparations, and had spread a dozen musical scores upon the top of the +piano, “it is agreed that we shall sing the duet from Mose. There are +two or three little boarding-school misses here whose mothers are dying +for them to show off. You understand that we must sacrifice ourselves to +encourage them. Besides, a duet for male voices is the thing to open a +concert with.” + +“A concert! has Madame de Bergenheim arranged to pasture us in this +sheepfold in order to make use of us this evening?” replied Gerfaut, +whose ill-humor increased every moment. + +“Five or six pieces only, afterward they will have a dance. I have an +engagement with your diva; if you wish for a quadrille and have not +yet secured your number, I should advise you to ask her for it now, for +there are five or six dandies who seem to be terribly attentive to her. +After our duet I shall sing the trio from La Date Blanche, with those +young ladies who have eyes as round as a fish’s, and apricot-colored +gowns on--those two over there in the corner, near that pretty blonde +who sat beside you at table and ogled you all the time. She had already +bored me to death! I do not know whether I shall be able to hit my low +‘G’ right or not. I have a cataclysm of charlotte-russe in my stomach. +Just listen: + + ‘A cette complaisance!--’” + +Marillac leaned toward his friend and roared in his ear the note +supposed to be the “G” in question. + +“Like an ophicleide,” said Gerfaut, who could not help laughing at the +importance the artist attached to his display of talent. + +“In that case I shall risk my great run at the end of the first solo. +Two octaves from ‘E’ to ‘E’! Zuchelli was good enough to give me a few +points as to the time, and I do it rather nicely.” + +“Madame would like to speak to Monsieur,” said a servant, who +interrupted him in the midst of his sentence. + +“Dolce, soave amor,” warbled the artist, softly, as he responded to the +call from the lady of the house, trying to fix in his mind that run, +which he regarded as one of the most beautiful flowers in his musical +crown. + +Everybody was seated, Madame de Bergenheim sat at the piano and Marillac +stood behind her. The artist selected one of the scores, spread it out +on the rack, turned down the corners so that during the execution he +might not be stopped by some refractory leaf, coughed in his deep bass +voice, placed himself in such a manner as to show the side of his head +which he thought would produce the best effect upon the audience, then +gave a knowing nod to Gerfaut, who still stood gloomy and isolated in a +far corner. + +“We trespass upon your kindness too much, Monsieur,” said Madame de +Bergenheim to him, when he had responded to this mute invitation; and as +she struck a few chords, she raised her dark, brown eyes to his. It was +the first glance she had given him that day; from coquetry, perhaps, or +because sorrow for her lover had softened her heart, or because she felt +remorse for the extreme harshness of her note the night before, we +must admit that this glance had nothing very discouraging in it. Octave +bowed, and spoke a few words as coldly polite as he would have spoken to +a woman sixty years of age. + +Madame de Bergenheim lowered her eyes and endeavored to smile +disdainfully, as she struck the first bars of the duet. + +The concert began. Gerfaut had a sweet, clear, tenor voice which he used +skilfully, gliding over dangerous passages, skipping too difficult +ones which he thought beyond his execution, singing, in fact, with the +prudence of an amateur who can not spend his time studying runs and +chromatic passages four hours daily. He sang his solo with a simplicity +bordering upon negligence, and even substituted for the rather +complicated passage at the end a more than modest ending. + +Clemence, for whom he had often sung, putting his whole soul into the +performance, was vexed with this affectation of indifference. It seemed +to her as if he ought, for her sake, to make more of an effort in her +drawing-room, whatever might be their private quarrel; she felt it was +a consideration due to her and to which his numerous homages had +accustomed her. She entered this new grievance in a double-entry book, +which a woman always devotes to the slightest actions of the man who +pays court to her. + +Marillac, on the contrary, was grateful to his friend for this +indifference of execution, for he saw in it an occasion to shine at his +expense. He began his solo ‘E il ciel per noi sereno,’ with an unusual +tension of the larynx, roaring out his low notes. Except for the +extension being a little irregular and unconnected, he did not acquit +himself very badly in the first part. When he reached his final run, he +took a long breath, as if it devolved upon him to set in motion all the +windmills in Montmartre, and started with a majestic fury; the first +forty notes, while they did not resemble Mademoiselle Grisi’s pearly +tones, ascended and descended without any notable accident; but at the +last stages of the descent, the singer’s breath and voice failed him +at the same moment, the “A” came out weak, the “G” was stifled, the “F” + resembled the buzzing of a bee, and the “E” was absent! + +Zuchelli’s run was like one of those Gothic staircases which show an +almost complete state of preservation upon the upper floor, but whose +base, worn by time, leaves a solution of continuity between the ground +and the last step. + +Madame de Bergenheim waited the conclusion of this dangerous run, +not thinking to strike the final chord; the only sound heard was the +rustling of the dilettante’s beard, as his chin sought his voice in +vain in the depths of his satin cravat, accompanied by applause from a +benevolent old lady who had judged of the merit of the execution by the +desperate contortions of the singer. + +“D--n that charlotte-russe!” growled the artist, whose face was as red +as a lobster. + +The rest of the duet was sung without any new incident, and gave general +satisfaction. + +“Madame, your piano is half a tone too low,” said the basso, with a +reproachful accent. + +“That is true,” replied Clemence, who could not restrain a smile; “I +have so little voice that I am obliged to have my piano tuned to suit +it. You can well afford to pardon me for my selfishness, for you sang +like an angel.” + +Marillac bowed, partly consoled by this compliment, but thinking to +himself that a hostess’s first duty was to have her piano in tune, and +not to expose a bass singer to the danger of imperilling his low “E” + before an audience of forty. + +“Madame, can I be of any more service to you?” asked Gerfaut, as he +leaned toward Madame de Bergenheim, with one of his coldest smiles. + +“I do not wish to impose further upon your kindness, Monsieur,” said +she, in a voice which showed her secret displeasure. + +The poet bowed and walked away. + +Then Clemence, upon general request, sang a romance with more taste than +brilliancy, and more method than expression. It seemed as if Octave’s +icy manner had reacted upon her, in spite of the efforts she had made +at first to maintain a cheerful air. A singular oppression overcame her; +once or twice she feared her voice would fail her entirely. When she +finished, the compliments and applause with which she was overwhelmed +seemed so insupportable to her that it was with difficulty she could +restrain herself from leaving the room. While exasperated by her +weakness, she could not help casting a glance in Octave’s direction. She +could not catch his eye, however, as he was busy talking with Aline. +She felt so lonely and deserted at this moment, and longed so for this +glance which she could not obtain, that tears of vexation filled her +eyes. + +“I was wrong to write him as I did,” thought she; “but if he really +loved me, he would not so quickly resign himself to obeying me!” + +A woman in a drawing-room resembles a soldier on a breastwork; +self-abnegation is the first of her duties; however much she may suffer, +she must present as calm and serene a countenance as a warrior in the +hour of danger, and fall, if necessary, upon the spot, with death in her +heart and a smile upon her lips. In order to obey this unwritten law, +Madame de Bergenheim, after a slight interruption, seated herself at the +piano to accompany three or four young girls who were each to sing in +turn the songs that they had been drilled on for six months. + +Marillac, who had gone to strengthen his stomach with a glass of rum, +atoned for his little mishap, in the trio from La Dame Blanche, and +everything went smoothly. Finally, to close this concert (may heaven +preserve us from all exhibitions of this kind!), Aline was led to the +piano by her brother, who, like all people who are not musical, could +not understand why one should study music for years if not from love for +the art. Christian was fond of his little sister and very proud of her +talents. The poor child, whose courage had all disappeared, sang in a +fresh, trembling little voice, a romance revised and corrected at her +boarding-school. The word love had been replaced by that of friendship, +and to repair this slight fault of prosody, the extra syllable +disappeared in a hiatus which would have made Boileau’s blond wig stand +on end. But the Sacred Heart has a system of versification of its +own which, rather than allow the dangerous expression to be used, let +ultra-modesty destroy poetry! + +This sample of sacred music was the final number of the concert; after +that, they began dancing, and Gerfaut invited Aline. Whether because +he wished to struggle against his ill-humor, or from kindness of heart +because he understood her emotion, he began to talk with the young +girl, who was still blushing at her success. Among his talents, Octave +possessed in a peculiar degree that of adapting his conversation to +the age, position, and character of his companions. Aline listened with +unconcealed pleasure to her partner’s words; the elasticity of her step +and a sort of general trembling made her seem like a flower swaying to +the breeze, and revealed the pleasure which his conversation gave her. +Every time her eyes met Octave’s penetrating glance they fell, out of +instinctive modesty. Each word, however indifferent it might be, rang in +her ears sweet and melodious; each contact with his hand seemed to her +like a tender pressure. + +Gerfaut experienced a feeling of melancholy as he noticed how this +fresh, innocent rose brightened up at each word he uttered, and he +thought: + +“She would love me as I want to be loved, with all her heart, mind, +and soul. She would kneel before my love as before an altar, while this +coquette--” + +He glanced in the direction where Madame de Bergenheim was dancing with +Marillac, and met her gaze fixed full upon him. The glance which he +received was rapid, displeased, and imperious. It signified clearly: “I +forbid you to speak thus to your partner.” + +Octave, at that moment; was not disposed to obedience. After glancing +over the quadrille, as if it were by mere chance that his eyes had met +Clemence’s, he turned toward Aline and redoubled his amiability: + +A moment later, he received, not directly, but through the medium of the +mirror--that so often indiscreet confidant--a second glance more sombre +and threatening than before. + +“Very good,” said he, to himself, as he led the young girl to her +seat; “we are jealous. That alters the situation. I know now where the +ramparts are the weakest and where to begin my attack.” + +No other incident marked the day. The guests left at nightfall, and +the society was reduced to the usual members of the household. Octave +entered his room after supper, humming an Italian air, evidently in such +good spirits that his friend was quite surprised. + +“I give it up, I can not understand your conduct,” said the latter; “you +have been as solemn as an owl all day, and now here you are as gay as a +lark; have you had an understanding?” + +“I am more vexed than ever.” + +“And you enjoy being so?” + +“Very much.” + +“Ah! you are playing ‘who loses wins!’” + +“Not exactly; but as my good sentiments lead to nothing, I hope to +conduct myself in such a disagreeable way as to force this capricious +creature to adore me.” + +“The devil! that is clever. Besides, it is a system as good as any +other. Women are such extraordinary creatures!” + +“Woman,” said Octave, “resembles a pendulum, whose movement is a +continual reaction; when it moves to the right, it has to go to the left +in order to return to the right again, and so on. Suppose virtue is on +one side and love on the other, and the feminine balance between them, +the odds are that, having moved to the right in a violent manner, it +will return none the less energetically to the left; for the longer +a vibration has been, the greater play the contrary vibration has. In +order to hasten the action of this pendulum I am about to attach to +it--to act as extra balance-weight--a little anguish which I ought to +have employed sooner.” + +“Why make her suffer, since you believe that she loves you?” + +“Why? Because she drives me to it. Do you fancy that I torture her +willingly; that I take pleasure in seeing her cheeks grow pale from +insomnia and her eyes show traces of tears? I love her, I tell you; I +suffer and weep with her. But I love her, and I must make sure of her +love. If she will leave but a road full of brambles and sharp stones for +me to reach her, must I give up the struggle just because I run the risk +by taking her with me, of wounding her charming feet? I will cure them +with my kisses!” + +“Listen to me! I am not in love; I am an artist. If I have some peculiar +ideas, it is not my fault. And you, in your character of docile lover, +have you decided to yield?” + +“Morally.” + +“Very well! after all, you are right. The science of love resembles +those old signs upon which one reads: ‘Here, hair is dressed according +to one’s fancy.’ If this angel wishes her hair pulled, do it for her.” + + + + +BOOK 3. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. MONSIEUR DE BERGENHEIM + +Some men in society marry too soon, a great number too late, a small and +fortunate proportion at an opportune time. Young men in the country, +of good family, are usually established in marriage by their parents as +early as possible. When the family council finds an heiress who answers +all the conditions of the programme laid out, they begin by giving the +victim his cue. Provided the young lady has not a positively +crooked nose, arms too red, and too uncouth a waist--sometimes even +notwithstanding these little misfortunes--the transaction is concluded +without any difficulty. + +Clemence and Christian should be placed in the first rank of privileged +couples of this kind. The most fastidious old uncle or precise old +dowager could not discover the slightest pretense for criticism. Age, +social position, wealth, physical endowments, all seemed united by a +chance as rare as fortunate. So Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who had very +high pretensions for her niece, made no objection upon receiving the +first overtures. She had not, at this time, the antipathy for her future +nephew’s family which developed later. The Bergenheims were in her eyes +very well-born gentleman. + +A meeting took place at the Russian Embassy. Bergenheim came in uniform; +it was etiquette to do so, as the minister of war was present; but at +the same time, of course, there was a little vanity on his part, for +his uniform showed off his tall, athletic figure to the best advantage. +Christian was certainly a very handsome soldier; his moustache and +eyebrows were of a lighter tint than his complexion, and gave him that +martial air which pleases women. Clemence could find no reason for a +refusal. The way in which she had been brought up by her aunt had +not rendered her so happy but that she often desired to change her +situation. Like the greater number of young girls, she consented to +become a wife so as not to remain a maiden; she said yes, so as not to +say no. + +As to Christian, he was in love with his wife as nine out of ten cavalry +officers know how to love, and he seemed perfectly satisfied with the +sentiment that he received in return for this sudden affection. A few +successes with young belles, for whom an epaulette has an irresistible +attraction, had inspired Baron de Bergenheim with a confidence in +himself the simplicity of which excused the conceit. He persuaded +himself that he pleased Clemence because she suited him exactly. + +There are singers who pretend to read music at sight; give them a score +by Gluck--“I beg your pardon,” they will say, “my part is written here +in the key of ‘C’ and I sing only in the key of ‘G’!” How many men do +not know even the key of ‘G’ in matters of love! Unfortunately for him, +Bergenheim was one of that number. After three years of married life, +he had not divined the first note in Clemence’s character. He decided +in his own mind, at the end of a few months, that she was cold, if +not heartless. This discovery, which ought to have wounded his vanity, +inspired him, on the contrary, with a deeper respect for her; insensibly +this reserve reacted upon himself, for love is a fire whose heat dies +out for want of fuel, and its cooling off is more sudden when the flame +is more on the surface than in the depths. + +The revolution of 1830 stopped Christian’s career, and gave further +pretexts for temporary absences which only added to the coolness +which already existed between husband and wife. After handing in his +resignation, the Baron fixed his residence at his chateau in the Vosges +mountains, for which he shared the hereditary predilection of his +family. His tastes were in perfect harmony with this dwelling, for he +had quickly become the perfect type of a country gentleman, scorning the +court and rarely leaving his ancestral acres. He was too kind-hearted +to exact that his wife should share his country tastes and retired life. +The unlimited confidence which he had in her, a loyalty which never +allowed him to suppose evil or suspect her, a nature very little +inclined to jealousy, made him allow Clemence the greatest liberty. The +young woman lived at will in Paris with her aunt, or at Bergenheim +with her husband, without a suspicious thought ever entering his head. +Really,--what had he to fear? What wrong could she reproach him with? +Was he not full of kindness and attention toward her? Did he not leave +her mistress of her own fortune, free to do as she liked, to gratify +every caprice? He thus lived upon his faith in the marriage contract, +with unbounded confidence and old-fashioned loyalty. + +According to general opinion, Madame de Bergenheim was a very fortunate +woman, to whom virtue must be so easy that it could hardly be called a +merit. Happiness, according to society, consists in a box at the Opera, +a fine carriage, and a husband who pays the bills without frowning. Add +to the above privileges, a hundred thousand francs’ worth of diamonds, +and a woman has really no right to dream or to suffer. There are, +however, poor, loving creatures who stifle under this happiness as if +under one of those leaden covers that Dante speaks of; they breathe, in +imagination, the pure, vital air that a fatal instinct has revealed to +them; they struggle between duty and desire; they gaze, like captive +doves and with a sorrowful eye, upon the forbidden region where it would +be so blissful to soar; for, in fastening a chain to their feet, the +law did not bandage their eyes, and nature gave them wings; if the wings +tear the chain asunder, shame and misfortune await them! Society +will never forgive the heart that catches a glimpse of the joys it is +unacquainted with; even a brief hour in that paradise has to be expiated +by implacable social damnation and its everlasting flames. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. GERFAUT’S ALLEGORY + +There almost always comes a moment when a woman, in her combat against +love, is obliged to call falsehood to the help of duty. Madame de +Bergenheim had entered this terrible period, in which virtue, doubting +its own strength, does not blush to resort to other resources. At the +moment when Octave, a man of experience, was seeking assistance in +exciting her jealousy, she was meditating a plan of defence founded upon +deceit. In order to take away all hope from her lover, she pretended a +sudden affection for her husband, and in spite of her secret remorse +she persisted in this role for two days; but during the night her tears +expiated her treachery. Christian greeted his wife’s virtuous coquetry +with the gratitude and eagerness of a husband who has been deprived of +love more than he likes. Gerfaut was very indignant at the sight of this +perfidious manoeuvre, the intention of which he immediately divined; and +his rage wanted only provocation to break out in full force. + +One evening they were all gathered in the drawing-room with the +exception of Aline, whom a reprimand from Mademoiselle de Corandeuil +had exiled to her room. The old lady, stretched out in her chair, +had decided to be unfaithful to her whist in favor of conversation. +Marillac, leaning his elbows upon a round table, was negligently +sketching some political caricatures, at that time very much the +fashion, and particularly agreeable to the Legitimist party. Christian, +who was seated near his wife, whose hand he was pressing with caressing +familiarity, passed from one subject to another, and showed in his +conversation the overwhelming conceit of a happy man who regards his +happiness as a proof of superiority. + +Gerfaut, standing, gazed gloomily at Clemence, who leaned toward her +husband and seemed to listen eagerly to his slightest word. Bergenheim +was a faithful admirer of the classics, as are all country gentlemen, +who introduce a sentiment of propriety into their literary opinions +and prefer the ancient writers to the modern, for the reason that their +libraries are much richer in old works than in modern books. The Baron +unmercifully sacrificed Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas, whom he +had never read, upon the altar of Racine and Corneille, of which he +possessed two or three editions, and yet it would have embarrassed him +to recite half a dozen verses from them. Marillac boldly defended the +cause of contemporary literature, which he considered as a personal +matter, and poured out a profusion of sarcastic remarks in which there +was more wit than good taste. + +“The gods fell from Olympus, why should they not also fall from +Parnassus?” said the artist, finally, with a triumphant air. “Say what +you will, Bergenheim, your feeble opposition will not prevail against +the instincts of the age. The future is ours, let me tell you, and we +are the high priests of the new religion; is it not so, Gerfaut?” + +At these words, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil shook her head, gravely. + +“A new religion!” said she; “if this pretension should be verified you +would only be guilty of heresy, and, without allowing myself to be taken +in, I can understand how elevated minds and enthusiastic hearts might +be attracted by the promises of a deceptive Utopia; but you, gentlemen, +whom I believe to be sincere, do you not see to what an extent you +delude yourselves? What you call religion is the most absolute negation +of religious principles; it is the most distressing impiety ornamented +with a certain sentimental hypocrisy which has not even the courage +frankly to proclaim its principles.” + +“I swear to you, Mademoiselle, that I am religious three days out of +four,” replied Marillac; “that is something; there are some Christians +who are pious only on Sunday.” + +“Materialism is the source from which modern literature takes its +inspiration,” continued the old lady; “and this poisonous stream not +only dries up the thoughts which would expand toward heaven, but also +withers all that is noble in human sentiment. To-day, people are not +content to deny God, because they are not pure enough to comprehend +Him; they disown even the weakness of the heart, provided they have an +exalted and dignified character. They believe no longer in love. All +the women that your fashionable writers tell us about are vulgar and +sometimes unchaste creatures, to whom formerly a gentleman would have +blushed to give one glance or to offer a supper. I say this for your +benefit, Monsieur de Gerfaut, for in this respect you are far from being +irreproachable; and I could bring forth your books to support my theory. +If I accuse you of atheism, in love, what have you to say in reply?” + +Carried away by one of those impulsive emotions which men of imagination +can not resist, Octave arose and said: + +“I should not deny such an accusation. Yes, it is a sad thing, but +true, and only weak minds recoil from the truth: reality exists only in +material objects; all the rest is merely deception and fancy. All +poetry is a dream, all spiritualism a fraud! Why not apply to love the +accommodating philosophy which takes the world as it is, and does not +throw a savory fruit into the press under the pretext of extracting I +know not what imaginary essence? Two beautiful eyes, a satin skin, white +teeth, and a shapely foot and hand are of such positive and inestimable +value! Is it not unreasonable, then, to place elsewhere than in them +all the wealth of love? Intellect sustains its owner, they say; no, +intelligence kills. It is thought that corrupts sensation and causes +suffering where, but for that, joy would reign supreme. + +“Thought! accursed gift! Do we give or ask a thought of the rose +whose perfume we breathe? Why not love as we breathe? Would not woman, +considered simply as a perfectly organized vegetation, be the queen of +creation? Why not enjoy her perfume as we bend before her, leaving her +clinging to the ground where she was born and lives? Why tear her from +the earth, this flower so fresh, and have her wither in our hands as +we raise her up like an offering? Why make of so weak and fragile a +creature a being above all others, for whom our enthusiasm can find no +name, and then discover her to be but an unworthy angel? + +“Angel! yes, of course, but an angel of the Earth, not of Heaven; an +angel of flesh, not of light! By dint of loving, we love wrongly. We +place our mistress too high and ourselves too low; there is never +a pedestal lofty enough for her, according to our ideas. Fools! Oh! +reflection is always wise, but desire is foolish, and our conduct is +regulated by our desire. We, above all, with our active, restless minds, +blase in many respects, unbelieving in others and disrespectful in the +remainder, soar over life as over an impure lake, and look at everything +with contempt, seeking in love an altar before which we can humble our +pride and soften our disdain. + +“For there is in every man an insurmountable need to fall on his knees +before no matter what idol, if it remains standing and allows itself +to be adored. At certain hours, a prayerbell rings in the depth of +the heart, the sound of which throws him upon his knees as it cries: +‘Kneel!’ And then the very being who ignores God in His churches and +scorns kings upon their thrones, the being who has already exhausted the +hollow idols of glory and fame, not having a temple to pray in, makes a +fetich for himself in order to have a divinity to adore, so as not to +be alone in his impiety, and to see, above his head when he arises, +something that shall not be empty and vacant space. This man seeks a +woman, takes all that he has, talent passion, youth, enthusiasm, all the +wealth of his heart, and throws them at her feet like the mantle that +Raleigh spread out before Elizabeth, and he says to this woman: ‘Walk, +O my queen; trample under your blessed feet the heart of your adoring +slave!’ This man is a fool, is he not? For when the queen has passed, +what remains upon the mantle? Mud!” + +Gerfaut accompanied these words with such a withering glance that the +one for whom they were intended felt her blood freeze in her veins, and +withdrew the hand her husband had kept till then in his; she soon arose +and seated herself at the other side of the table, under the pretext +of getting nearer the lamp to work, but in reality in order to withdraw +from Christian’s vicinity. Clemence had expected her lover’s anger, +but not his scorn; she had not strength to endure this torture, and the +conjugal love which had, not without difficulty, inflamed her heart +for the last few days, fell to ashes at the first breath of Octave’s +indignation. + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil greeted the Vicomte’s words indulgently; for, +from consummate pride, she separated herself from other women. + +“So then,” said she, “you pretend that if to-day love is painted under +false and vulgar colors, the fault is the model’s, not the artist’s.” + +“You express my thought much better than I could have done it myself,” + said Gerfaut, in an ironical tone; “where are the angels whose portraits +are called for?” + +“They are in our poetical dreams,” said Marillac, raising his eyes to +the ceiling with an inspired air. + +“Very well! tell us your dreams then, instead of copying a reality which +it is impossible for you to render poetic, since you yourselves see it +without illusions.” + +Gerfaut smiled bitterly at this suggestion, artlessly uttered by the +Baron. + +“My dreams,” he replied, “I should tell them to you poorly indeed, for +the first blessing of the awakening is forgetfulness, and to-day I am +awake. However, I remember how I allowed myself to be once overcome by +a dream that has now vanished, but still emits its luminous trail in +my eyes. I thought I had discovered, under a beautiful and attractive +appearance, the richest treasure that the earth can bestow upon the +heart of man; I thought I had discovered a soul, that divine mystery, +deep as the ocean, ardent as a flame, pure as air, glorious as heaven +itself, infinite as space, immortal as eternity! It was another +universe, where I should be king. With what ardent and holy love I +attempted the conquest of this new world, but, less fortunate than +Columbus, I met with shipwreck instead of triumph.” + +Clemence, at this avowal of her lover’s defeat, threw him a glance of +intense contradiction, then lowered her eyes, for she felt her face +suffused with burning blushes. + +When he entered his room that night, Gerfaut went straight to the +window. He could see in the darkness the light which gleamed in +Clemence’s room. + +“She is alone,” said he to himself; “certainly heaven protects us, for +in the state of exasperation I am in, I should have killed them both.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV. DECLARATION OF WAR + +Far from rejoicing at this moment in the triumph he had just obtained, +Gerfaut fell into one of those attacks of disenchantment, during which, +urged on by some unknown demon, he unmercifully administered to himself +his own dreaded sarcasm. Being unable to sleep, he arose and opened his +window again, and remained with his elbows resting upon the sill for +some time. The night was calm, numberless stars twinkled in the heavens, +the moon bathed with its silvery light the tops of the trees, through +which a monotonous breeze softly rustled. After gazing at this +melancholy picture of sleeping nature, the poet smiled disdainfully, +and said to himself “This comedy must end. I can not waste my life +thus. Doubtless, glory is a dream as well as love; to pass the night +idiotically gazing at the moon and stars is, after all, as reasonable as +to grow pale over a work destined to live a day, a year, or a century! +for what renown lasts longer than that? If I were really loved, I should +not regret those wasted hours; but is it true that I am loved? There are +moments when I recover my coolness and clearness of mind, a degree of +self possession incompatible with the enthusiasm of genuine passion; +at other times, it is true, a sudden agitation renders me powerless and +leaves me as weak as a child. Oh, yes, I love her in a strange manner; +the sentiment that I feel for her has become a study of the mind as +well as an emotion of the heart, and that is what gives it its despotic +tenacity; for a material impression weakens and gradually dies out, but +when an energetic intelligence is brought to bear upon it, it becomes +desperate. I should be wrong to complain. Passion, a passive sentiment! +This word has a contradictory meaning for me. I am a lover as Napoleon +was an emperor: nobody forced the crown upon him, he took it and crowned +himself with his own hand. If my crown happens to be a thorny one, whom +can I accuse? Did not my brow crave it? + +“I have loved this woman of my own choosing, above all others; the +choice made, I have worked at my love as I would at a cherished poem; it +has been the subject of all my meditations, the fairy of all my dreams, +for more than a year. I have not had a thought in which I have not paid +her homage. I have devoted my talents to her; it seemed to me that by +loving and perpetually contemplating her image, I might at last become +worthy of painting it. I was conscious of a grand future, if only she +had understood me; I often thought of Raphael and his own Fornarina. +There is a throne vacant in poetry; I had dreamed of this throne in +order to lay it at Clemence’s feet. Oh! although this may never be more +than a dream, this dream has given me hours of incomparable happiness! I +should be ungrateful to deny it. + +“And yet this love is only a fictitious sentiment; I realize it today. +It is not with her that I am in love, it is with a woman created by my +imagination, and whom I see clearly within this unfeeling marble shape. +When we have meditated for a long time, our thoughts end by taking +life and walking by our side. I can now understand the allegory of Adam +taking Eve from his own substance; but flesh forms a palpitating flesh +akin to itself; the mind creates only a shadow, and a shadow can not +animate a dead body. Two dead bodies can not make a living one; a body +without a soul is only a cadaver--and she has no soul.” + +Gerfaut sat motionless for some time with his face buried in his hands; +suddenly he raised his head and burst into harsh laughter. + +“Enough of this soaring in the clouds!” he exclaimed; “let us come down +to earth again. It is permissible to think in verse, but one must act +in prose, and that is what I shall do tomorrow. This woman’s caprices, +which she takes for efforts of virtue, have made of me a cruel and +inexorable man; I have begged in vain for peace; if she wishes war, very +well, so be it, she shall have war.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. GERFAUT WINS A POINT + +For several days, Gerfaut followed, with unrelenting perseverance, the +plan which he had mapped out in that eventful night. The most exacting +woman could but appear satisfied with the politeness he displayed toward +Madame de Bergenheim, but nothing in his conduct showed the slightest +desire for an explanation. He was so careful of every look, gesture, +and word of his, that it would have been impossible to discover the +slightest difference in his actions toward Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, +and the manner in which he treated Clemence. His choicest attentions and +most particular efforts at amiability were bestowed upon Aline. He used +as much caution as cunning, in his little game, for he knew that in +spite of her inclination to be jealous, Madame de Bergenheim would never +believe in a sudden desertion, and that she would surely discover the +object of his ruse, if he made the mistake of exaggerating it in the +least. + +While renouncing the idea of a direct attack, he did not work with any +less care to fortify his position. He redoubled his activity in +widening the breach between the old aunt and the husband, following +the principles of military art, that one should become master of the +exterior works of a stronghold before seriously attacking its ramparts. + +It was, in a way, by reflection that Octave’s passion reached Clemence. +Every few moments she learned some detail of this indirect attack, to +which it was impossible for her to raise any objections. + +“Monsieur de Gerfaut has promised to spend a fortnight longer with us,” + said her aunt to her, in a jeering tone. + +“Really, Gerfaut is very obliging,” said her husband, in his turn; “he +thinks it very strange that we have not had a genealogical tree made +to put in the drawing-room. He pretends that it is an indispensable +complement to my collection of family portraits, and he offers to do me +the favor of assuming charge of it. It seems, from what your aunt tells +me, that he is very learned in heraldry. Would you believe it, he spent +the whole morning in the library looking over files of old manuscripts? +I am delighted, for this will prolong his stay here. He is a very +charming fellow; a Liberal in politics, but a gentleman at heart. +Marillac, who is a superb penman, undertakes to make a fair copy of the +genealogy and to illuminate the crests. Do you know, we can not find my +great-grandmother Cantelescar’s coat-of-arms? But, my darling, it seems +to me that you are not very kindly disposed toward your cousin Gerfaut.” + +Madame de Bergenheim, when these remarks and various others of a similar +nature came up, tried to change the conversation, but she felt +an antipathy for her husband bordering upon aversion. For lack of +intelligence is one of the faults women can pardon the least; they look +upon a confidence which is lulled into security by faith in their honor, +and a blindness which does not suspect the possibility of a fall, as +positive crimes. + +“Look at these pretty verses Monsieur de Gerfaut has written in my +album, Clemence,” said Aline, in her turn. During vacation, among her +other pleasures forbidden her at the Sacred Heart, the young girl +had purchased a superbly bound album, containing so far but two ugly +sketches in sepia, one very bad attempt in water-colors, and the verses +in question. She called this “my album!” as she called a certain little +blank book, “my diary!” To the latter she confided every night the +important events of the day. This book had assumed such proportions, +during the last few days, that it threatened to reach the dimensions of +the Duchesse d’Abrantes’ memoires, but if the album was free to public +admiration, nobody ever saw the diary, and Justine herself never had +been able to discover the sanctuary that concealed this mysterious +manuscript. + +Aline was not so pleasantly received as the others, and Madame de +Bergenheim hardly concealed the ill-humor her pretty sister-in-law’s +beaming face caused her every time Octave’s name was mentioned. + +The latter’s diplomatic conduct was bearing fruit, and his expectations +were being fulfilled with a precision which proved the correctness of +his calculations. + +In the midst of all the contradictory sentiments of fear, remorse, +vexation, love, and jealousy, Clemence’s head was so turned, at times, +that she did not know what she did want. She found herself in one of +those situations when a woman of a complex and mobile character whom all +sensations impress, passes, with surprising facility, from one resolve +to another entirely opposed to it. After being frightened beyond measure +by her lover’s presence in her husband’s house, she ended by becoming +accustomed to it, and then by ridiculing her first terror. + +“Truly,” she thought, at times, “I was too silly thus to torment myself +and make myself ill; I was wanting in self-respect to mistrust myself +to such an extent, and to see danger where there was none. He can +not expect to make himself so very formidable while scrawling this +genealogical tree. If he came one hundred leagues from Paris for that, +he really does not merit such severe treatment.” + +Then, having thus reassured herself against the perils of her position, +without realizing that to fear danger less was to embolden love, she +proceeded to examine her lover’s conduct. + +“He seems perfectly resigned,” she said, to herself; “not one word or +glance for two days! Since he resigns himself so easily, he might, it +seems to me, obey me entirely and go away; or, if he wishes to disobey +me, he might do it in a less disagreeable manner. For really, his manner +is almost rude; he might at least remember that I am his hostess, +and that he is in my house. I do not see what pleasure he can take in +talking to this little girl. I wager that his only object is to annoy +me! He deceives himself most assuredly; it is all the same to me! But +Aline takes all this seriously! She has become very coquettish, the last +few days! It certainly is very wrong for him to try to turn this child’s +head. I should like to know what he would say to justify himself.” + +Thus, little by little, she mentally reached the point to which Octave +wished to bring her. The desire for an explanation with him, which she +dared not admit to herself at first from a feeling of pride, became +greater from day to day, and at last Octave himself could not have +longed more ardently for an interview. Now that Octave seemed to forget +her, she realized that she loved him almost to adoration. She reproached +herself for her harshness toward him more than she had ever reproached +herself for her weakness. Her antipathy for all that did not concern +him increased to such a degree that the most simple of household duties +became odious to her. It seemed to her that all the people about her +were enemies bent upon separating her from happiness, for happiness was +Octave; and this happiness, made up of words, letters, glances from him, +was lost! + +The evening of the fourth day, she found this torture beyond her +strength. + +“I shall become insane,” she thought; “to-morrow I will speak to him.” + +Gerfaut was saying to himself, at nearly the same moment: “To-morrow I +will have a talk with her.” Thus, by a strange sympathy, their hearts +seemed to understand each other in spite of their separation. But what +was an irresistible attraction in Clemence was only a determination +resulting from almost a mathematical calculation on her lover’s part. +By the aid of this gift of second sight which intelligent men who are +in love sometimes possess, he had followed, degree by degree, the +variations of her heart, without her saying one word; and in spite of +the veil of scorn and indifference with which she still had the courage +to shield herself, he had not lost a single one of the tortures she had +endured for the last four days. Now he thought that he had discovered +enough to allow him to risk a step that, until then, he would have +deemed dangerous; and with the egotism common to all men, even the best +of lovers, he trusted in the weakness born of sorrow. + +The next day a hunting party was arranged with some of the neighbors. +Early in the morning, Bergenheim and Marillac started for the +rendezvous, which was at the foot of the large oak-tree where the +artist’s tete-a-tete had been so cruelly interrupted. Gerfaut refused to +join them, under the pretence of finishing an article for the ‘Revue de +Paris’, and remained at home with the three ladies. As soon as dinner +was ended, he went to his room in order to give a semblance of truth to +his excuse. + +He had been busying himself for some time trimming a quill pen at the +window, which looked out upon the park, when he saw in the garden, +directly beneath him, Constance’s forefeet and nose; soon the dog jumped +upon the sill in order to warm herself in the sun. + +“The old lady has entered her sanctuary,” thought Gerfaut, who knew that +it was as impossible to see Constance without her mistress as St.-Roch +without his dog. + +A moment later he saw Justine and Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s maid +starting off, arm in arm, as if they were going for a promenade. +Finally, he had hardly written half a page, when he noticed Aline +opposite his window, with a straw hat upon her head and a watering-pot +in her hand. A servant carried a bucket of water and placed it near a +mass of dahlias, which the young girl had taken under her protection, +and she at once set about her work with great zeal. + +“Now,” said Gerfaut, “let us see whether the place is approachable.” And +closing his desk, he stealthily descended the stairs. + +After crossing the vestibule on the first floor, and a small gallery +decorated with commonplace pictures, he found himself at the library +door. Thanks to the genealogical tree which he had promised to compile, +he possessed a key to this room, which was not usually open. By dint +of preaching about the danger in certain reading for young girls, +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil had caused this system of locking-up, +especially designed to preserve Aline from the temptation of opening +certain novels which the old lady rejected en masse. “Young girls +did not read novels in 1780,” she would say. This put an end to all +discussion and cut short the protestations of the young girl, who +was brought up exclusively upon a diet of Le Ragois and Mentelle’s +geography, and such solid mental food. + +Several large books and numerous manuscripts were spread out upon the +table in the library, together with a wide sheet of Holland paper, upon +which was sketched the family tree of the Bergenheims. Instead of going +to work, however, Gerfaut locked the door, and then went across the room +and pressed a little knob which opened a small door no one would have +noticed at first. + +Leather bands representing the binding of books, like those which +covered the rest of the walls, made it necessary for one to be informed +of the existence of this secret exit in order to distinguish it from the +rest of the room. This door had had a singular attraction for Gerfaut +ever since the day he first discovered it. After silently opening it, he +found himself in a small passage at the end of which was a small spiral +staircase leading to the floor above. A cat creeping to surprise a bird +asleep could not have walked more stealthily than he, as he mounted the +stairs. + +When he crossed the last step, he found himself in a small room, filled +with wardrobes, lighted by a small glass door covered with a muslin +curtain. This door opened into a little parlor which separated Madame de +Bergenheim’s private sitting-room from her sleeping-apartment. The only +window was opposite the closet and occupied almost the whole of the +woodwork, the rest of which was hung with pearl-gray stuff with lilac +figures upon it. A broad, low divan, covered with the same material as +the hanging, occupied the space in front of the window. It was the only +piece of furniture, and it seemed almost impossible to introduce even +one chair more. + +The blinds were carefully closed, as well as the double curtains, and +they let in so little light that Octave had to accustom himself to the +obscurity before he could distinguish Madame de Bergenheim through the +muslin, curtains and the glass door. She was lying upon the divan, +with her head turned in his direction and a book in her hand. He first +thought her asleep, but soon noticed her gleaming eyes fastened upon the +ceiling. + +“She is not asleep, she does not read, then she is thinking of me!” said +he to himself, by a logical deduction he believed incontestable. + +After a moment’s hesitation, seeing that the young woman remained +motionless, Gerfaut tried to turn the handle of the door as softly +as possible so as to make his entrance quietly. The bolt had just +noiselessly slipped in the lock when the drawing-room door suddenly +opened, a flood of light inundated the floor, and Aline appeared upon +the threshold, watering-pot in hand. + +The young girl stopped an instant, for she thought her sister-in-law +was asleep; but, meeting in the shade Clemence’s sparkling eyes, she +entered, saying in a fresh, silvery voice: + +“All my flowers are doing well; I have come to water yours.” + +Madame de Bergenheim made no reply, but her eyebrows contracted slightly +as she watched the young girl kneel before a superb datura. This almost +imperceptible symptom, and the rather ill-humored look, foretold a +storm. A few drops of water falling upon the floor gave her the needed +pretext, and Gerfaut, as much in love as he was, could not help thinking +of the fable of the wolf and the lamb, when he heard the lady of his +thoughts exclaim, in an impatient tone: + +“Let those flowers alone; they do not need to be watered. Do you not see +that you are wetting the floor?” + +Aline turned around and looked at the scolder for a moment; then, +placing her watering-pot upon the floor, she darted toward the divan +like a kitten that has just received a blow from its mother’s paw and +feels authorized to play with her. Madame de Bergenheim tried to rise at +this unexpected attack; but before she could sit up, she was thrown +back upon the cushions by the young girl, who seized both her hands and +kissed her on each cheek. + +“Good gracious! how cross you have been for the last few days!” cried +Aline, pressing her sister’s hands. “Are you going to be like your aunt? +You do nothing but scold now. What have I done? Are you vexed with me? +Do you not love me any longer?” + +Clemence felt a sort of remorse at this question, asked with such a +loving accent; but her jealousy she could not overcome. To make up for +it, she kissed her sister-in-law with a show of affection which seemed +to satisfy the latter. + +“What are you reading?” asked the young girl, picking up the book which +had fallen to the floor in their struggle--“Notre Dame de Paris. That +must be interesting! Will you let me read it? Oh! do! will you?” + +“You know very well that my aunt has forbidden you to read novels.” + +“Oh! she does that just to annoy me and for no other reason. Do you +think that is right? Must I remain an idiot, and never read anything +but history and geography the rest of my life? As if I did not know +that Louis Thirteenth was the son of Henri Fourth, and that there are +eighty-six departments in France. You read novels. Does it do you any +harm?” + +Clemence replied in a rather imperative tone, which should have put an +end to the discussion. + +“When you are married you can do as you like. Until then you must leave +your education in the hands of those who are interested in you.” + +“All my friends,” replied Aline with a pout, “have relatives who are +interested in them, at least as much as your aunt is in me, and they +do not prevent their reading the books they like. There is Claire de +Saponay, who has read all of Walter Scott’s novels, Maleck-Adel, Eugenie +and Mathilde--and I do not know how many more; Gessner, Mademoiselle de +Lafayette--she has read everything; and I--they have let me read Numa +Ponzpilius and Paul and Virginia. Isn’t that ridiculous at sixteen years +of age?” + +“Do not get excited, but go into the library and get one of Walter +Scott’s novels; but do not let my aunt know anything about it.” + +At this act of capitulation, by which Madame de Bergenheim doubtless +wished to atone for her disagreeableness, Aline made one joyous bound +for the glass door. Gerfaut had barely time to leave his post of +observation and to conceal himself between two wardrobes, under a cloak +which was hanging there, when the young girl made her appearance, but +she paid no attention to the pair of legs which were but imperfectly +concealed. She bounded down the stairs and returned a moment later with +the precious volumes in her hand. + +“Waverley, or, Scotland Sixty Years Ago,” said she, as she read the +title. “I took the first one on the shelf, because you are going to lend +them all to me, one by one, are you not? Claire says that a young girl +can read Walter Scott, and that his books are very nice.” + +“We shall see whether you are sensible,” replied Clemence, smiling; +“but, above all things, do not let my aunt see these books, for I am the +one who would get the scolding.” + +“Do not worry;--I will go and hide them in my room.” + +She went as far as the door, then stopped and came back a few steps. + +“It seems,” said she, “that Monsieur de Gerfaut worked in the library +yesterday, for there are piles of books on the table. It is very kind of +him to be willing to make this tree, is it not? Shall we both be in it? +Do they put women in such things? I hope your aunt will not be there; +she is not one of our family.” + +Clemence’s face clouded again at the name of Gerfaut. + +“I know no more about it than you,” she replied, a little harshly. + +“The reason I asked is because there are only pictures of men in the +drawing-room; it is not very polite on their part. I should much prefer +that there should be portraits of our grandmothers; it would be so +amusing to see the beautiful dresses that they wore in those days rather +than those old beards which frighten me. But perhaps they do not put +young girls in genealogical trees,” she continued, in a musing tone. + +“You might ask Monsieur de Gerfaut; he wishes to please you too much to +refuse to tell you,” said Clemence, with an almost ironical smile. + +“Do you think so?” asked Aline, innocently. “I should never dare to ask +him.” + +“You are still afraid of him, then?” + +“A little,” replied the young girl, lowering her eyes, for she felt her +face flush. + +This symptom made Madame de Bergenheim more vexed than ever, and she +continued, in a cutting, sarcastic tone: + +“Has your cousin d’Artigues written you lately?” + +Mademoiselle de Bergenheim raised her eyes and looked at her for a +moment with an indifferent air: + +“I don’t know,” she said, at last. + +“What! you do not know whether you have received a letter from your +cousin?” continued Clemence, laughing affectedly. + +“Ah! Alphonse--no, that is, yes; but it was a long time ago.” + +“How cold and indifferent you are all of a sudden to this dear Alphonse! +You do not remember, then, how you wept at his departure, a year ago, +and how vexed you were with your brother who tried to tease you about +this beautiful affection, and how you swore that you would never have +any other husband than your cousin?” + +“I was a simpleton, and Christian was right. Alphonse is only one year +older than I! Think of it, what a fine couple we should make! I know +that I am not very sensible, and so it is necessary that my husband +should be wise enough for both. Christian is nine years older than you, +is he not?” + +“Do you think that is too much?” asked Madame de Bergenheim. + +“Quite the contrary.” + +“What age should you like your husband to be?” + +“Oh!--thirty,” replied the young girl, after a slight hesitation. + +“Monsieur de Gerfaut’s age?” + +They gazed at each other in silence. Octave, who, from his place of +concealment heard the whole of this conversation, noticed the sad +expression which passed over Clemence’s face, and seemed to provoke +entire confidence. The young girl allowed herself to be caught by this +appearance of interest and affection. + +“I will tell you something,” said she, “if you will promise never to +tell a soul.” + +“To whom should I repeat it? You know that I am very discreet as to your +little secrets.” + +“It is because this might be perhaps a great secret,” continued Aline. + +Clemence took her sister-in-law’s hand, and drew her down beside her. + +“You know,” said Aline, “that Christian has promised to give me a watch +like yours, because I do not like mine. Yesterday, when we were out +walking, I told him I thought it was very unkind of him not to have +given it to me yet. Do you know what he replied?--It is true that he +laughed a little--It is hardly worth while buying you one now; when you +are the Vicomtesse de Gerfaut, your husband will give you one.’” + +“Your brother was joking at your expense; how could you be such a child +as not to perceive it?” + +“I am not such a child!” exclaimed Aline, rising with a vexed air; “I +know what I have seen. They were talking a long time together in the +drawing-room last evening, and I am sure they were speaking of me.” + +Madame de Bergenheim burst into laughter, which increased her +sister-in-law’s vexation, for she was less and less disposed to be +treated like a young girl. + +“Poor Aline!” said the Baroness, at last; “they were talking about +the fifth portrait; Monsieur de Gerfaut can not find the name of the +original among the old papers, and he thinks he did not belong to the +family. You know, that old face with the gray beard, near the door.” + +The young girl bent her head, like a child who sees her naughty sister +throw down her castle of cards. + +“And how do you know?” said she, after a moment’s reflection. “You +were at the piano. How could you hear at the other end of the room what +Monsieur de Gerfaut was saying?” + +It was Clemence’s turn to hang her head, for it seemed to her that the +girl had suspected the constant attention which, under an affectation of +indifference, never allowed her to lose one of Octave’s words. As usual, +she concealed her embarrassment by redoubling her sarcasm. + +“Very likely,” said she, “I was mistaken, and you may be right after +all. What day shall we have the honor of saluting Madame la Vicomtesse +de Gerfaut?” + +“I foolishly told you what I imagined, and you at once make fun of me,” + said Aline, whose round face lengthened at each word, and passed from +rose-color to scarlet; “is it my fault that my brother said this?” + +“I do not think it was necessary for him to speak of it, for you to +think a great deal about the matter.” + +“Very well; must one not think of something?” + +“But one should be careful of one’s thoughts; it is not proper for a +young girl to think of any man,” replied Clemence, with an accent of +severity which would have made her aunt recognize with pride the pure +blood of the Corandeuils. + +“I think it is more proper for a young girl to do so than for a married +woman.” + +At this unexpected retort, Madame de Bergenheim lost countenance and +sat speechless before the young maiden, like a pupil who has just been +punished by his teacher. + +“Where the devil did the little serpent get that idea?” thought +Gerfaut, who was very ill at ease between the two wardrobes where he was +concealed. + +Seeing that her sister-in-law did not reply to her, Aline took this +silence from confusion for an expression of bad temper, and at once +became angry in her turn. + +“You are very cross to-day,” said she; “good-by, I do not want your +books.” + +She threw the volumes of Waverley upon the sofa, picked up her +watering-pot and went out, closing the door with a loud bang. Madame de +Bergenheim sat motionless with a pensive, gloomy air, as if the young +girl’s remark had changed her into a statue. + +“Shall I enter?” said Octave to himself, leaving his niche and putting +his hand upon the door-knob. “This little simpleton has done me an +infinite wrong with her silly speeches. I am sure that she is cruising +with full sails set upon the stormy sea of remorse, and that those two +rosebuds she is gazing at now seem to her like her husband’s eyes.” + +Before the poet could make up his mind what to do, the Baroness +arose and left the room, closing the door almost as noisily as her +sister-in-law had done. + +Gerfaut went downstairs, cursing, from the very depths of his heart, +boarding-school misses and sixteen-year-old hearts. After walking up and +down the library for a few moments, he left it and started to return +to his room. As he passed the drawing-room, loud music reached his ear; +chromatic fireworks, scales running with the rapidity of the cataract of +Niagara, extraordinary arpeggios, hammering in the bass with a petulance +and frenzy which proved that the ‘furie francaise’ is not the exclusive +right of the stronger sex. In this jumble of grave, wild, and sad notes, +Gerfaut recognized, by the clearness of touch and brilliancy of some +of the passages, that this improvisation could not come from Aline’s +unpractised fingers. He understood that the piano must be at this moment +Madame de Bergenheim’s confidant, and that she was pouring out the +contradictory emotions in which she had indulged for several days; for, +to a heart deprived of another heart in which to confide its joys and +woes, music is a friend that listens and replies. + +Gerfaut listened for some time in silence, with his head leaning against +the drawing-room door. Clemence wandered through vague melodies without +fixing upon any one in particular. At last a thought seemed to captivate +her. After playing the first measures of the romance from Saul, she +resumed the motive with more precision, and when she had finished the +ritornello she began to sing, in a soft, veiled voice, + + “Assisa al pie d’un salice--” + +Gerfaut had heard her sing this several times, in society, but never +with this depth of expression. She sang before strangers with her lips; +now it all came from her heart. At the third verse, when he believed her +to be exalted by her singing and the passion exhaled in this exquisite +song, the poet softly entered, judging it to be a favorable moment, and +enough agitated himself to believe in the contagion of his agitation. + +The first sight which met his eyes was Mademoiselle de Corandeuil +stretched out in her armchair, head thrown back, arms drooping and +letting escape by way of accompaniment a whistling, crackling, nasal +melody. The old maid’s spectacles hanging on the end of her nose had +singularly compromised the harmony of her false front. The ‘Gazette de +France’ had fallen from her hands and decorated the back of Constance, +who, as usual, was lying at her mistress’s feet. + +“Horrible old witch!” said Gerfaut to himself. “Decidedly, the Fates +are against me to-day.” However, as both mistress and dog were sleeping +soundly, he closed the door and tiptoed across the floor. + +Madame de Bergenheim had ceased to sing, but her fingers still continued +softly to play the motive of the song. As she saw Octave approaching +her, she leaned over to look at her aunt, whom she had not noticed to +be asleep, as the high back of her chair was turned toward her. Nobody +sleeps in a very imposing manner, but the old lady’s profile, with her +false front awry, was so comical that it was too much for her niece’s +gravity. The desire to laugh was, for the moment, stronger than respect +for melancholy; and Clemence, through that necessity for sympathy +peculiar to acute merriment, glanced involuntarily at Octave, who was +also smiling. Although there was nothing sentimental in this exchange of +thoughts, the latter hastened to profit by it; a moment more, and he was +seated upon a stool in front of the piano, at her left and only a few +inches from her. + +“How can a person sleep when you are singing?” + +The most embarrassed freshman could have turned out as bright a speech +as this; but the eloquence of it lay less in the words than in the +expression. The ease and grace with which Octave seated himself, the +elegant precision of his manner, the gracious way in which he bent his +head toward Clemence, while speaking, showed a great aptitude in this +kind of conversation. If the words were those of a freshman, the accent +and pose were those of a graduate. + +The Baroness’s first thought was to rise and leave the room, but an +invincible charm held her back. She was not mistress enough of her eyes +to dare to let them meet Octave’s; so she turned them away and pretended +to look at the old lady. + +“I have a particular talent for putting my aunt to sleep,” said she, +in a gay tone; “she will sleep until evening, if I like; when I stop +playing, the silence awakens her.” + +“I beg of you, continue to play; never awaken her,” said Gerfaut; and, +as if he were afraid his wish would not be granted, he began to pound in +the bass without being disturbed by the unmusical sounds. + +“Do not play discords,” said Clemence, laughing; “let us at least put +her to sleep in tune.” + +She was wrong to say us; for her lover took this as complicity for +whatever might happen. Us, in a tete-a-tete, is the most traitorous word +in the whole language. + +It may be that Clemence had no great desire that her aunt should awaken; +perhaps she wished to avoid a conversation; perhaps she wished to enjoy +in silence the happiness of feeling that she was still loved, for since +he had seated himself beside her Octave’s slightest action had become +a renewed avowal. Madame de Bergenheim began to play the Duke +of Reichstadt’s Waltz, striking only the first measure of the +accompaniment, in order to show her lover where to put his fingers. + +The waltz went on. Clemence played the air and Octave the bass, two of +their hands remaining unoccupied--those that were close to each other. +Now, what could two idle hands do, when one belonged to a man deeply in +love, the other to a young woman who for some time had ill-treated her +lover and exhausted her severity? Before the end of the first part, the +long unoccupied, tapering fingers of the treble were imprisoned by those +of the bass, without the least disturbance in the musical effect--and +the old aunt slept on! + +A moment later, Octave’s lips were fastened upon this rather trembling +hand, as if he wished to imbibe, to the very depths of his soul, the +soft, perfumed tissue. Twice the Baroness tried to disengage herself, +twice her strength failed her. It was beginning to be time for the +aunt to awaken, but she slept more soundly than ever; and if a slight +indecision was to be noticed in the upper hand, the lower notes +were struck with an energy capable of metamorphosing Mademoiselle de +Corandeuil into a second Sleeping Beauty. + +When Octave had softly caressed this hand for a long time, he raised his +head in order to obtain a new favor. This time Madame de Bergenheim did +not turn away her eyes, but, after looking at Octave for an instant, she +said to him in a coquettish, seductive way: + +“Aline?” + +The mute glance which replied to this question was such an eloquent +denial that all words were superfluous. His sweet, knowing smile +betrayed the secret of his duplicity; he was understood and forgiven. +There was at this moment no longer any doubt, fear, or struggle between +them. They did not feel the necessity of any explanation as to the +mutual suffering they had undergone; the suffering no longer existed. +They were silent for some time, happy to look at each other, to be +together and alone-for the old aunt still slept. Not a sound was to be +heard; one would have said that sleep had overcome the two lovers +also. Suddenly the charm was broken by a terrible noise, like a trumpet +calling the guilty ones to repentance. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. A RUDE INTERRUPTION + +Had a cannon-ball struck the two lovers in the midst of their ecstasy +it would have been less cruel than the sensation caused by this horrible +noise. Clemence trembled and fell back in her chair, frozen with horror. +Gerfaut rose, almost as frightened as she; Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, +aroused from her sleep, sat up in her chair as suddenly as a +Jack-in-a-box that jumps in one’s face when a spring is touched. As +to Constance, she darted under her mistress’s chair, uttering the most +piteous howls. + +One of the folding-doors opposite the window opened; the bell of a +hunting-horn appeared in the opening, blown at full blast and waking the +echoes in the drawing-room. The curtain of the drama had risen upon a +parody, a second incident had changed the pantomime and sentiments of +the performers. The old lady fell back in her chair and stopped up her +ears with her fingers, as she stamped upon the floor; but it was in vain +for her to try to speak, her words were drowned by the racket made by +this terrible instrument. Clemence also stopped her ears. After running +in her terror, under every chair in the room, Constance, half wild, +darted, in a fit of despair, through the partly opened door. Gerfaut +finally began to laugh heartily as if he thought it all great fun, for +M. de Bergenheim’s purple face took the place of the trumpet and his +hearty laugh rang out almost as noisily. + +“Ah! ha! you did not expect that kind of accompaniment,” said the Baron, +when his gayety had calmed a little; “this is the article that you were +obliged to write for the Revue de Paris, is it? Do you think that I am +going to leave you to sing Italian duets with Madame while I am scouring +the woods? You must take me for a very careless husband, Vicomte. Now, +then, right about face! March! Do me the kindness to take a gun. We are +going to shoot a few hares in the Corne woods before supper.” + +“Monsieur de Bergenheim,” exclaimed the old lady, when her emotion would +allow her to speak, “this is indecorous--vulgar--the conduct of a common +soldier--of a cannibal! My head is split open; I am sure to have +an awful neuralgia in a quarter of an hour. It is the conduct of a +herdsman.” + +“Do not think of your neuralgia, my dear aunt,” replied Christian, whose +good-humor seemed aroused by the day’s sport; “you are as fresh as a +rosebud--and Constance shall have some hares’ heads roasted for her +supper.” + +At this moment a second uproar was heard in the courtyard; a horn was +evidently being played by an amateur, accompanied by the confused yelps +and barks of a numerous pack of hounds; the whole was mingled with +shouts of laughter, the cracking of whips, and clamors of all kinds. +In the midst of this racket, a cry, more piercing than the others, rang +out, a cry of agony and despair. + +“Constance!” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, in a falsetto voice +full of terror; she rushed to one of the windows and all followed her. + +The spectacle in the courtyard was as noisy as it was picturesque. +Marillac, seated upon a bench, was blowing upon a trumpet, trying to +play the waltz from Robert-le-Diable in a true infernal manner. At his +feet were seven or eight hunters and as many servants encouraging him +by their shouts. The Baron’s pack of hounds, of great renown in the +country, was composed of about forty dogs, all branded upon their right +thighs with the Bergenheim coat-of-arms. From time immemorial, the +chateau’s dogs had been branded thus with their master’s crest, and +Christian, who was a great stickler for old customs, had taken care not +to drop this one. This feudal sign had probably acted upon the morals +of the pack, for it was impossible to find, within twenty leagues, a +collection of more snarly terriers, dissolute hounds, ugly bloodhounds, +or more quarrelsome greyhounds. They were perfect hunters, but it +seemed as if, on account of their being dogs of quality, all vices were +permitted them. + +In the midst of this horde, without respect for law or order, the +unfortunate Constance had found herself after crossing the ante-chamber, +vestibule, and outside steps, still pursued by the sounds from +Christian’s huge horn. An honest merchant surprised at the turn of the +road by a band of robbers would not have been greeted any better than +the poodle was at the moment she darted into the yard. It may have been +that the quarrel between the Bergenheims and Corandeuils had reached the +canine species; it may have been at the instigation of the footmen, +who all cordially detested the beast--the sad fact remains that she +was pounced upon in a moment as if she were a deer, snatched, turned +topsy-turvy, rolled, kicked about, and bitten by the forty four-legged +brigands, who each seemed determined to carry away as a trophy some +portion of her cafe-au-lait colored blanket. + +The person who took the most delight in this deplorable spectacle was +Pere Rousselet. He actually clapped his hands together behind his back, +spread his legs apart in the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, while +his coat-skirts almost touched the ground, giving him the look of a +kangaroo resting his paws under his tail. From his large cockatoo mouth +escaped provoking hisses, which encouraged the assassins in their crime +as much as did Marillac’s racket. + +“Constance!” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil a second time, frozen +with horror at the sight of her poodle lying upon its back among its +enemies. + +This call produced no effect upon the animal section of the actors in +this scene, but it caused a sudden change among the servants and a few +of the hunters; the shouts of encouragement ceased at once; several of +the participants prudently tried to efface themselves; as to Rousselet, +more politic than the others, he boldly darted into the melee and picked +up the fainting puppy in his arms, carrying her as tenderly as a mother +would an infant, without troubling himself whether or not he was leaving +part of his coat-tails with the savage hounds. + +When the old lady saw the object of her love placed at her feet covered +with mud, sprinkled with blood, and uttering stifled groans, which she +took for the death-rattle, she fell back in her chair speechless. + +“Let us go,” said Bergenheim in a low voice, taking his guest by the +arm. Gerfaut threw a glance around him and sought Clemence’s eyes, +but he did not find them. Without troubling herself as to her aunt’s +despair, Clemence had hurried to her room; for she felt the necessity of +solitude in order to calm her emotions, or perhaps to live them over a +second time. Octave resigned himself to following his companion. At +the end of a few moments, the barking of the dogs, the joking of the +hunters, even the wind in the trees and the rustling leaves, had bored +Octave to such an extent that, in spite of himself, his face betrayed +him. + +“What a doleful face you have!” exclaimed his host, laughingly. “I am +sorry that I took you away from Madame de Bergenheim; it seems that you +decidedly prefer her society to ours.” + +“Would you be very jealous if I were to admit the fact?” replied Octave, +making an effort to assume the same laughing tone as the Baron. + +“Jealous! No, upon my honor! However, you are well constituted to give +umbrage to a poor husband. + +“But jealousy is not one of my traits of character, nor among my +principles.” + +“You are philosophical!” said the lover, with a forced smile. + +“My philosophy is very simple. I respect my wife too much to suspect +her, and I love her too much to annoy her in advance with an imaginary +trouble. If this trouble should come, and I were sure of it, it would +be time enough to worry myself about it. Besides, it would be an affair +soon settled.” + +“What affair?” asked Marillac, slackening his pace in order to join in +the conversation. + +“A foolish affair, my friend, which does not concern you, Monsieur de +Gerfaut, nor myself any longer, I hope; although I belong to the class +exposed to danger. We were speaking of conjugal troubles.” + +The artist threw a glance at his friend which signified: “What the deuce +made you take it into your head to start up this hare?” + +“There are many things to be said on this subject,” said he, in a +sententious tone, thinking that his intervention might be useful +in getting his friend out of the awkward position in which he found +himself, “an infinite number of things may be said; books without number +have been written upon this subject. Every one has his own system and +plan of conduct as to the way of looking at and acting upon it.” + +“And what would be yours, you consummate villain?” asked Christian; +“would you be as cruel a husband as you are an immoral bachelor? That +usually happens; the bolder a poacher one has been, the more intractable +a gamekeeper one becomes. What would be your system?” + +“Hum! hum! you are mistaken, Bergenheim; my boyish love adventures have +disposed me to indulgence. ‘Debilis caro’, you know! Shakespeare has +translated it, ‘Frailty, thy name is woman!’” + +“I am a little rusty in my; Latin and I never knew a word of English. +What does that mean?” + +“Upon my word, it means, if I were married and my wife deceived me, I +should resign myself to it like a gentleman, considering the fragility +of this enchanting sex.” + +“Mere boy’s talk, my friend! And you, Gerfaut?” + +“I must admit,” replied the latter, a little embarrassed, “that I have +never given the subject very much thought. However, I believe in the +virtue of women.” + +“That is all very well, but in case of misfortune what would you do?” + +“I think I should say with Lanoue: ‘Sensation is for the fop, complaints +for the fool, an honest man who is deceived goes away and says +nothing.’” + +“I partly agree with Lanoue; only I should make a little +variation--instead of goes away should say avenges himself.” + +Marillac threw at his friend a second glance full of meaning. + +“Per Bacco!” said he, “are you a Venetian or a Castilian husband?” + +“Eh!” replied Bergenheim, “I suppose that without being either, I should +kill my wife, the other man, and then myself, without even crying, +‘Beware!’ Here! Brichou! pay attention; Tambeau is separated from the +rest.” + +As he said these words the Baron leaped over a broad ditch, which +divided the road from the clearing which the hunters had already +entered. + +“What do you say to that?” murmured the artist, in a rather dramatic +tone, in his friend’s ear. + +Instead of replying, the lover made a gesture which signified, according +to all appearance: “I do not care.” + +The clearing they must cross in order to reach the woods formed a large, +square field upon an inclined plane which sloped to the river side. Just +as Marillac in his turn was jumping the ditch, his friend saw, at the +extremity of the clearing, Madame de Bergenheim walking slowly in the +avenue of sycamores. A moment later, she had disappeared behind a mass +of trees without the other men noticing her. + +“Take care that you do not slip,” said the artist, “the ground is wet.” + +This warning brought misfortune to Gerfaut, who in jumping caught his +foot in the root of a tree and fell. + +“Are you hurt?” asked Bergenheim. + +Octave arose and tried to walk, but was obliged to lean upon his gun. + +“I think I have twisted my foot,” said he, and he carried his hand to it +as if he felt a sharp pain there. + +“The devil! it may be a sprain,” observed the Baron, coming toward them; +“sit down. Do you think you will be able to walk?” + +“Yes, but I fear hunting would be too much for me; I will return to the +house.” + +“Do you wish us to make a litter and carry you?” + +“You are laughing at me; it’s not so bad as that. I will walk back +slowly, and will take a foot-bath in my room.” + +“Lean upon me, then, and I will help you,” said the artist, offering his +arm. + +“Thanks; I do not need you,” Octave replied; “go to the devil!” he +continued, in an expressive aside. + +“Capisco!” Marillac replied, in the same tone, giving his arm an +expressive pressure. “Excuse me,” said he aloud, “I am not willing that +you should go alone. I will be your Antigone-- + + Antigone me reste, Antigone est and fille. + +“Bergenheim, I will take charge of him. Go on with your hunting, the +gentlemen are waiting for you. We will meet again at supper; around the +table; legs are articles of luxury and sprains a delusion, provided that +the throat and stomach are properly treated.” + +The Baron looked first at his guests, then at the group that had just +reached the top of the clearing. For an instant Christian charity +struggled against love of hunting, then the latter triumphed. As he saw +that Octave, although limping slightly, was already in a condition to +walk, especially with the aid of his friend’s arm, he said: + +“Do not forget to put your foot in water, and send for Rousselet; he +understands all about sprains.” + +This advice having eased his conscience, he joined his companions, while +the two friends slowly took the road back to the chateau, Octave resting +one hand upon the artist’s arm and the other upon his gun. + +“The bourgeois is outwitted!” said Marillac with a stifled laugh, as +soon as he was sure that Bergenheim could not hear him. “Upon my word, +these soldiers have a primitive, baptismal candor! It is not so with us +artists; they could not bamboozle us in this way. Your strain is an +old story; it is taken from the ‘Mariage de raison’, first act, second +scene.” + +“You will do me the favor to leave me as soon as we reach the woods,” + said Gerfaut, as he continued to limp with a grace which would have made +Lord Byron envious; “you may go straight ahead, or you may turn to the +left, as you choose; the right is forbidden you.” + +“Very well. Hearts are trumps, it seems, and, for the time being, you +agree with Sganarelle, who places the heart on the right side.” + +“Do not return to the chateau, as it is understood that we are together. +If you rejoin the hunting-party, say to Bergenheim that you left me +seated at the foot of a tree and that the pain in my foot had almost +entirely gone. You would have done better not to accompany me, as I +tried to make you understand.” + +“I had reasons of my own for wishing to get out of Christian’s crowd. +To-day is Monday, and I have an appointment at four o’clock which +interests you more than me. Now, will you listen to a little advice?” + +“Listen, yes; follow it, not so sure.” + +“O race of lovers!” exclaimed the artist, in a sort of transport, +“foolish, absurd, wicked, impious, and sacrilegious kind!” + +“What of it?” + +“What of it? I tell you this will all end with swords for two.” + +“Bah!” + +“Do you know that this rabid Bergenheim, with his round face and +good-natured smile, killed three or four men while he was in the +service, on account of a game of billiards or some such trivial matter?” + +“Requiescat in pace.” + +“Take care that he does not cause the ‘De Profundis’ to be sung for you. +He was called the best swords man at Saint-Cyr: he has the devil of a +lunge. As to pistol-shooting, I have seen him break nine plaster images +at Lepage’s one after another.” + +“Very well, if I have an engagement with him, we will fight it out with +arsenic.” + +“By Jove, joking is out of place. I tell you that he is sure to discover +something, and then your business will soon be settled; he will kill you +as if you were one of the hares he is hunting this moment.” + +“You might find a less humiliating comparison for me,” replied Gerfaut, +with an indifferent smile; “however, you exaggerate. I have always +noticed that these bullies with mysterious threats of their own and +these slaughterers of plaster images were not such very dangerous +fellows to meet. This is not disputing Bergenheim’s bravery, for I +believe it to be solid and genuine.” + +“I tell you, he is a regular lion! After all, you will admit that it +is sheer folly to come and attack him in his cage and pull his whiskers +through the bars. And that is what you are doing. To be in love with his +wife and pay court to her in Paris, when he is a hundred leagues from +you, is all very well, but to install yourself in his house, within +reach of his clutches! that is not love, it is sheer madness. This +is nothing to laugh at. I am sure that this will end in some horrible +tragedy. You heard him speak of killing his wife and her lover just now, +as if it were a very slight matter. Very well; I know him; he will do +as he says without flinching. These ruddy-faced people are very devils, +if you meddle with their family affairs! He is capable of murdering you +in some corner of his park, and of burying you at the foot of some tree +and then of forcing Madame de Bergenheim to eat your heart fricasseed in +champagne, as they say Raoul de Coucy did.” + +“You will admit, at least, that it would be a very charming repast, and +that there would be nothing bourgeois about it.” + +“Certainly, I boast of detesting the bourgeois; I am celebrated for +that; but I should much prefer to die in a worsted nightcap, flannel +underwear, and cotton night-shirt, than to have Bergenheim assist me, +too brusquely, in this little operation. He is such an out-and-out +Goliath! Just look at him!” + +And the artist forced his friend to turn about, and pointed at +Christian, who stood with the other hunters upon the brow of the hill, a +few steps from the spot where they had left him. The Baron was indeed a +worthy representative of the feudal ages, when physical strength was +the only incontestable superiority. In spite of the distance, they could +hear his clear, ringing voice although they could not distinguish his +words. + +“He really has a look of the times of the Round Table,” said Gerfaut; +“five or six hundred years ago it would not have been very agreeable to +find one’s self face to face with him in a tournament; and if to-day, +as in those times, feminine hearts were won by feats with double-edged +swords, I admit that my chances would not be very good. Fortunately, we +are emancipated from animal vigor; it is out, of fashion.” + +“Out of fashion, if you like; meanwhile, he will kill you.” + +“You do not understand the charms of danger nor the attractions that +difficulties give to pleasure. I have studied Christian thoroughly since +I have been here, and I know him as well as if I had passed my life with +him. I am also sure that, at the very first revelation, he will kill me +if he can, and I take a strange interest in knowing that I risk my +life thus. Here we are in the woods,” said Gerfaut, as he dropped the +artist’s arm and ceased limping; “they can no longer see us; the farce +is played out. You know what I told you to say if you join them: +you left me at the foot of a tree. You are forbidden to approach the +sycamores, under penalty of receiving the shot from my gun in your +moustache.” + +At these words he threw the gun which had served him as crutch over his +shoulder, and darted off in the direction of the river. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. ESPIONAGE + +At the extremity of the sycamore walk, the shore formed a bluff like the +one upon which the chateau was built, but much more abrupt, and partly +wooded. In order to avoid this stretch, which was not passable for +carriages, the road leading into the principal part of the valley turned +to the right, and reached by an easier ascent a more level plateau. +There was only one narrow path by the river, which was shaded by +branches of beeches and willows that hung over this bank into the +river. After walking a short distance through this shady path, one found +himself before a huge triangular rock covered with moss, which nature +had rolled from the top of the mountain as if to close up the passage. + +This obstacle was not insurmountable; but in order to cross it, one +must have a sure foot and steady head, for the least false step would +precipitate the unlucky one into the river, which was rapid as well as +deep. From the rock, one could reach the top of the cliff by means of +some natural stone steps, and then, descending on the other side, could +resume the path by the river, which had been momentarily interrupted. +In this case, one would reach, in about sixty steps, a place where +the river grew broader and the banks projected, forming here and there +little islands of sand covered with bushes. Here was a ford well known +to shepherds and to all persons who wished to avoid going as far as the +castle bridge. + +Near the mossy rock of which we have spoken as being close to the +sycamore walk, at the foot of a wall against which it flowed, forming +a rather deep excavation, the current had found a vein of soft, brittle +stone which, by its incessant force, it had ended in wearing away. It +was a natural grotto formed by water, but which earth, in its turn, +had undertaken to embellish. An enormous willow had taken root in a few +inches of soil in a fissure of the rock, and its drooping branches fell +into the stream, which drifted them along without being able to detach +them. + +Madame de Bergenheim was seated at the front of this grotto, upon a +seat formed by the base of the rock. She was tracing in the sand, with +a stick which she had picked up on the way, strange figures which she +carefully erased with her foot. Doubtless these hieroglyphics had some +meaning to her, and perhaps she feared lest the slightest marks might +be carelessly forgotten, as they would betray the secret they concealed. +Clemence was plunged into one of those ecstatic reveries which abolish +time and distance. The fibres of her heart, whose exquisite vibrating +had been so suddenly paralyzed by Christian’s arrival, had resumed their +passionate thrills. She lived over again in her mind the tete-a-tete in +the drawing-room; she could hear the entrancing waltz again; she felt +her lover’s breath in her hair; her hand trembled again under the +pressure of his kiss. When she awoke from this dream it was a reality; +for Octave was seated by her side without her having seen him arrive, +and he had taken up the scene at the piano just where it had been +interrupted. + +She was not afraid. Her mind had reached that state of exaltation which +renders imperceptible the transition from dreaming to reality. It seemed +to her that Octave had always been there, that it was his place, and +for a moment she no longer thought, but remained motionless in the arms +which embraced her. But soon her reason came back to her. She arose +trembling, and drew away a few steps, standing before her lover with +lowered head and face suffused with blushes. + +“Why are you afraid of me? Do you not think me worthy of your love?” he +asked, in an altered voice, and, without trying to retain or approach +her, he fell upon his knees with a movement of sweet, sad grace. + +He had analyzed Madame de Bergenheim’s character well enough to perceive +the least variation in her capricious nature. By the young woman’s +frightened attitude, her burning cheeks and the flashes which he saw +from her eyes through her long, drooping lashes, he saw that a reaction +had taken place, and he feared the next outburst; for he knew that +women, when overcome with remorse, always smite their lover by way of +expiation for themselves. + +“If I let this recovered virtue have the mastery, I am a lost man for a +fortnight at least,” he thought. + +He quickly abandoned the dangerous ground upon which he had taken +position, and passed, by an adroit transition, from the most passionate +frenzy to the most submissive bearing. When Clemence raised her large +eyes, in which was a threatening gleam, she saw, instead of an audacious +man to be punished, an imploring slave. + +There was something so flattering in this attitude of humility that she +was completely disarmed. She approached Octave, and took him by the +hand to raise him, seated herself again and allowed him to resume his +position beside her. She softly pressed his hand, of which she had +not let go, and, looking her lover in the eyes, said in that deep, +penetrating voice that women sometimes have: + +“My friend!” + +“Friend!” he thought; “yes, certainly. I will raise no dispute as to +the word, provided the fact is recognized. What matters the color of +the flag? Only fools trouble themselves about that. ‘Friend’ is not the +throne I aspire to, but it is the road that leads to it. So then, let +it be ‘friend,’ while waiting for better. This word is very pleasant to +hear when spoken in these siren’s accents, and when at the same time the +eyes say ‘lover!’” + +“Will you always love me thus?” Octave asked, whose face beamed with +virtuous pledges. + +“Always!” sighed Clemence, without lowering eyes under the burning +glance which met hers. + +“You will be the soul of my soul; the angel of my heaven?” + +“Your sister,” she said, with a sweet smile, as she caressed her lover’s +cheek with her hand. + +He felt the blood mount to his face at this caress, and turned his eyes +away with a dreamy air. + +“I probably am one of the greatest fools that has ever existed since the +days of Joseph and Hippolytus,” thought he. + +He remained silent and apparently indifferent for several moments. + +“Of what are you thinking?” asked Madame de Bergenheim, surprised by +Octave’s silence and rather listless air. + +He gave a start of surprise at this question. + +“May I die if I tell her!” he thought; “she must think me ridiculous +enough as it is.” + +“Tell me, I wish you to speak out,” she continued, in that despotic tone +which a woman assumes when sure of her empire. + +Instead of replying, as she demanded, he gave her a long, questioning +glance, and it would have been impossible at that moment for her to keep +a single secret from her lover. Madame de Bergenheim felt the magnetic +influence of his penetrating glance so deeply that it seemed to her +these sharp eyes were fathoming her very heart. She felt intensely +disturbed to be gazed at in that way, and, in order to free herself from +this mute questioning, she leaned her head upon Octave’s shoulder, as +she said softly: + +“Do not look at me like that or I shall not love your eyes any more.” + +Her straw hat, whose ribbons were not tied, slipped and fell, dragging +with it the comb which confined her beautiful hair, and it fell in +disorder over her shoulders. Gerfaut passed his hand behind the charming +head which rested upon his breast, in order to carry this silky, +perfumed fleece to his lips. At the same time, he gently pressed the +supple form which, as it bent toward him, seemed to ask for this caress. + +Clemence made a sudden effort and arose, fastening her hair at the back +of her head with an almost shamed haste. + +“Will you refuse me one lock of your hair as a souvenir of this hour?” + said Octave, stopping her gently as she was about to replace her comb. + +“Do you need any souvenir?” she replied, giving him a glance which was +neither a reproach nor a refusal. + +“The souvenir is in my heart, the hair will never leave my bosom! We +live in an unworthy age. I can not boast of wearing your colors in +everybody’s eyes, and yet I should like to wear a sign of my bondage.” + +She let her hair fall down her back again, but seemed embarrassed as to +how to execute his wish. + +“I can not cut my hair with my teeth,” she said, with a smile which +betrayed a double row of pearls. + +Octave took a stiletto from his pocket. + +“Why do you always carry this stiletto?” asked the young woman, in a +changed voice; “it frightens me to see you armed thus.” + +“Fear nothing,” said Gerfaut, who did not reply to her question, “I will +respect the hair which serves you as a crown. I know where I must cut +it, and, if my ambition is great, my hand shall be discreet.” + +Madame de Bergenheim had no confidence in his moderation, and, fearing +to leave her beautiful hair to her lover’s mercy, she took the stiletto +and cut off a little lock which she drew through her fingers and then +offered to him, with a loving gesture that doubled the value of the +gift. At this moment, hunting-horns resounded in the distance. + +“I must leave you now!” exclaimed Clemence, “I must. My dear love, let +me go now; say good-by to me.” + +She leaned toward him and presented her forehead to receive this adieu. +It was her lips which met Octave’s, but this kiss was rapid and fleeting +as a flash of light. Withdrawing from the arms which would yet retain +her, she darted out of the grotto, and in a moment had disappeared in +one of the shady paths. + +For some time, plunged in deep reflection, Gerfaut stood on the same +spot; but at last arousing himself from this dreamy languor, he climbed +the rock so as to reach the top of the cliff. After taking a few steps +he stopped with a frightened look, as if he had espied some venomous +reptile in his path. He could see, through the bushes which bordered +the crest of the plateau at the top of the ladder cut in the rock, +Bergenheim, motionless, and in the attitude of a man who is trying to +conceal himself in order that he may watch somebody. The Baron’s eyes +not being turned in Gerfaut’s direction, he could not tell whether he +was the object of this espionage, or whether the lay of the land allowed +him to see Madame de Bergenheim, who must be under the sycamores by this +time. Uncertain as to what he should do, he remained motionless, half +crouched down upon the rock, behind the ledge of which, thanks to his +position, he could hide from the Baron. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE REVELATION + +A few moments before the castle clock struck four, a man leaped across +the ditch which served as enclosure to the park. Lambernier, for it was +he who showed himself so prompt at keeping his promise, directed his +steps through the thickets toward the corner of the Corne woods which +he had designated to Marillac; but, after walking for some time, he +was forced to slacken his steps. The hunting-party were coming in his +direction, and Lambernier knew that to continue in the path he had first +chosen would take him directly among the hunters; and, in spite of his +insolence, he feared the Baron too much to wish to expose himself to the +danger of another chastisement. He therefore retraced his steps and took +a roundabout way through the thickets, whose paths were all familiar to +him; he descended to the banks of the river ready to ascend to the place +appointed for the rendezvous as soon as the hunting party had passed. + +He had hardly reached the plateau covered with trees, which extended +above the rocks, when, as he entered a clearing which had been recently +made, he saw two men coming toward him who were walking very fast, and +whom to meet in this place caused him a very disagreeable sensation. The +first man was Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s coachman, as large a fellow +as ever crushed the seats of landau or brougham with his rotundity. +He was advancing with hands in the pockets of his green jacket and +his broad shoulders thrown back, as if he had taken it upon himself to +replace Atlas. His cap, placed in military fashion upon his head, his +scowling brows, and his bombastic air, announced that he was upon the +point of accomplishing some important deed which greatly interested him. +Leonard Rousselet, walking by his side, moved his spider legs with equal +activity, carefully holding up the skirts of his long coat as if they +were petticoats. + +Lambernier, at sight of them, turned to enter the woods again, but he +was stopped in his retreat by a threatening shout. + +“Stop, you vagabond!” exclaimed the coachman; “halt! If you take a trot, +I shall take a gallop.” + +“What do you want? I have no business with you,” replied the workman, in +a surly tone. + +“But I have business with you,” replied the big domestic, placing +himself in front of him and balancing himself first on his toes then on +his heels, with a motion like the wooden rocking-horses children play +with. “Come here, Rousselet; are you wheezy or foundered?” + +“I have not as good legs as your horses,” replied the old man, who +reached them at last, breathless, and took off his hat to wipe his +forehead. + +“What does this mean, jumping out upon one from a corner in the woods +like two assassins?” asked Lambernier, foreseeing that this beginning +might lead to some scene in which he was threatened to be forced to play +a not very agreeable role. + +“It means,” said the coachman: “first, that Rousselet has nothing to do +with it; I do not need anybody’s help to punish an insignificant fellow +like you; second, that you are going to receive your quietus in a +trice.” + +At these words he pushed his cap down over his ears and rolled up his +sleeves, in order to give freer action to his large, broad hands. + +The three men were standing upon a plot of ground where charcoal had +been burned the year before. The ground was black and slippery, but +being rather level, it was a very favorable place for a duel with +fists or any other weapons. When Lambernier saw the lackey’s warlike +preparations, he placed his cap and coat upon an old stump and stationed +himself in front of his adversary. But, before the hostilities had +begun, Rousselet advanced, stretching his long arms out between them, +and said, in a voice whose solemnity seemed to be increased by the +gravity of the occasion: + +“I do not suppose that you both wish to kill each other; only uneducated +people conduct themselves in this vulgar manner; you ought to have +a friendly explanation, and see if the matter is not susceptible of +arrangement. That was the way such things were done when I was in the +twenty-fifth demi-brigade.” + +“The explanation is,” said the coachman, in his gruff voice, “that here +is a low fellow who takes every opportunity to undervalue me and my +horses, and I have sworn to give him a good drubbing the first time I +could lay my hands upon him. So, Pere Rousselet, step aside. He will see +if I am a pickle; he will find out that the pickle is peppery!” + +“If you made use of such a vulgar expression as that,” observed +Rousselet, turning to Lambernier, “you were at fault, and should beg his +pardon as is the custom among educated people.” + +“It is false!” exclaimed Lambernier; “and besides, everybody calls the +Corandeuils that, on account of the color of their livery.” + +“Did you not say Sunday, at the ‘Femme-sans-Tete’, and in the presence +of Thiedot, that all the servants of the chateau were idlers and +good-for-nothings, and that if you met one of them who tried to annoy +you, you would level him with your plane?” + +“If you used the word ‘level,’ it was very uncivil,” observed Rousselet. + +“Thiedot had better keep in his own house,” growled the carpenter, +clenching his fists. + +“It looks well for a tramp like you to insult gentlemen like us,” + continued the lackey, in an imposing tone. “And did you not say that +when I took Mademoiselle to mass I looked like a green toad upon the +box,... thus trying to dishonor my physique and my clothes? Did you not +say that?” + +“Only a joke about the color of your livery. They call the others +measles and lobsters.” + +“Lobsters are lobsters,” replied the coachman, in an imperative tone; +“if that vexes them, they can take care of themselves. But I will not +allow any one to attack my honor or that of my beasts by calling them +screws--and that is what you did, you vagabond! And did you not say that +I sent bags of oats to Remiremont to be sold, and that, for a month, +my team had steadily been getting thin? Did you ever hear anything so +scandalous, Pere Rousselet? to dare to say that I endanger the lives of +my horses? Did you not say that, you rascal? And did you not say that +Mademoiselle Marianne and I had little private feasts in her room, and +that was why I could not eat more at the table? Here is Rousselet, who +has been a doctor and knows that I am on a diet on account of my weak +stomach.” At these words, the servant, carried away by his anger, gave +his stomach a blow with his fist. + +“Lambernier,” said Rousselet, turning up his lips with a look of +contempt, “I must admit that, for a man well brought up, you have made +most disgusting remarks.” + +“To say that I eat the horses’ oats!” roared the coachman. + +“I ought to have said that you drank them,” replied Lambernier, with his +usual sneer. + +“Rousselet, out of the way!” exclaimed the burly lackey at this new +insult; the old peasant not moving as quickly as he desired, he seized +him by the arm and sent him whirling ten steps away. + +At this moment, a new person completed the scene, joining in it, if +not as actor at least as interested spectator. If the two champions had +suspected his presence they would have probably postponed their fight +until a more opportune moment, for this spectator was no other than the +Baron himself. As he saw from a distance the trio gesticulating in +a very animated manner, he judged that a disorderly scene was in +preparation, and as he had wished for a long time to put an end to the +quarrelsome ways of the chateau servants, he was not sorry to catch them +in the very act, so as to make an example of them. At first, he +stooped and concealed himself in the thickets, ready to appear for the +denouement. + +As Lambernier saw the giant’s fist coming down upon him, he darted to +one side and the blow only struck the air, making the coachman stumble +from the force of his impetuosity. Lambernier profited by this position +to gather all his strength, and threw himself upon his adversary, whom +he seized by the flank and gave such a severe blow as to bring him down +upon his knees. He then gave him a dozen more blows upon the head, and +succeeded in overthrowing him completely. + +If the coachman had not had a cranium as hard as iron, he probably +could not have received such a storm of fisticuffs without giving up the +ghost. Fortunately for him, he had one of those excellent Breton heads +that break the sticks which beat them. Save for a certain giddiness, he +came out of the scramble safe and sound. Far from losing his presence +of mind by the disadvantageous position in which he found himself, he +supported himself upon the ground with his left hand, and, passing his +other arm behind him, he wound it around the workman’s legs, who thus +found himself reaped down, so to speak, and a moment later was lying on +his back in front of his adversary. The latter, holding him fast with +his strong hands, placed a knee, as large as a plate, upon his chest and +then pulled off the cap that his enemy had pushed down over his eyes, +and proceeded to administer full justice to him. + +“Ah! you thought you’d attack me treacherously, did you?” said he, with +a derisive chuckle as if to slacken the speed of his horses. “You know +short reckonings make good friends. Oh! what a fine thrashing you are +going to receive, my friend! Take care! if you try to bite my hand, I’ll +choke you with my two fingers, do you hear! Now, then, take this for the +green toad; this, for my horses’ sake; this, for Mademoiselle Marianne!” + +He followed each “this” with a heavy blow from his fist. At the third +blow the blood poured out of the mouth of the carpenter, who writhed +under the pressure of his adversary’s knee like a buffalo stifled by +a boa-constrictor; he succeeded at last in freeing one hand, which he +thrust into his trousers’ pocket. + +“Ah! you rascal! I am killed!” howled the coachman, giving a bound +backward. Lambernier, profiting by his freedom, jumped upon his feet, +and, without troubling himself as to his adversary, who had fallen on +his knees and was pressing his hand to his left thigh; he picked up his +cap and vest and started off through the clearing. Rousselet, who until +then had prudently kept aside, tried to stop the workman, at a cry from +his companion, but the scoundrel brandished his iron compass before his +eyes with such an ugly look that the peasant promptly left the way open +for him. + +At this tragic and unexpected denouement, Bergenheim, who was getting +ready to make his appearance from behind the trees and to interpose his +authority, started in full pursuit of the would-be murderer. From the +direction he took, he judged that he would try to reach the river by +passing over the rock. He walked in this direction, with his gun over +his shoulder, until he reached the foot of the steps which descended +into the grotto. Christian crouched behind some bushes to wait for +Lambernier, who must pass this way, and it was at this moment that +Gerfaut, who was forty feet below him, saw him without suspecting the +reason for his attitude. + +Bergenheim soon found out that he had calculated correctly when he +heard a sound like that made by a wild boar when he rushes through the +thickets and breaks the small branches in his path, as if they were no +more than blades of grass. Soon Lambernier appeared with a haggard, wild +look and a face bleeding from the blows he had received. He stopped for +a moment to catch his breath and to wipe off his compass with a handful +of grass; he then staunched the blood streaming from his nose and mouth, +and after putting on his coat started rapidly in the direction of the +river. + +“Halt!” exclaimed the Baron, suddenly, rising before him and barring his +passage. + +The workman jumped back in terror; then he drew out his compass a second +time and made a movement as if to throw himself upon this new adversary, +out of sheer desperation. Christian, at this threatening pantomime, +raised his gun to his cheek with as much coolness and precision as he +would have shown at firing into a body of soldiers. + +“Down with your weapon!” he exclaimed, in his commanding voice, “or I +will shoot you down like a rabbit.” + +The carpenter uttered a hoarse cry as he saw the muzzle of the gun +within an inch of his head, ready to blow his brains out. Feeling +assured that there was no escape for him, he closed his compass and +threw it with an angry gesture at the Baron’s feet. + +“Now,” said the latter, “you will walk straight ahead of me as far as +the chateau, and if you turn one step to the right or left, I will send +the contents of my gun into you. So right about march!” + +As he said these words, he stooped, without losing sight of the workman, +and picked up the compass, which he put in his pocket. + +“Monsieur le Baron, it was the coachman who attacked me first; I had to +defend myself,” stammered Lambernier. + +“All right, we will see about that later. March on!” + +“You will deliver me up to the police--I am a ruined man!” + +“That will make one rascal the less,” exclaimed Christian, repelling +with disgust the workman, who had thrown himself on his knees before +him. + +“I have three children, Monsieur, three children,” he repeated, in a +supplicating tone. + +“Will you march!” replied Bergenheim imperiously, as he made a gesture +with his gun as if to shoot him. + +Lambernier arose suddenly, and the expression of terror upon his +countenance gave place to one of resolution mingled with hatred and +scorn. + +“Very well,” he exclaimed, “let us go on! but remember what I tell you; +if you have me arrested, you will be the first to repent of it, Baron +though you are. If I appear before a judge, I will tell something that +you would pay a good price for.” + +Bergenheim looked fixedly at Lambernier. + +“What do you mean by such insolence?” said he. + +“I will tell you what I mean, if you will promise to let me go; if you +give me into the hands of the police, I repeat it, you will repent not +having listened to me to-day.” + +“This is some idle yarn, made to gain time; no matter, speak; I will +listen.” + +The workman darted a defiant glance at Christian. + +“Give me your word of honor to let me go afterward.” + +“If I do not do so, are you not at liberty to repeat your story?” + replied the Baron, who, in spite of his curiosity, would not give his +word to a scoundrel whose only aim probably was to escape justice. + +This observation impressed Lambernier, who, after a moment’s reflection, +assumed a strange attitude of cool assurance, considering the position +in which he found himself. Not a sound was to be heard; even the barking +of the dogs in the distance had ceased. The deepest silence surrounded +them; even Gerfaut, in the place where he was concealed, could no longer +see them, now that Bergenheim had left the edge of the cliff; from +time to time their voices reached him, but he could not distinguish the +meaning of their words. + +Leaning with one hand upon his gun, Christian waited for the carpenter +to begin his story, gazing at him with his clear, piercing eyes. +Lambernier bore this glance without flinching, returning it in his +insolent way. + +“You know, Monsieur, that when the alterations were made in Madame’s +apartment, I had charge of the carving for her chamber. When I took +away the old woodwork, I saw that the wall between the windows was +constructed out of square, and I asked Madame if she wished that the +panel should be fastened like the other or if she preferred it to open +so that it would make a closet. She said to have it open by means of a +secret spring. So I made the panel with concealed hinges and a little +button hidden in the lower part of the woodwork; it only needs to be +pressed, after turning it to the right, and the woodwork will open like +a door.” + +Christian had now become extremely attentive. + +“Monsieur will remember that he was in Nancy at the time, and that +Madame’s chamber was completed during his absence. As I was the only one +who worked in this room, the other workmen not being capable of carving +the wood as Madame wished, I was the only person who knew that the panel +was not nailed down the length of the wall.” + +“Well?” asked the Baron, impatiently. + +“Well,” Lambernier replied, in a careless tone, “if, on account of the +blow which I gave the coachman, it is necessary for me to appear in +court, I shall be obliged to tell, in order to revenge myself, what I +saw in that closet not more than a month ago.” + +“Finish your story,” exclaimed Bergenheim, as he clenched the handle of +his gun. + +“Mademoiselle Justine took me into this room in order to hang some +curtains; as I needed some nails, she went out to get them. While I was +examining the woodwork, which I had not seen since it had been put in +place, I saw that the oak had warped in one place because it was not dry +enough when it was used. I wished to see if the same thing had happened +between the windows, and if the panel could open. I pressed the spring, +and when the door opened I saw a small package of letters upon the +little shelf; it seemed very singular to me that Madame should choose +this place to keep her letters, and the thought came to me that she +wished to conceal them from Monsieur.” + +Bergenheim gave the workman a withering glance, and made a sign for him +to continue. + +“They were already talking about discharging me from the chateau’s +employ; I do not know how it happened, but the thought entered my head +that perhaps one of these letters would be of use to me, and I took +the first one in the package; I had only time to close the panel when +Mademoiselle Justine returned.” + +“Very well! what is there in common between these letters and the +criminal court that awaits you?” asked Christian, in an altered voice, +although he tried to appear indifferent. + +“Oh! nothing at all,” replied the carpenter, with an air of +indifference; “but I thought that you would not like people to know that +Madame had a lover.” + +Bergenheim shivered as if he were taken with a chill, and his gun +dropped from his hand to the ground. + +As quick as thought Lambernier stooped over to seize the gun, but he +did not have time to carry out his intention, for he was seized by the +throat and half choked by an iron hand. + +“That letter! that letter!” said Christian to him, in a low, trembling +voice, and he put his face down close to the carpenter’s, as if he +feared that a breath of wind might carry away his words and repeat them. + +“Let me alone first, I can not breathe--” stammered the workman, whose +face, was becoming purple and his eyes starting out of his head, as if +his adversary’s fingers had been a rope. + +The latter granted the prayer by loosening his hold of the carpenter’s +neck and seizing him by his vest in such a way as to take away all +chance of escape while leaving him free to speak. + +“This letter!” he repeated. + +Frightened by the shaking he had just received, and not in a condition +to reflect with his usual prudence, Lambernier mechanically obeyed +this order; he hunted in his pockets for some time, and at last took a +carefully folded paper from his vest-pocket, saying with a stunned air: + +“Here it is. It is worth ten louis.” + +Christian seized the paper and opened it with his teeth, for he could +not use his hands without releasing his prisoner. It was, like all notes +of this kind, without address, seal, or signature. It did not differ +from most of its kind save in the natural beauty of its style and its +simple eloquence. Ardent protestations, sweet and loving complaints, +those precious words that one bestows only upon the woman he loves and +which betray a love that has yet much to desire but as much to hope. +The handwriting was entirely unknown to Bergenheim, but Clemence’s name, +which was repeated several times, did not permit him to doubt for a +moment that this note was written to his wife. When he had finished +reading, he put it in his pocket with apparent serenity, and then looked +at Lambernier, who, during this time, had remained motionless under the +hand that detained him. + +“You are mistaken, Lambernier,” said he to him; “it is one of my letters +before my marriage.” And he tried to force himself to smile; but the +muscles of his lips refused to act this falsehood, and drops of cold +perspiration stood upon his forehead and at the roots of his hair. + +The carpenter had watched the change in the Baron’s countenance as +he read the letter. He was persuaded that he could turn the capital +importance of his revelations into profit for himself; he believed +that the time had come when he might gain advantage by showing that he +understood perfectly well the value of the secret he had just imparted. +So he replied with a glance of intelligence: + +“Monsieur’s handwriting must have changed greatly, then; I have some +of his orders which do not resemble this any more than a glass of water +does a glass of wine.” + +Christian tried to find a response but failed. His eyebrows contracted +in a manner that betokened a coming storm, but Lambernier was not +disturbed by this symptom; he continued in a more and more assured +voice: + +“When I said that this letter was worth ten louis, I meant that it was +worth that much to a mere stranger, and I am very sure I should not have +to go very far to find one; but Monsieur le Baron is too sensible not to +know the value of this secret. I do not wish to set a price upon it, but +since I am obliged to go away on account of this coachman, and have no +money--” + +He did not have time to finish; Bergenheim seized him in the middle of +the body and made him describe a horizontal half-circle without touching +the ground, then threw him upon his knees on the edge of the path +which descended almost perpendicularly alongside the rocks. Lambernier +suddenly saw his haggard face reflected in the river fifty feet below. +At this sight, and feeling a powerful knee between his shoulders which +bent him over the abyss, as if to make him appreciate its dangers, the +workman uttered a terrified cry; his hands clutched wildly at the tufts +of grass and roots of plants which grew here and there on the sides of +the rocks, and he struggled with all his might to throw himself back +upon the ground. But it was in vain for him to struggle against the +superior strength of his adversary, and his attempts only aggravated the +danger of his position. After two or three powerless attempts, he found +himself lying upon his stomach with half his body hanging over +the precipice, having nothing to prevent him from falling over but +Bergenheim’s hand, which held him by the collar and at the same time +hindered him from rising. + +“Have you ever said one word about this?” asked the Baron, as he took +hold of the trunk of a tree to steady himself upon this dangerous ground +that he had chosen as the field of discussion. + +“To nobody!--ah!--how my head swims!” replied the carpenter, closing his +eyes in terror, for the blood rushing to his brain made him dizzy, and +it seemed to him that the river was slowly reaching him. + +“You see that if I make one gesture, you are a dead man,” replied the +Baron, leaning upon him harder yet. + +“Give me up to the police; I will say nothing about the letters; as sure +as there is a God, I will say nothing. But do not let me fall--hold me +tight--do not let go of me--I am slipping--oh! holy mother of God!” + +Christian taking hold of the tree near him, leaned over and raised +Lambernier up, for he really was incapable of doing so himself; fright +and the sight of the water had given him vertigo. When he was upon his +legs again, he reeled like a drunken man and his feet nearly gave way +beneath him. The Baron looked at him a moment in silence, but at last he +said: + +“Go away, leave the country at once; you have time to fly before there +will be any pursuit. But remember that if I ever hear one word of what +has passed between us from your lips, I shall know how to find you and +you will die by my hand.” + +“I swear by the Holy Virgin and by all the saints--” stammered +Lambernier, who had suddenly become a very fervent Catholic. + +Christian pointed with his finger to the stone steps beneath them. + +“There is your road; pass over the rock, through the woods, and reach +Alsace. If you conduct yourself well, I will assure your living. But +remember; one single indiscreet word, and you are a dead man.” + +At these words he pushed him into the path with one of those quick +movements which very powerful men can not always calculate the effect +of. Lambernier, whose strength was almost exhausted by the struggles +he had undergone, had not vigor enough left to stand, and he lost his +balance at this violent as well as unexpected push. He stumbled over +the first step, reeled as he tried to regain his footing, and fell head +first down the almost vertical declivity. A ledge of the cliff, against +which he first struck, threw him upon the loose rocks. He slowly glided +downward, uttering lamentable cries; he clutched, for a moment, a little +bush which had grown in a crevice of the rocks but he did not have +strength enough to hold on to it, his arm having been broken in three +places by his fall. He let go of it suddenly, and dropped farther and +farther down uttering a last terrible shriek of despair; he rolled over +twice again-and then fell into the torrent below, that swallowed him up +like a mass already deprived of life. + + + + +BOOK 4. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. MARILLAC TELLS A STORY + +Guests were seated that evening around the oval table in the dining-room +of the castle of Bergenheim. According to custom, the ladies were not +present at this repast. This was a custom which had been adopted by the +Baroness for the suppers which were given by her husband at the close +of his hunting parties; she dispensed with appearing at table on those +days; perhaps she was too fastidious to preside at these lengthy seances +of which the ruses of the hare, the death of the stag, and the feats of +the hounds, formed the principal topics of conversation. It is probable +that this conduct was duly appreciated by those who participated in +those rather boisterous repasts, and that they felt a certain gratitude, +in spite of the regrets they manifested on account of Madame’s absence. + +Among the guests was Marillac, whose sparkling eye, and cheeks even more +rosy than usual, made him conspicuous. Seated between a fat notary and +another boon companion, who were almost as drunk as he Marillac emptied +glass after glass, red wine after the white, the white after the red, +with noisy laughter, and jests of all kinds by way of accompaniment. His +head became every moment more and more excited by the libations destined +to refresh his throat, and his neighbors, without his perceiving the +conspiracy, thought it would be good fun to put a Parisian dandy under +the table. However, he was not the only one who was gliding over the +slippery precipice that leads to the attractive abyss of drunkenness. +The majority of the guests shared his imprudent abandon and progressive +exaltation. A bacchic emulation reigned, which threatened to end in +scenes bordering upon a debauch. + +Among these highly colored cheeks, under which the wine seemed to +circulate with the blood, these eyes shining with a dull, fictitious +light, all this disorderly pantomime so contrary to the quiet habit +of the gesticulators, two faces contrasted strangely with the careless +mirth of the others. The Baron fulfilled his duties as master of the +house with a sort of nervous excitement which might pass for genuine +merriment in the eyes of those of his guests who were in no condition +to study his countenance; but a quiet observer would soon have discerned +that these violent efforts at good-humor and bantering concealed some +terrible suffering. From time to time, in the midst of a sentence or a +laugh, he would suddenly stop, the muscles of his face would twitch as +if the spring which set them in motion had broken; his expression became +sombre and savage; he sank back in his chair motionless, a stranger to +all that surrounded him, and gave himself up to some mysterious thought +against which resistance seemed powerless. Suddenly he appeared to +wake from some perplexing dream, and by another powerful effort aroused +himself and joined in the conversation with sharp, cutting speeches; he +encouraged the noisy humor of his guests, inciting them to drunkenness +by setting the example himself; then the same mysterious thought would +cross his face anew, and he would fall back into the tortures of a +revery which must have been horrible, to judge by the expression of his +face. + +Among his guests, one only, who was seated almost opposite Bergenheim, +seemed to be in the secret of his thoughts and to study the symptoms +with deep attention. Gerfaut, for it was he, showed an interest in this +examination which reacted on his own countenance, for he was paler than +ever. + +“When I saw that the hare was reaching the upper road,” said one of the +guests, a handsome old man about sixty years of age, with gray hair and +rosy cheeks, “I ran toward the new clearing to wait for its return. I +felt perfectly sure, notary, that he would pass through your hands safe +and sound.” + +“Now, notary,” said Marillac, from the other end of the table, “defend +yourself; one, two, three, ready!” + +“Monsieur de Camier,” replied the hunter whose skill had been +questioned, “I do not pretend to have your skill. I never have shot as +large game as you did at your last hunt.” + +This reply was an allusion to a little misadventure which had happened +to the first speaker, who, on account of nearsightedness, had shot a +cow, taking it for a buck. The laugh, which had been at the notary’s +expense first, now turned against his adversary. + +“How many pairs of boots did you get out of your game?” asked one. + +“Gentlemen, let us return to our conversation,” said a young man, whose +precise face aspired to an austere and imposing air. “Up to this time, +we can form only very vague conjectures as to the road that Lambernier +took to escape. This, allow me to say, is more important than the +notary’s hare or Monsieur de Carrier’s cow.” + +At these words, Bergenheim, who had taken no part in the conversation, +straightened up in his chair. + +“A glass of Sauterne,” said he, suddenly, to one of his neighbors. + +Gerfaut looked at him stealthily for a moment, and then lowered his +eyes, as if he feared his glance might be noticed. + +“The public prosecutor scents a culprit, and there is no fear he will +drop the trail,” said the notary. + +“The case will doubtless come up at the next session of the Assizes.” + +M. de Carrier put his glass, which was half filled, upon the table, +angrily exclaiming: + +“The devil take the jury! I am called to the next session, and I will +wager my head that I shall be drawn. How agreeable that will be! To +leave my home and business in the middle of winter and spend a fortnight +with a lot of fellows whom I do not know from Adam! That is one of the +agreeable things supplied by constitutional government. The French have +to be judged by their peers! Of what use is it to pay for judges if we, +land-owners, are obliged to do their work. The old parliaments, against +which so much has been said, were a thousand times better than all this +bedlam let loose in a court of assizes.” + +Marillac, who during this speech was amusing himself with singing his +low “G” while peeling an apple, interrupted his song, to the great +relief of a hound who lay at his feet, and whose nerves seemed to be +singularly affected by the strain. + +“Monsieur de Carrier,” said he, “you are a large landowner, an eligible +citizen and a Carlist; you fast on Fridays, go to mass in your parish, +and occasionally kill cows for bucks; I esteem and respect you; +but allow me to say that you have just uttered an old, antediluvian +platitude.” + +“Gentlemen,” said the public prosecutor, punctuating each word with +his first finger, “I have the greatest respect for the old parliaments, +those worthy models of our modern magistracy, those incorruptible +defenders of national freedom, but my veneration is none the less +great for the institutions emanating from our wise constitution, and +it prevents me from adopting an exclusive opinion. However, without +pretending to proclaim in too absolute a manner the superiority of +the old system over the new, I am in a certain sense of Monsieur de +Carrier’s opinion. In my position, I am better able than any other +person to study the advantages and disadvantages of a jury, and I am +forced to admit that if the advantages are real, the disadvantages are +none the less indisputable. One of the great vices of juries consists +in the habit that a great number of its members have of calling for +material proofs in order to form their opinions. They must almost see +the wounds of the victim before agreeing on a verdict. As to Lambernier, +I hope that they will not contest the existence of the main evidence: +the victim’s still bleeding thigh.” + +“Tra-de-ri-di-ra,” exclaimed the artist, striking alternately with his +knife a glass and a bottle, as if he were playing a triangle. “I must +say that you choose madly gay subjects for conversation. We are truly a +joyous crowd; look at Bergenheim opposite us; he looks like Macbeth in +the presence of Banquo’s ghost; here is my friend Gerfaut drinking water +with a profoundly solemn air. Good gracious, gentlemen! enough of this +foolish talk! Let them cut this Lambernier’s throat and put an end to +the subject! The theatre for dramatic music, the church for sacred! + + Le vin, le jeu; les belles, + Voila mes seuls amours.” + +A general protestation rose from the whole table at this verse, which +was roared out in a lugubrious voice. Noisy shouts, rapping of knives +upon tumblers and bottles, and exclamations of all kinds called the +orator to order. + +“Monsieur Marillac,” exclaimed the public prosecutor, in a joking tone, +“it seems to me that you have wandered from the subject.” + +The artist looked at him with an astonished air. + +“Had I anything in particular to say to you?” he asked; “if so, I will +sustain my point. Only do me the kindness to tell me what it was about.” + +“It was on the subject of this man Lambernier,” whispered the notary to +him, as he poured out a glass of wine. “Courage! you improvise better +than Berryer! If you exert yourself, the public prosecutor will be +beaten in no time.” + +Marillac thanked his neighbor with a smile and a nod of the head, which +signified: “Trust me.” He then emptied his glass with the recklessness +that had characterized his drinking for some time, but, strangely +enough, the libation, instead of putting the finishing stroke to his +drunkenness, gave his mind, for the time being, a sort of lucidity. + +“The accusation,” he continued, with the coolness of an old lawyer, +“rests upon two grounds: first, the presence without cause of the +accused upon the spot where the crime was committed; second, the nature +of the weapon used.--Two simple but peremptory replies will make the +scaffold which has been erected upon this double supposition fall to +the ground. First, Lambernier had a rendezvous at this place, and at +the exact hour when this crime with which he is accused took place; this +will be proved by a witness, and will be established by evidence in a +most indisputable manner. His presence will thus be explained without +its being interpreted in any way against him. Second, the public +prosecutor has admitted that the carrying of a weapon which Lambernier +may have been in the habit of using in his regular trade could not be +used as an argument against him, and for that same reason could not be +used as an argument in favor of premeditation; now, this is precisely +the case in question. This weapon was neither a sword, bayonet, nor +stiletto, nothing that the fertile imagination of the public prosecutor +could imagine; it was a simple tool used by the accused in his +profession, the presence of which in his pocket is as easily understood +as that of a snuff-box in the pocket of my neighbor, the notary, who +takes twenty pinches of snuff a minute. Gentlemen, this weapon was a +pair of carpenter’s compasses.” + +“A compass!” exclaimed several voices at once. + +“A compass!” exclaimed the Baron, gazing fixedly at the artist. Then he +carried his hand to his pocket, and suddenly withdrew it, as he felt the +workman’s compass there, where it had been ever since the scene upon the +rocks. + +“An iron compass,” repeated the artist, “about ten inches long, more or +less, the legs of it being closed.” + +“Will you explain yourself, Monsieur?” excitedly exclaimed the public +prosecutor, “for it really seems as if you had witnessed the crime. In +that case you will be called out as a witness for the defence. Justice +is impartial, gentlemen. Justice has not two pairs of scales.” + +“To the devil with justice! You must have come from Timbuctoo to use +such old-fashioned metaphors.” + +“Make your deposition, witness; I require you to make your deposition,” + said the magistrate, whose increasing drunkenness appeared as dignified +and solemn as the artist was noisy. + +“I have nothing to state; I saw nothing.” + +Here the Baron drew a long breath, as if these words were a relief. + +“But I saw something!” said Gerfaut to himself, as he gazed at the +Baron’s face, upon which anxiety was depicted. + +“I reason by hypothesis and supposition,” continued the artist. “I had a +little altercation with Lambernier a few days ago, and, but for my +good poniard, he would have put an end to me as he did to this fellow +to-day.” + +He then related his meeting with Lambernier, but the consideration due +Mademoiselle Gobillot’s honor imposed numberless circumlocutions and +concealments which ended by making his story rather unintelligible to +his auditors, and in the midst of it his head became so muddled that he +was completely put out. + +“Basta!” he exclaimed, in conclusion, as he dropped heavily into his +chair. “Not another word for the ‘whole empire. Give me something to +drink! Notary, you are the only man here who has any regard for me. One +thing is certain about this matter--I am in ten louis by this rascal’s +adventure.” + +These words struck the Baron forcibly, as they brought to his mind what +the carpenter had said to him when he gave him the letter. + +“Ten louis!” said he, suddenly, looking at Marillac as if he wished to +look into his very heart. + +“Two hundred francs, if you like it better. A genuine bargain. But we +have talked enough, ‘mio caro’; you deceive yourselves if you think you +are going to make me blab. No, indeed! I am not the one to allow myself +to become entangled. I am now as mute and silent as the grave.” + +Bergenheim insisted no longer, but, leaning against the back of his +chair, he let his head fall upon his breast. He remained for some time +buried in thought and vainly trying to connect the obscure words he had +just heard with Lambernier’s incomplete revelations. With the exception +of Gerfaut, who did not lose one of his host’s movements, the guests, +more or less absorbed by their own sensations, paid no attention to +the strange attitude of the master of the house, or, like Monsieur +de Camier, attributed it to the influence of wine. The conversation +continued its noisy course, interrupted every few moments by the +startling vagaries of some guest more animatedly excited than the rest, +for, at the end of a repast where sobriety has not reigned, each one is +disposed to impose upon others the despotism of his own intoxication, +and the idle talk of his peculiar hallucinations. Marillac bore away the +prize among the talking contingent, thanks to the vigor of his lungs and +the originality of his words, which sometimes forced the attention of +his adversaries. Finally he remained master of the field, and flashed +volleys of his drunken eloquence to the right and left. + +“It is a pity,” he exclaimed, in the midst of his triumph, as he glanced +disdainfully up and down the table, “it really is a pity, gentlemen, +to listen to your conversation. One could imagine nothing more +commonplace-prosaic or bourgeois. Would it not please you to indulge in +a discussion of a little higher order? + +“Let us join hands, and talk of poetry and art. I am thirsting for an +artistic conversation; I am thirsting for wit and intelligence.” + +“You must drink if you are thirsty,” said the notary, filling his glass +to the brim. + +The artist emptied it at one draught, and continued in a languishing +voice as he gazed with a loving look at his fat neighbor. + +“I will begin our artistic conversation: ‘Knowest thou the land where +the orange-flower blooms?’” + +“It is warmer than ours,” replied the notary, who was not familiar with +Mignon’s song; and, beginning to laugh maliciously, he gave a wink at +his neighbors as if to say: + +“I have settled him now.” + +Marillac leaned toward him with the meekness of a lamb that presents his +head to the butcher, and sympathetically pressed his hands. + +“O poet!” he continued, “do you not feel, as I do at the twilight hour +and in the eventide, a vague desire for a sunny, perfumed, southern +life? Will you not bid adieu to this sterile country and sail away to +a land where the blue sky is reflected in the blue sea? Venice! the +Rialto, the Bridge of Sighs, Saint Mark! Rome! the Coliseum and Saint +Peter--But I know Italy by heart; let us go instead to Constantinople. I +am thirsting for sultanas and houris; I am thirsting--” + +“Good gracious! why do you not drink if you are thirsty?” + +“Gladly. I never say no to that. I scorn love in a nightcap; I adore +danger. Danger is life to me. + +“I dote on silken ladders as long as Jacob’s, on citadels worth scaling; +on moonlight evenings, bearded husbands, and all that sort of thing--I +would love a bed composed of five hundred poniards; you understand me, +poet--” + +“I beg of you, do not make him drink any more,” said Gerfaut to the +notary. + +“You are right not to wish to drink any more, Octave, I was about to +advise you not to. You have already drunk to excess to-day, and I am +afraid that it will make you ill; your health is so weak--you are not a +strong man like me. Fancy, gentlemen, Monsieur le Vicomte de Gerfaut, a +native of Gascony, a roue by profession, a star of the first magnitude +in literature, is afflicted by nature with a stomach which has nothing +in common with that of an ostrich; he has need to use the greatest care. +So we have him drink seltzer-water principally, and feed him on the +white meat of the chicken. Besides, we keep this precious phenomenon +rolled up between two wool blankets and over a kettle of boiling water. +He is a great poet; I myself am a very great poet.” + +“And I also, I hope,” said the notary. + +“Gentlemen, formerly there were poets who wrote only in verse; nowadays +they revel in prose. There are some even who are neither prose nor +verse writers, who have never confided their secret to anybody, and who +selfishly keep their poetry to themselves. It is a very simple thing to +be a poet, provided you feel the indescribable intoxication of the soul, +and understand the inexpressible afflatus that bubbles over in your +large brain, and your noble heart throbs under your left breast--” + +“He is as drunk as a fool,” said M. de Camier, loud enough for him to +hear. + +“Old man,” said he, “you are the one who is drunk. Besides the word +drunk is not civil; if you had said intoxicated I should not have +objected.” + +Loud shouts of laughter burst forth from the party. He threw a +threatening glance around him, as if he were seeking some one upon whom +to vent his anger, and, placing his hand upon his hip, assumed the pose +of a bully. + +“Softly, my good fellows!” said he, “if any of you pretend that I am +drunk, I declare to him that he lies, and I call him a misanthrope, a +vagabond, an academician!” he concluded, with a loud burst of laughter; +for he thought that the jesters would be crushed by this last heavy +weapon. + +“By Jove! your friend is hilariously drunk,” said the notary to Gerfaut; +“while here is Bergenheim, who has not taken very much wine, and yet +looks as if he were assisting at a funeral. I thought he was more +substantial than this.” + +Marillac’s voice burst out more loudly than ever, and Octave’s reply was +not heard. + +“It is simply astounding. They are all as drunk as fools, and yet they +pretend that it is I who am drunk. Very well! I defy you all; who among +you wishes to argue with me? Will you discuss art, literature, politics, +medicine, music, philosophy, archeology, jurisprudence, magnetism--” + +“Jurisprudence!” exclaimed the thick voice of the public prosecutor, +who was aroused from his stupor by this magic word; “let us talk +jurisprudence.” + +“Would you like,” said Marillac, without stopping at this interruption, +“that I should improvise a discourse upon the death penalty or upon +temperance? Would you like me to tell you a story?” + +“A story, yes, a story!” they all exclaimed in unison. + +“Speak out, then; order what story you like; it will cost you nothing,” + replied the artist, rubbing his hands with a radiant air. “Would you +like a tale from the Middle Ages? a fairy, an eastern, a comical, or a +private story? I warn you that the latter style is less old-fashioned +than the others.” + +“Let us have it, then, by all means,” said all the drunken voices. + +“Very well. Now would you like it to be laid in Spain, Arabia, or +France?” + +“France!” exclaimed the prosecutor. + +“I am French, you are French, he is French. You shall have a French +story.” + +Marillac leaned his forehead upon his hands, and his elbows upon +the table, as if to gather his scattered ideas. After a few moments’ +reflection, he raised his head and looked first at Gerfaut, then at +Bergenheim, with a peculiar smile. + +“It would be very original,” said he, in a low voice as if replying to +his own thoughts. + +“The story!” exclaimed one of the party, more impatient than the rest. + +“Here it is,” replied the artist. “You all know, gentlemen, how +difficult it always is to choose a title. In order not to make you wait, +I have chosen one which is already well known. My story is to be called +‘The husband, the wife, and the lover.’ We are not all single men here, +and a wise proverb says that one must never speak--” + +In spite of his muddled brain, the artist did not finish his quotation. +A remnant of common-sense made him realize that he was treading upon +dangerous ground and was upon the point of committing an unpardonable +indiscretion. Fortunately, the Baron had paid no attention to his words; +but Gerfaut was frightened at his friend’s jabbering, and threw him a +glance of the most threatening advice to be prudent. Marillac vaguely +understood his mistake, and was half intimidated by this glance; he +leaned before the notary and said to him, in a voice which he tried to +make confidential, but which could be heard from one end of the table to +the other: + +“Be calm, Octave, I will tell it in obscure words and in such a way that +he will not see anything in it. It is a scene for a drama that I have in +my mind.” + +“You will make some grotesque blunder, if you go on drinking and +talking,” replied Gerfaut, in an anxious voice. “Hold your tongue, or +else come away from the table with me.” + +“When I tell you that I will use obscure words,” replied the artist; +“what do you take me for? I swear to you that I will gloss it over in +such a way that nobody will suspect anything.” + +“The story! the story!” exclaimed several, who were amused by the +incoherent chattering of the artist. + +“Here it is,” said the latter, sitting upright in his char, and paying +no heed to his friend’s warnings. “The scene takes place in a little +court in Germany--Eh!” said he, looking at Gerfaut and maliciously +winking his eye--“do you not think that is glossed over?” + +“Not in a German court, you said it was to be a French story,” said the +public prosecutor, disposed to play the critic toward the orator who had +reduced him to silence. + +“Well, it is a French story, but the scene is laid in Germany,” he +replied, coolly. “Do you desire to teach me my profession? Understand +that nothing is more elastic than a German court; the story-teller can +introduce there whoever he likes; I may bring in the Shah of Persia and +the Emperor of China if I care to. However, if you prefer the court of +Italy, it is the same thing to me.” + +This conciliating proposal remained without response. Marillac continued +raising his eyes in such a way that nothing but the whites could be +seen, and as if he were searching for his words in the ceiling. + +“The Princess Borinski was walking slowly in the mysterious alley on the +borders of the foaming torrent--” + +“Borinski! she is a Pole, then?” interrupted M. de Camier. + +“Oh! go to the devil, old man! Do not interrupt me,” exclaimed the +artist, impatiently. + +“That is right. Silence now.” + +“You have the floor,” said several voices at once. + +“--She was pale, and she heaved convulsive sighs and wrung her soft, +warm hands, and a white pearl rolled from her dark lashes, and--” + +“Why do you begin all your phrases with ‘and?’” asked the public +prosecutor, with the captiousness of an inexorable critic. + +“Because it is biblical and unaffected. Now let me alone,” replied +Marillac, with superb disdain. “You are a police-officer; I am an +artist; what is there in common between you and me? I will continue: And +he saw this pensive, weeping woman pass in the distance, and he said to +the Prince: ‘Borinski, a bit of root in which my foot caught has hurt +my limb, will you suffer me to return to the palace? And the Prince +Borinski said to him, ‘Shall my men carry you in a palanquin?’ and the +cunning Octave replied--” + +“Your story has not even common-sense and you are a terrible bore,” + interrupted Gerfaut brusquely. “Gentlemen, are we going to sit at the +table all night?” + +He arose, but nobody followed his example. Bergenheim, who for the +last few minutes had lent an attentive ear to the artist’s story, gazed +alternately at the two friends with an observing eye. + +“Let him talk,” said the young magistrate, with an ironical smile. +“I like the palanquin in the court of Germany. That is probably what +novelists call local color. O Racine, poor, deserted Racine!” + +Marillac was not intimidated this time by Gerfaut’s withering glance, +but, with the obstinacy of drunkenness, continued in a more or less +stammering voice: + +“I swore that I would gloss it over; you annoy me. I committed an error, +gentlemen, in calling the lover in this story Octave. It is as clear +as day that his name is Boleslas, Boleslas Matalowski. There is no more +connection between him and my friend Octave than there is between my +other friend Bergenheim and the prince Kolinski--Woginski--what the +devil has become of my Prince’s name? A good reward to whoever will tell +me his name!” + +“It is wrong to take advantage of his condition and make him talk any +more,” said Gerfaut. “I beg of you, Marillac, hold your tongue and come +with me,” said he, lowering his voice as he leaned toward the headstrong +story-teller and took him by the arm, trying to make him rise. This +attempt only irritated Marillac; he seized hold of the edge of the table +and clung to it with all his might, screaming: + +“No! a thousand times no! I will finish my story. President, allow me +to speak. Ah! ha! you wish to prevent me from speaking because you know +that I tell a story better than you, and that I make an impression +upon my audience. You never have been able to catch my chic. Jealous! +Envious! I know you, serpent!” + +“I beg of you, if you ever cared for me, listen!” replied Octave, who, +as he bent over his friend, noticed the Baron’s attentive look. + +“No, I say no!” shouted the artist again, and he added to this word +one of the ugliest-sounding oaths in the French language. He arose, and +pushing Octave aside, leaned upon the table, bursting into a loud laugh. +“Poets all,” said he, “be reassured and rejoice. You shall have your +story, in spite of those envious serpents. But first give me something +to drink, for my throat is like a box of matches. No wine,” he added, as +he saw the notary armed with a bottle. “This devilish wine has made me +thirsty instead of refreshing me; besides, I am going to be as sober as +a judge.” + +Gerfaut, with the desperation of a man who sees that he is about to be +ruined, seized him again by the arm and tried to fascinate him by his +steady gaze. But he obtained no response to this mute and threatening +supplication except a stupid smile and these stammering words: + +“Give me something to drink, Boleslas--Marinski-Graboski--I believe that +Satan has lighted his heating apparatus within my stomach.” + +The persons seated near the two friends heard an angry hiss from +Gerfaut’s lips. He suddenly leaned over, and taking, from among several +bottles, a little carafe he filled Marillac’s glass to the brim. + +“Thanks,” said the latter, trying to stand erect upon his legs; “you are +an angel. Rest easy, your love affairs will run no risk. I will gloss it +all over--To your health, gentlemen!” + +He emptied the glass and put it upon the table; he then smiled and +waved his hand at his auditors with true royal courtesy; but his mouth +remained half open as if his lips were petrified, his eyes grew large +and assumed a haggard expression; the hand he had stretched out fell to +his side; a second more, and he reeled and fell from his chair as if he +had had a stroke of apoplexy. + +Gerfaut, whose eyes had not left him, watched these different symptoms +with unutterable anxiety; but in spite of his fright, he drew a sigh of +relief when he saw Marillac mute and speechless. + +“It is singular,” observed the notary, as he aided in removing his +neighbor from the table, “that glass of water had more effect upon him +than four or five bottles of wine.” + +“Georges,” said Gerfaut to one of the servants, in an agitated voice, +“open his bed and help me carry him to it; Monsieur de Bergenheim, I +suppose there is a chemist near here, if I should need any medicine.” + +The greater part of the guests arose at this unexpected incident, and +some of them hastened to Marillac’s side, as he remained motionless in +his chair. The repeated bathing of his temples with cold water and +the holding of salts to his nose were not able to bring him to +consciousness. + +Instead of going to his aid with the others, Bergenheim profited by the +general confusion to lean over the table. He plunged his finger into the +artist’s glass, in which a part of the water remained, and then touched +his tongue. Only the notary noticed this movement. Thinking this rather +strange, he seized the glass in his turn and swallowed the few drops +that it contained. + +“Heavens!” he exclaimed, in a low voice, to Bergenheim, “I am not +surprised that the bumper asphyxiated him on the spot. Do you know, +Baron, if this Monsieur de Gerfaut had taken anything but water during +the evening, I should say that he was the drunker of the two; or that, +if they were not such good friends, he wished to poison him in order to +stop his talk. Did you notice that he did not seem pleased to hear this +story?” + +“Ah! you, too!” exclaimed the Baron angrily, “everybody will know it.” + +“To take a carafe of kirsch for clear water,” continued the notary, +without paying any attention to the Baron’s agitation. “The devil! the +safe thing to do is to give him an emetic at once; this poor fellow has +enough prussic acid in his stomach to poison a cow.” + +“Who is talking of prussic acid and poisoning?” exclaimed the public +prosecutor, running with an unsteady step from one extremity of the +table to the other, “who has been poisoned? I am the public prosecutor, +I am the only one here who has any power to start an investigation. Have +they had an autopsy? Where did they find it? Buried in the fields or the +woods, or floating on the river?” + +“You lie! there is no dead body in the river!” exclaimed Bergenheim, +in a thundering voice, as he seized the magistrate by the collar in a +bewildered way. + +The magistrate was incapable of making the least resistance when held by +such a vigorous hand and he received two or three shakings. Suddenly the +Baron stopped, and struck his forehead with a gesture common to persons +who feel that their reason has given way under a paroxysm of rage. + +“I am crazy,” said he, with much emotion. “Monsieur,” he added, “I am +very sorry. We really have all taken too much wine. I beg your pardon, +gentlemen. I will leave you a moment--I need some fresh air.” + +He hurriedly left the room, almost running against the persons who were +carrying Marillac to his room. The public prosecutor, whose ideas +had been somewhat mixed before, was now completely muddled by this +unheard-of attack upon his dignity, and fell back exhausted in his +chair. + +“All poor drinkers!” said the notary to Monsieur de Carrier who was left +alone with him, for the prosecutor, half suffocated with indignation and +intoxication, could no longer be counted as one of them. “Here they are, +all drunk, from just a few glasses of wine.” + +The notary shook his head with a mysterious air. + +“These things, though, are plain enough to me,” said he at last; “first, +this Monsieur Marillac has not a very strong head and tells pretty +tedious stories when drunk; then his friend has a way of taking kirsch +for water which I can understand only in extreme cases; but the Baron is +the one who astonished me most. Did you notice how he shook our friend +who has just fallen on the floor? As to the Baron pretending that he +was drunk and thus excusing himself, I do not believe one word of it; he +drank nothing but water. There were times this evening when he appeared +very strange indeed! There is some deviltry underneath all this; +Monsieur de Carrier, rest assured there is some deviltry underneath it +all.” + +“I am the public prosecutor--they can not remove the body without me,” + stammered the weak voice of the magistrate, who, after trying in vain to +recover his equilibrium, lay flat upon the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. A STRATAGEM + +Instead of joining the persons who were carrying Marillac away, +Christian went into the garden after leaving the dining-room, in quest +of the fresh air which he gave as an excuse for leaving his guests. In +fact, he felt oppressed almost to suffocation by the emotions he had +undergone during the last few hours. The dissimulation which prudence +made a necessity and honor a duty had aggravated the suffering by +protracted concealment. + +For some time Christian walked rapidly among the paths and trees in the +park. Bathing his burning brow in the cool night air, he sought to calm +the secret agitation and the boiling blood that were raging within him, +in the midst of which his reason struggled and fought like a ship about +to be wrecked. He used all his strength to recover his self-possession, +so as to be able to master the perils and troubles which surrounded him +with a calm if not indifferent eye; in one word, to regain that control +over himself that he had lost several times during the supper. His +efforts were not in vain. He contemplated his situation without +weakness, exaggeration, or anger, as if it concerned another. Two facts +rose foremost before him, one accomplished, the other uncertain. On one +side, murder, on the other, adultery. No human power could remedy the +first or prevent its consequences; he accepted it, then, but turn his +mind away from it he must, in the presence of this greater disaster. So +far, only presumptions existed against Clemence--grave ones, to be sure, +if one added Lambernier’s revelations to Marillac’s strangely indiscreet +remarks. It was his first duty to himself, as well as to her, to know +the whole truth; if innocent, he would beg her forgiveness; if guilty, +he had a chastisement to inflict. + +“It is an abyss,” thought he, “and I may find as much blood as mud at +the bottom of it. No matter, I will descend to its very depths.” + +When he returned to the chateau, his face had resumed its usual calm +expression. The most observing person would hardly have noticed any +change in his looks. The dining-room had been abandoned at last. The +victorious and the vanquished had retired to their rooms. First of all, +he went up to the artist’s apartment, so that no singularity in his +conduct should attract attention, for, as master of the house, a visit +to one of his guests who had fallen dead, or nearly so, at his own table +was a positive duty. The attentions lavished upon Marillac by his friend +had removed the danger which might have resulted from his imprudent +excesses in drinking, and the sort of poisoning with which he had +crowned the whole. He lay upon his bed in the same position in which he +had first been placed, and was sleeping that heavy, painful sleep which +serves as an expiation for bacchic excesses. Gerfaut was seated a few +steps from him, at a table, writing; he seemed prepared to sit up all +night, and to fulfill, with the devotion of a friend, the duties of a +nurse. + +Octave arose at sight of the Baron, his face having resumed its +habitual reserved expression. The two men greeted each other with equal +composure. + +“Is he sleeping?” asked Christian. + +“But a few minutes only,” replied the latter; “he is all right now, and +I hope,” Octave added, smilingly, “that this will serve as a lesson +to you, and that hereafter you will put some limits to your princely +hospitality. Your table is a regular ambush.” + +“Do not throw stones at me, I pray,” replied the Baron, with an +appearance of equal good-humor. “If your friend wants to ask an +explanation of anybody it is of you, for you took some kirsch of 1765 +for water.” + +“I really believe that I was the drunker of the two,” interrupted +Octave, with a vivacity which concealed a certain embarrassment; “we +must have terribly scandalized Monsieur de Camier, who has but a poor +opinion of Parisian heads and stomachs.” + +After looking for a moment at the sleeping artist, Christian approached +the table where Gerfaut was seated, and threw a glance over the latter’s +writing. + +“You are still at work, I see?” said he, as his eyes rested upon the +paper. + +“Just now I am following the modest trade of copyist. These are some +verses which Mademoiselle de Corandeuil asked me for--” + +“Will you do me a favor? I am going to her room now; give me these +verses to hand to her. Since the misfortune that befell Constance, she +has been terribly angry with me, and I shall not be sorry to have some +reason for going to her room.” + +Octave finished the two or three lines which remained to be copied, and +handed the sheet to Bergenheim. The latter looked at it attentively, +then carefully folded it and put it in his pocket. + +“I thank you, Monsieur,” said he, “I will leave you to your friendly +duties.” + +There was something so solemn in the calm accent of these words, and the +polite bow which accompanied them, that Gerfaut felt chilled, though not +alarmed, for he did not understand. + +When he reached his room, Bergenheim opened the paper which Gerfaut +had just given him and compared it with the letter he had received from +Lambernier. The suspicions which a separate examination had aroused were +confirmed upon comparing the two letters; no doubt was possible; the +letter and the poetry were written by the same hand! + +After a few moments’ reflection, Christian went to his wife’s room. + +Clemence was seated in an armchair, near the fireplace, indulging in a +revery. Although her lover was not there, she was still under the charm +of this consuming as well as intellectual passion, which responded to +the yearnings of her heart, the delicacy of her tastes, and the activity +of her imagination. At this moment, she was happy to live; there was not +a sad thought that these words, “He loves me!” could not efface. + +The noise of the opening door aroused her from her meditation. Madame de +Bergenheim turned her head with a look of vexation, but instead of +the servant whom she was ready to reprimand, she saw her husband. The +expression of impatience imprinted upon her face gave way to one of +fright. She arose with a movement she could not repress, as if she had +seen a stranger, and stood leaning against the mantel in a constrained +attitude. Nothing in Christian’s manner justified, however, the fear the +sight of him seemed to cause his wife. He advanced with a tranquil air, +and a smile that he had forced upon his lips. + +With the presence of mind with which all women seem to be gifted, +Clemence fell back into her chair, and, assuming a languid, suffering +tone, mixed with an appearance of reproach, she said: + +“I am glad to see you for a moment in order to scold you; you have not +shown your usual consideration to-night. Did you not think that the +noise from the dining-room might reach as far as here?” + +“Has it troubled you?” asked Christian, looking at her attentively. + +“Unless one had a head of cast-iron--It seems that these gentlemen have +abused the liberty permitted in the country. From what Justine tells me, +things have taken place which would have been more appropriate at the +Femme-sans-Tete.” + +“Are you suffering very much?” + +“A frightful neuralgia--I only wish I could sleep.” + +“I was wrong not to have thought of this. You will forgive me, will you +not?” + +Bergenheim leaned over the chair, passed his arm around the young +woman’s shoulders, and pressed his lips to her forehead. For the first +time in his life, he was playing a part upon the marital stage, and +he watched with the closest attention the slightest expression of his +wife’s face. He noticed that she shivered, and that her forehead which +he had lightly touched was as cold as marble. + +He arose and took several turns about the room, avoiding even a glance +at her, for the aversion which she had just shown toward her husband +seemed to him positive proof of the very thing he dreaded, and he feared +he should not be able to contain himself. + +“What is the matter with you?” she asked, as she noticed his agitation. + +These words brought the Baron to his senses, and he returned to her +side, replying in a careless tone: + +“I am annoyed for a very simple cause; it concerns your aunt.” + +“I know. She is furious against you on account of the double misfortune +to her dog and coachman. You will admit that, as far as Constance is +concerned, you are guilty.” + +“She is not content with being furious; she threatens a complete +rupture. Here, read this.” + +He handed her a large letter, folded lengthwise and sealed with the +Corandeuil crest. + +Madame de Bergenheim took the letter and read its contents aloud: + + “After the unheard-of and unqualifiable events of this day, the + resolution which I have formed will doubtless not surprise you in + the least, Monsieur. You will understand that I can not and will + not remain longer in a house where the lives of my servants and + other creatures which are dear to me may be exposed to the most + deplorable, wilful injury. I have seen for some time, although I + have tried to close my eyes to the light of truth, the plots that + were hatched daily against all who wore the Corandeuil livery. I + supposed that I should not be obliged to put an end to this highly + unpleasant matter myself, but that you would undertake this charge. + It seems, however, that respect and regard for women do not form + part of a gentleman’s duties nowadays. I shall therefore be obliged + to make up myself for the absence of such attentions, and watch over + the safety of the persons and other creatures that belong to me. I + shall leave for Paris tomorrow. I hope that Constance’s condition + will permit her to endure the journey, but Baptiste’s wound is too + serious for me to dare to expose him. I am compelled, although with + deep regret, to leave him here until he is able to travel, trusting + him to the kind mercies of my niece. + + “Receive, Monsieur, with my adieux, my thanks for your courteous + hospitality. + + “YOLANDE DE CORANDEUIL.” + +“Your aunt abuses the privileges of being foolish,” said the Baron, when +his wife had finished reading the letter; “she deserts the battlefield +and leaves behind her wounded.” + +“But I saw her, not two hours ago, and, although she was very angry, she +did not say one word of this departure.” + +“Jean handed me this letter but a moment ago, clad in full livery, and +with the importance of an ambassador who demands his passports. You +must go and talk with her, dear, and use all your eloquence to make her +change her mind.” + +“I will go at once,” said Clemence, rising. + +“You know that your aunt is rather obstinate when she takes a notion +into her head. If she persists in this, tell her, in order to decide her +to remain, that I am obliged to go to Epinal with Monsieur de Carrier +tomorrow morning, on account of the sale of some wood-land, and that +I shall be absent three days at least. You understand that it will be +difficult for your aunt to leave you alone during my absence, on account +of these gentlemen.” + +“Certainly, that could not be,” said she, quickly. + +“I do not see, as far as I am concerned, anything improper about it,” + said the Baron, trying to smile; “but we must obey the proprieties. +You are too young and too pretty a mistress of the house to pass for a +chaperon, and Aline, instead of being a help, would be one inconvenience +the more. So your aunt must stay here until my return.” + +“And by that time Constance and Baptiste will be both cured and her +anger will have passed away. You did not tell me about this trip to +Epinal nor the selling of the woodland.” + +“Go to your aunt’s room before she retires to bed,” replied Bergenheim, +without paying any attention to this remark, and seating himself in the +armchair; “I will wait for you here. We leave to-morrow morning early, +and I wish to know tonight what to depend upon.” + +As soon as Madame de Bergenheim had left the room, Christian arose +and ran, rather than walked, to the space between the two windows, and +sought the button in the woodwork of which Lambernier had told him. He +soon found it, and upon his first pressure the spring worked and the +panel flew open. The casket was upon the shelf; he took it and carefully +examined the letters which it contained. The greater part of them +resembled in form the one that he possessed; some of them were in +envelopes directed to Madame de Bergenheim and bore Gerfaut’s crest. +There was no doubt about the identity of the handwriting; if the Baron +had had any, these proofs were enough. After glancing rapidly over a few +of the notes, he replaced them in the casket and returned the latter +to the shelf where he had found it. He then carefully closed the little +door and reseated himself beside the fireplace. + +When Clemence returned, her husband seemed absorbed in reading one +of the books which he had found upon her table, while he mechanically +played with a little bronze cup that his wife used to drop her rings in +when she removed them. + +“I have won my case,” said the Baroness, in a gay tone; “my aunt saw +clearly the logic of the reasons which I gave her, and she defers her +departure until your return.” + +Christian made no reply. + +“That means that she will not go at all, for her anger will have time +to cool off in three days; at heart she is really kind!--How long is +it since you have known English?” she asked, as she noticed that her +husband’s attention seemed to be fixed upon a volume of Lord Byron’s +poems. + +Bergenheim threw the book on the table, raised his head and gazed +calmly at his wife. In spite of all his efforts, his face had assumed +an expression which would have frightened her if she had noticed it, but +her eyes were fastened upon the cup which he was twisting in his hand as +if it were made of clay. + +“Mon Dieu! Christian, what is the matter with you? What are you doing +to my poor cup?” she asked, with surprise mingled with a little of that +fright which is so prompt to be aroused if one feels not above reproach. + +He arose and put the misshapen bronze upon the table. + +“I do not know what ails me to-night,” said he, “my nerves are unstrung. +I will leave you, for I need rest myself. I shall start to-morrow +morning before you are up, and I shall return Wednesday.” + +“Not any later, I hope,” she said, with that soft, sweet voice, from +which, in such circumstances, very few women have the loyalty to +abstain. + +He went out without replying, for he feared he might be no longer master +of himself; he felt, when offered this hypocritical, almost criminal, +caress, as if he would like to end it all by killing her on the spot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE CRISIS + +Twenty-four hours had passed. The Baron had departed early in the +morning, and so had all his guests, with the exception of Gerfaut and +the artist. The day passed slowly and tediously. Aline had been vexed, +somewhat estranged from her sister-in-law since their conversation in +the little parlor. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was entirely occupied in +restoring her poodle to health. + +Marillac, who had been drinking tea ever since rising, dared not present +his face, which showed the effects of his debauch of the night before, +to the mistress of the house, whose exacting and aristocratic austerity +he very much feared. He pretended to be ill, in order to delay the +moment when he should be forced to make his appearance. Madame de +Bergenheim did not leave her aunt, and thus avoided being alone with +Octave--who, on account of these different complications, might have +spent a continual tete-a-tete with her had she been so inclined. +Christian’s absence, instead of being a signal of deliverance for the +lovers, seemed to have created a new misunderstanding, for Clemence +felt that it would be a mean action to abuse the liberty her husband’s +departure gave her. She was thus very reserved during the day, when she +felt that there were more facilities for yielding, but, in the evening, +when alone in her apartment, this fictitious prudery disappeared. She +spent the entire evening lying upon the divan in the little boudoir, +dreaming of Octave, talking to him as if he could reply, putting into +practice again that capitulation of conscience which permits our mind to +wander on the brink of guilt, provided actions are strictly correct. + +After a while this exaltation fell by degrees. When struggling +earnestly, she had regarded Octave as an enemy; but, since she had gone +to him as one passes over to the enemy, and, in her heart, had taken +part with the lover against the husband, her courage failed her as she +thought of this, and she fell, weak, guilty, and vanquished before the +combat. + +When she had played with her passion, she had given Christian little +thought; she had felt it childish to bring her husband into an amusement +that she believed perfectly harmless; then, when she wished to break her +plaything, and found it made of iron and turning more and more into a +tyrannical yoke, she called to her aid the conjugal divinities, but +in too faint a voice to be heard. Now the situation had changed again. +Christian was no longer the insignificant ally that the virtuous wife +had condemned, through self-conceit, to ignorant neutrality; he was the +husband, in the hostile and fearful acceptation of the word. This man +whom she had wronged would always have law on his side. + +Religion sometimes takes pity on a wayward wife, but society is always +ready to condemn her. She was his own, fastened to him by indissoluble +bonds. He had marked her with his name like a thing of his own; he +held the threads of her life in his hands; he was the dispenser of her +fortune, the judge of her actions, and the master of their fireside. She +had no dignity except through him. If he should withdraw his support for +a single day, she would fall from her position without any human power +being able to rescue her. Society closes its doors to the outcast wife, +and adds to the husband’s sentence another penalty still more scathing. + +Having now fallen from the sphere of illusion to that of reality, +Madame de Bergenheim was wounded at every step. A bitter feeling of +discouragement overwhelmed her, as she thought of the impossibility of +happiness to which a deplorable fatality condemned her. Marriage and +love struggled for existence, both powerless to conquer, and qualified +only to cause each other’s death. Marriage made love a crime; love made +marriage a torture. She could only choose between two abysses: shame in +her love, despair in her virtue. + +The hours passed rapidly in these sad and gloomy meditations; the clock +marked the hour of midnight. Madame de Bergenheim thought it time to try +to sleep; but, instead of ringing for her maid, she decided to go to the +library herself and get a book, thinking that perhaps it might aid +her in going to sleep. As she opened the door leading into the closet +adjoining her parlor, she saw by the light of the candle which she held +in her hand something which shone like a precious stone lying upon the +floor. At first she thought it might be one of her rings, but as she +stooped to pick it up she saw her error. It was a ruby pin mounted +in enamelled gold. She recognized it, at the very first glance, as +belonging to M. de Gerfaut. + +She picked up the pin and returned to the parlor. She exhausted in +imagination a thousand conjectures in order to explain the presence of +this object in such a place. Octave must have entered it or he could not +have left this sign of his presence; it meant that he could enter her +room at his will; what he had done once, he could certainly do again! +The terror which this thought gave her dissipated like a dash of cold +water all her former intoxicating thoughts; for, like the majority of +women, she had more courage in theory than in action. A moment before, +she had invoked Octave’s image and seated it lovingly by her side. + +When she believed this realization possible, all she thought of was to +prevent it. She was sure that her lover never had entered the closet +through the parlor, as he never had been in this part of the house +farther than the little drawing-room. Suddenly a thought of the little +corridor door struck her; she remembered that this door was not usually +locked because the one from the library was always closed; she knew that +Octave had a key to the latter, and she readily understood how he had +reached her apartment. Mustering up all her courage through excessive +fear, she returned to the closet, hurried down the stairs, and pushed +the bolt. She then returned to the parlor and fell upon the divan, +completely exhausted by her expedition. + +Little by little her emotion passed away. Her fright appeared childish +to her, as soon as she believed herself sheltered from danger; she +promised herself to give Octave a good scolding the next morning; then +she renounced this little pleasure, when she remembered that it would +force her to admit the discovery of the pin, and of course to return it +to him, for she had resolved to keep it. She had always had a particular +fancy for this pin, but she would never have dared to ask him for it, +and besides, it was the fact that Octave usually wore it that made it +of infinite value to her. The desire to appropriate it was irresistible, +since chance had thrown it into her hands. She tied a black satin +ribbon about her white neck, and pinned it with the precious ruby. After +kissing it as devotedly as if it were a relic, she ran to her mirror to +judge of the effect of the theft. + +“How pretty, and how I love it!” said she; “but how can I wear it so +that he will not see it?” + +Before she could solve this problem, she heard a slight noise, which +petrified her as she stood before her glass. + +“It is he!” she thought; after standing for a moment half stunned, she +dragged herself as far as the stairs, and leaning over, listened with +fear and trembling. At first she could hear nothing but the beating of +her heart; then she heard the other noise again, and more distinctly. +Somebody was turning the handle of the door, trying to open it. The +unexpected obstacle of the bolt doubtless exasperated the would-be +visitor, for the door was shaken and pushed with a violence which +threatened to break the lock or push down the door. + +Madame de Bergenheim’s first thought was to run into her chamber and +lock the door behind her;--the second showed her the danger that might +result if the slightest noise should reach other ears. Not a moment was +to be lost in hesitation. The young woman quickly descended the stairs +and drew the bolt. The door opened softly and closed with the same +precaution. The lamp from the parlor threw a feeble light upon the upper +steps of the staircase, but the lower ones were in complete darkness. It +was with her heart rather than her eyes that she recognized Octave; he +could distinguish Madame de Bergenheim only in an indistinct way by +her white dress, which was faintly outlined in the darkness; she stood +before him silent and trembling with emotion, for she had not yet +thought of a speech that would send him away. + +He also felt the embarrassment usual in any one guilty of so foolhardy +an action. He had expected to surprise Clemence, and he found her upon +her guard; the thought of the disloyal part he was playing at this +moment made the blood mount to his cheeks and took away, for the time +being, his ordinary assurance. He sought in vain for a speech which +might first justify him and then conquer her. He had recourse to a +method often employed in the absence of eloquence. He fell on his +knees before the young woman and seized her hands; it seemed as if the +violence of his emotions rendered him incapable of expressing himself +except by silent adoration. As she felt his hands touch hers, Clemence +drew back and said in a low voice: + +“You disgust me!” + +“Disgust!” he repeated, drawing himself up to his full height. + +“Yes, and that is not enough,” she continued, indignantly, “I ought to +say scorn instead of disgust. You deceived me when you said you loved +me--you infamously deceived me!” + +“But I adore you!” he exclaimed, with vehemence; “what proof do you wish +of my love?” + +“Go! go away at once! A proof, did you say? I will accept only one: go, +I order it, do you understand?” + +Instead of obeying her, he seized her in his arms in spite of her +resistance. + +“Anything but that,” he said; “order me to kill myself at your feet, I +will do it, but I will not go.” + +She tried for a moment to disengage herself, but although she used all +her strength, she was unable to do so. + +“Oh, you are without pity,” she said, feebly, “but I abhor you; rather, +a thousand times rather, kill me!” + +Gerfaut was almost frightened by the agonized accent in which she spoke +these words; he released her, but as he removed his arms, she reeled and +he was obliged to support her. + +“Why do you persecute me, then?” she murmured, as she fell in a faint +upon her lover’s breast. + +He picked her up in his arms and mounted the narrow stairs with +difficulty. Carrying her into the parlor, he placed her upon the divan. +She had completely lost consciousness; one would have believed her dead +from the pallor of her face, were, it not for a slight trembling which +agitated her form every few seconds and announced a nervous attack. The +most expert of lady’s maids could not have removed the little ribbon +from her neck, which seemed to trouble her respiration, more adroitly +than did Octave. In spite of his anxiety, he could not repress a +smile as he recognized the pin which he hardly expected to find upon +Clemence’s neck, considering the hostile way in which she had greeted +him. He knelt before her and bathed her temples with cold water, making +her also inhale some salts which he found upon the toilet table in the +next room. Little by little, these attentions produced an effect; the +nervous convulsion became less frequent and a slight flush suffused her +pale cheeks. She opened her eyes and then closed them, as if the light +troubled them; then, extending her arms, she passed them about Octave’s +neck as he leaned over her; she remained thus for some time, breathing +quietly and to all appearances sleeping. Suddenly she said: + +“You will give me your pin, will you not?” + +“Is not all that I have yours?” he replied, in a low tone. + +“Mine!” she continued, in a feebly loving voice; “tell me again that you +belong to me, to me alone, Octave!” + +“You do not send me away any longer, then? you like me to be near you?” + he said, with a happy smile, as he kissed the young woman’s brow. + +“Oh! stay, I beg of you! stay with me forever!” + +She folded her arms more tightly around him, as if she feared he might +leave her. Suddenly she sat up, opened her eyes, and gazed about her in +silent astonishment. + +“What has happened?” said she, “and how is it that you are here? Ah! +this is dreadful indeed; you have cruelly punished me for my weakness.” + +This sudden severity after her delicious abandon, changed Octave’s +pleasure into angry vexation. + +“You are the one,” he replied, “who are cruel! Why allow me so much +bliss, if you intended to take it away from me so soon? Since you love +me only in your dreams, I beg of you to go to sleep again and never +awaken. I will stay near you. Your words were so sweet, but a moment +ago, and now you deny them!” + +“What did I say?” she asked, with hesitation, a deep blush suffusing her +face and neck. + +These symptoms, which he considered a bad augury, increased Octave’s +irritation. He arose and said in a bitter tone: + +“Fear nothing! I will not abuse the words which have escaped you, +however flattering or charming they may have been; they told me that you +loved me. I do not believe it any longer; you are agitated, I can see; +but it is from fear and not love.” + +Clemence drew herself up upon the divan, crossed her arms over her +breast and gazed at him for a few moments in silence. + +“Do you believe these two sentiments incompatible?” she asked at last; +“you are the only one whom I fear. Others would not complain.” + +There was such irresistible charm in her voice and glance that Gerfaut’s +ill-humor melted away like ice in the sun’s rays. He fell upon his knees +before the divan, and tried to pass her arms about his neck as before; +but instead of lending herself to this project, she attempted to rise. + +“I am so happy at your feet,” he said, gently preventing her. “Everybody +else can sit beside you; I only have the right to kneel. Do not take +this right away from me.” + +Madame de Bergenheim extricated one of her hands, and, raising her +finger with a threatening gesture, she said: + +“Think a little less of your rights, and more of your duties. I advise +you to obey me and to profit by my kindness, which allows you to sit by +my side for a moment. Think that I might be more severe, and that if +I treated you as you merited--if I told you to go away, would you obey +me?” + +Gerfaut hesitated a moment and looked at her supplicatingly. + +“I would obey,” said he; “but would you have the courage to order it?” + +“I allow you to remain until just half past twelve,” said she, as she +glanced at the clock, which she could see through the half-open door. +Gerfaut followed her glance, and saw that she accorded him only a +quarter of an hour: but he was too clever to make any observation. He +knew that the second quarter of an hour is always less difficult to +obtain than the first. + +“I am sure,” said she, “that you have thought me capricious to-day; you +must pardon me, it is a family fault. You know the saying: ‘Caprice de +Corandeuil?” + +“I wish it to be said: Amour de Gerfaut,” said he, tenderly. + +“You are right to be amiable and say pleasant things to me, for I need +them badly to-night. I am sad and weary; the darkest visions come before +my mind. I think it is the storm which makes me feel so. How doleful +this thunder is! It seems to me like an omen of misfortune.” + +“It is only the fancy of your vivid imagination. If you exerted the +same will to be happy that you do to imagine troubles, our life would be +perfect. What matters the storm? and even if you do see an omen in it, +what is there so very terrible? Clouds are vapor, thunder is a sound, +both are equally ephemeral; only the blue sky, which they can obscure +but for a moment, is eternal.” + +“Did you not hear something just now?” asked Madame de Bergenheim, as +she gave a sudden start and listened eagerly. + +“Nothing. What did you think it was?” + +“I feared it might be Justine who had taken it into her head to come +down stairs; she is so tiresome in her attentions--” + +She arose and went to look in her chamber, which she carefully locked; a +moment later, she returned and seated herself again upon the divan. + +“Justine is sleeping by this time,” said Octave; “I should not have +ventured if I had not seen that her light was out.” + +Clemence took his hand and placed it over her heart. + +“Now,” said she, “when I tell you that I am frightened, will you believe +me?” + +“Poor dear!” he exclaimed, as he felt her heart throbbing violently. + +“You are the one who causes me these palpitations for the slightest +thing. I know that we do not run any danger, that everybody is in his +own room by this time, and yet, somehow, I feel terribly frightened. +There are women, so they say, who get used to this torture, and end by +being guilty and tranquil at the same time. It is an unworthy thought, +but I’ll confess that, sometimes, when I suffer so, I wish I were like +them. But it is impossible; I was not made for wrong-doing. You can not +understand this, you are a man; you love boldly, you indulge in every +thought that seems sweet to you without being troubled by remorse. And +then, when you suffer, your anguish at least belongs to you, nobody has +any right to ask you what is the matter. But I, my tears even are not +my own; I have often shed them on your account--I must hide them, for he +has a right to ask: ‘Why do you weep?’ And what can I reply?” + +She turned away her head to conceal the tears which she could not +restrain; he saw them, and, leaning over her, he kissed them away. + +“Your tears are mine!” he exclaimed, passionately; “but do not distress +me by telling me that our love makes you unhappy.” + +“Unhappy! oh, yes! very unhappy! and yet I would not change this sorrow +for the richest joys of others. This unhappiness is my treasure! To be +loved by you! To think that there was a time when our love might have +been legitimate! What fatality weighs upon us, Octave? Why did we +know each other too late? I often dream a beautiful dream--a dream of +freedom.” + +“You are free if you love me--It is the rain against the windows,” said +he, seeing Madame de Bergenheim anxiously listening again. They kept +silent for a moment, but could hear nothing except the monotonous +whistling of the storm. + +“To be loved by you and not to blush!” said she, as she gazed at him +lovingly. “To be together always, without fearing that a stroke of +lightning might separate us! to give you my heart and still be worthy to +pray! it would be one of those heavenly delights that one grasps only in +dreams--” + +“Oh! dream when I shall be far from you; but, when I am at your feet, +when our hearts beat only for each other, do not evoke, lest you destroy +our present happiness, that which is beyond our power. Do you think +there are bonds which can more strongly unite us? Am I not yours? And +you, yourself, who speak of the gift of your heart, have you not given +it to me entirely?” + +“Oh! yes, entirely! And it is but right, since I owe it to you. I did +not understand life until the day I received it from your eyes; since +that minute I have lived, and I can die. I love you! I fail to find +words to tell you one-tenth of what my heart contains, but I love you--” + +He received her in his arms, where she took refuge so as to conceal her +face after these words. She remained thus for an instant, then arose +with a start, seized Octave’s hands and pressed them in a convulsive +manner, saying in a voice as weak as a dying woman’s: + +“I am lost!” + +He instinctively followed Clemence’s gaze, which was fastened upon the +glass door. An almost imperceptible movement of the muslin curtain was +evident. At the same moment, there was a slight noise, a step upon +the carpet, the turning of the handle of the door, and it was silently +opened as if by a ghost. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE AGREEMENT + +Madame de Bergenheim tried to rise, but her strength failed her, she +fell on her knees, and then dropped at her lover’s feet. The latter +leaped from the divan with out trying to assist her, stepped over the +body stretched before him, and drew his poniard out of his pocket. + +Christian stood upon the threshold of the door silent and motionless. + +There was a moment of terrible silence. Only the eyes of the two men +spoke; those of the husband were fixed, dull, and implacable; those +of the lover sparkled with the audacity of despair. After a moment of +mutual fascination, the Baron made a movement as if to enter. + +“One step more and you are a dead man!” exclaimed Gerfaut, in a low +voice, as he clutched the handle of his poniard. + +Christian extended his hand, replying to this threat only by a look; but +such an imperative one that the thrust of a lance would not have been as +fearful to the lover. Octave put his poniard in its sheath, ashamed +of his emotion in the presence of such calm, and imitated his enemy’s +scornful attitude. + +“Come, Monsieur,” said the latter, in a low voice, as he took a step +backward. + +Instead of following his example, Gerfaut cast a glance upon Clemence. +She had fallen in such a dead faint that he sought in vain for her +breath. He leaned over her, with an irresistible feeling of pity and +love; but just as he was about to take her in his arms and place her +upon the divan, Bergenheim’s hand stopped him. If there is a being on +earth to whom one owes regard and respect, it is the one whom our +own wrong has rendered our enemy. Octave arose, and said, in a grave, +resigned voice: + +“I am at your orders, Monsieur.” + +Christian pointed to the door, as if to invite him to pass out first, +thus preserving, with his extraordinary composure, the politeness which +a good education makes an indelible habit, but which at this moment +was more frightful to behold than the most furious outburst of temper. +Gerfaut glanced at Clemence again, and said, as he pointed to her: + +“Shall you leave her without any aid in this condition? It is cruel.” + +“It is not from cruelty, but out of pity,” replied the Baron, coldly; +“she will awake only too soon.” + +Octave’s heart was intensely oppressed, but he managed to conceal his +emotion. He hesitated no longer and stepped out. The husband followed, +without giving a glance at the poor woman whose own words had condemned +her so inexorably. And so she was left alone in this pretty boudoir as +if in a tomb. + +The two men descended the stairs leading from the little closet. At +the library door they found themselves in absolute obscurity; Christian +opened a dark-lantern and its faint light guided their steps. They +traversed, in silence, the picture-gallery, the vestibule, and then +mounted the main staircase. They reached the Baron’s apartment without +meeting anybody or betraying themselves by the slightest sound. With the +same outward self-possession which had characterized his whole conduct, +Christian, after carefully closing the doors, lighted a candelabra +filled with candles which was upon the mantel, and then turned to his +companion, who was far less composed than he. + +Gerfaut had suffered tortures since leaving the little parlor. A feeling +of regret and deepest pity, at the thought of the inevitable catastrophe +which must follow, had softened his heart. He saw in the most odious of +colors the selfishness of his love. Clemence’s last glance as she fell +fainting at his feet--a forgiving and a loving glance--was like a dagger +in his heart. He had ruined her! the woman he loved! the queen of his +life! the angel he adored! This idea was like hell to him. He was almost +unable to control his emotion, dizzy as he was on the brink of the abyss +opened by his hand, into which he had precipitated what he counted as +the dearest part of his own self. + +Bergenheim stood, cold and sombre, like a northern sky, opposite this +pale-faced man, upon whose countenance a thousand passionate emotions +were depicted like clouds on a stormy day. + +When Bergenheim’s eyes met Octave’s, they were so full of vengeance and +hatred that the latter trembled as if he had come in contact with a wild +beast. The lover actually realized the inferiority of his attitude +in the presence of this enraged husband. A feeling of self-pride and +indignation came to his aid. He put aside remorse and regrets until +later; these sad expiations were forbidden him now; another duty lay +before him. There is only one reparation possible for certain offences. +The course once open, one must go to its very end; pardon is to be found +only upon the tomb of the offended. + +Octave knew he had to submit to this necessity. He stifled all scruples +which might have weakened his firmness, and resumed his habitual +disdainful look. His eyes returned his enemy’s glance of deadly hatred, +and he began the conversation like a man who is accustomed to master the +events of his life and forbids any one to shape them for him. + +“Before any explanations take place between us,” he said, “I have to +declare to you, upon my honor, that there is only one guilty person in +this affair, and that I am the one. The slightest reproach addressed +to Madame de Bergenheim would be a most unjust outrage and a most +deplorable error on your part. I introduced myself into her apartment +without her knowledge and without having been authorized in any way to +do so. I had just entered it when you arrived. Necessity obliges me +to admit a love that is an outrage to you; I am ready to repair this +outrage by any satisfaction you may demand; but in putting myself +at your discretion, I earnestly insist upon exculpating Madame de +Bergenheim from all that can in any way affect her virtue or her +reputation.” + +“As to her reputation,” said Christian, “I will watch over that; as to +her virtue--” + +He did not finish, but his face assumed an expression of incredulous +irony. + +“I swear to you, Monsieur,” said Octave, with increasing emotion, “that +she is above all seduction and should be sheltered from all insult; I +swear to you--What oath can I take that you will believe? I swear that +Madame de Bergenheim never has betrayed any of her duties toward you; +that I never have received the slightest encouragement from her; that +she is as innocent of my folly as the angels in heaven.” + +Christian shook his head with a scornful smile. + +“This day will be the undying remorse of my life if you will not believe +me,” said Gerfaut, with almost uncontrolled vehemence; “I tell you, +Monsieur, she is innocent; innocent! do you understand me? I was led +astray by my passion. I wished to profit by your absence. You know that +I have a key to the library; I used it without her suspecting it. Would +to God that you could have been a witness to our tete-a-tete! you could +then have not one doubt left. Can one prevent a man from entering a +lady’s room, when he has succeeded in finding the way to it in spite of +her wishes? I repeat it, she--” + +“Enough, Monsieur,” replied the Baron coldly. “You are doing as I should +do in your place; but this discussion is out of place; let this woman +exculpate herself. There should be no mention of her between us now.” + +“When I protest that upon my honor--” + +“Monsieur, under such conditions, a false oath is not dishonorable. +I have been a bachelor myself, and I know that anything is allowable +against a husband. Let us drop this, I beg of you, and return to facts. +I consider that I have been insulted by you, and you must give me +satisfaction for this insult.” + +Octave made a sign of acquiescence. + +“One of us must die,” replied Bergenheim, leaning his elbow negligently +upon the mantel. The lover bowed his head a second time. + +“I have offended you,” said he; “you have the right to choose the +reparation due you.” + +“There is only one possible, Monsieur. Blood alone can wipe away the +disgrace; you know it as well as I. You have dishonored my home, you owe +me your life for that. If Fate favors you, you will be rid of me, and I +shall be wronged in every way. There are arrangements to be made, and we +shall settle them at once, if you are willing.” + +He pushed an armchair toward Gerfaut, and took another himself. + +They seated themselves beside a desk which stood in the middle of +the room, and, with an equal appearance of sang-froid and polite +haughtiness, they discussed this murderous combat. + +“It is not necessary for me to say to you,” said Octave, “that I +accept in advance whatever you may decide upon; the weapons, place, and +seconds--” + +“Listen to me, then,” interrupted Bergenheim; “you just now spoke in +favor of this woman in a way that made me think you did not wish +her ruined in the eyes of the world; so I trust you will accept the +proposition I am about to make to you. An ordinary duel would arouse +suspicion and inevitably lead to a discovery of the truth; people would +seek for some plausible motive for the encounter, whatever story we +might tell our seconds. You know that there is but one motive which will +be found acceptable by society for a duel between a young man who had +been received as a guest of this house and the husband. In whatever way +this duel may terminate, this woman’s honor would remain on the ground +with the dead, and that is what I wish to avoid, since she bears my +name.” + +“Will you explain to me what your plan is?” asked Octave, who could not +understand what his adversary had in mind. + +“You know, Monsieur,” Bergenheim continued, in his calm voice, “that I +had a perfect right to kill you a moment ago; I did not do so for two +reasons: first, a gentleman should use his sword and not a poniard, and +then your dead body would have embarrassed me.” + +“The river is close by!” interrupted Gerfaut, with a strange smile. + +Christian looked at him fixedly for a moment, and then replied in a +slightly changed tone: + +“Instead of availing myself of my right, I intend to risk my life +against yours. The danger is the same for myself, who never have +insulted you, as for you, who have offered me the deadliest insult that +one man can offer another. I am willing to spill my blood, but not to +soil my honor.” + +“If it is a duel without seconds that you desire, you have my consent; I +have perfect confidence in your loyalty, and I hope you can say the same +for mine.” + +Christian bowed his head slightly and continued: + +“It is more than a duel without seconds, for the whole affair must be +so contrived as to be looked upon as an accident; it is the only way +to prevent the outbreak and scandal I dread so much. Now here is my +proposition: You know that a wild-boar hunt is to take place to-morrow +in the Mares woods. When we station ourselves we shall be placed +together at a spot I know of, where we shall be out of the sight of the +other hunters. When the boar crosses the enclosure we will fire at a +signal agreed upon. In this way, the denouement, whatever it may be, +will be looked upon as one of those accidents which so frequently happen +in shooting-parties.” + +“I am a dead man,” thought Gerfaut, as he saw that the gun would be the +weapon chosen by his adversary, and recalled his wonderful skill, of +which he had had many and various proofs. But instead of showing the +slightest hesitation, his countenance grew still more arrogant. + +“This kind of combat seems to me very wisely planned,” said he; “I +accept, for I desire as much as you that this affair should remain an +eternal secret.” + +“Since we are to have no seconds,” continued Bergenheim, “let us arrange +everything so that nothing can betray us; it is inconceivable how the +most trifling circumstances often turn out crushing evidence. I think +that I have foreseen everything. If you find that I have forgotten +any detail, please remind me of it. The place I speak of is a narrow, +well-shaded path. The ground is perfectly level; it lies from north to +south, so that at eight o’clock in the morning the sun will be on that +side; there will be no advantage in position. There is an old elm on the +borders of the wood; at fifty steps’ distance in the pathway, lies +the trunk of an oak which has been felled this year. These are the two +places where we will station ourselves, if you consent to it. Is it the +proper distance?” + +“Near or farther, it matters little. Breast to breast, if you like.” + +“Nearer would be imprudent. However, fifty steps with the gun is less +than fifteen with a pistol. This point is settled. We will remain with +heads covered, although this is not the custom. A ball might strike the +head where the cap would be, and if this should happen it would arouse +suspicion, as people do not hunt bareheaded. It only remains to decide +who shall fire first,” continued Christian. + +“You, of course; you are the offended one.” + +“You do not admit the full offence to have been committed, and, since +this is in doubt, and I can not be judge and jury together, we shall +consult chance.” + +“I declare to you that I will not fire first,” interrupted Gerfaut. + +“Remember that it is a mortal duel, and such scruples are foolish. Let +us agree that whoever has the first shot, shall place himself upon the +border of the woods and await the signal, which the other will give when +the boar crosses the enclosure.” + +He took a gold piece from his purse and threw it in the air. + +“Heads!” said the lover, ready to acquiesce to the least of his +adversary’s conditions. + +“Fate is for you,” said Christian, looking at the coin with marked +indifference; “but, remember, if at the signal given by me you do not +fire, or only fire in the air, I shall use my right to shoot--You know +that I rarely miss my aim.” + +These preliminaries ended, the Baron took two guns from his closet, +loaded them, taking particular care to show that they were of equal +length and the same calibre. He then locked them up in the closet and +offered Gerfaut the key. + +“I would not do you this injustice,” said the latter. + +“This precaution is hardly necessary, since, tomorrow, you will +take your choice of those weapons. Now that everything is arranged,” + continued the Baron, in a graver tone, “I have one request to make +of you, and I think you are too loyal to refuse it. Swear to me that +whatever may be the result, you will keep all this a profound secret. +My honor is now in your hands; speaking as a gentleman to a gentleman, I +ask you to respect it.” + +“If I have the sad privilege of surviving you,” replied Gerfaut, no less +solemnly, “I swear to you to keep the secret inviolate. But, supposing +a contrary event, I also have a request to make to you. What are your +intentions regarding Madame de Bergenheim?” + +Christian gazed at his adversary a moment, with a searching glance which +seemed to read his innermost thoughts. + +“My intentions?” said he at last, in a displeased, surprised tone; “this +is a very strange question; I do not recognize your right to ask it.” + +“My right is certainly strange,” said the lover, with a bitter smile; +“but whatever it may be, I shall make use of it. I have destroyed this +woman’s happiness forever; if I can not repair this fault, at least I +ought to mitigate the effect as much as lies in my power. Will you reply +to me--if I die tomorrow, what will be her fate?” + +Bergenheim kept silent, his sombre eyes lowered to the floor. + +“Listen to me, Monsieur,” continued Gerfaut, with great emotion; “when I +said to you, ‘She is not guilty,’ you did not believe me, and I despair +of ever persuading you, for I know well what your suspicions must be. +However, these are the last words addressed to you that will leave my +mouth, and you know that one has to believe a dying man’s statement. +If tomorrow you avenge yourself, I earnestly beg of you, let this +reparation suffice. All my pride is gone, you see, since I beg this of +you upon my bended knees. Be humane toward her; spare her, Monsieur. It +is not pardon which I ask you to grant her--it is pity for her unsullied +innocence. Treat her kindly--honorably. Do not make her too wretched.” + +He stopped, for his voice failed him, and his eyes filled with tears. + +“I know what I ought to do,” replied the Baron, in as harsh a tone as +Gerfaut’s had been tender; “I am her husband, and I do not recognize +anybody’s right, yours least of all, to interpose between us.” + +“I can foresee the fate which you have in reserve for her,” replied +the lover, indignantly; “you will not murder her, for that would be too +imprudent; what would become of your vaunted honor then? But you will +slowly kill her; you will make her die a new death every day, in order +to satisfy a blind vengeance. You are a man to meditate over each new +torture as calmly as you have regulated every detail of our duel.” + +Bergenheim, instead of replying, lighted a candle as if to put an end to +this discussion. + +“Until to-morrow, Monsieur,” said he, with a cold air. + +“One moment!” exclaimed Gerfaut, as he arose; “you refuse to give me +one word which will assure me of the fate of the woman whose life I have +ruined?” + +“I have nothing to say.” + +“Very well, then; I will protect her, and I will do it in spite of you +and against you.” + +“Not another word,” interrupted the Baron, sternly. + +Octave leaned over the table between them and looked at him for a +moment, then said in a terrible voice: + +“You killed Lambernier!” + +Christian bounded backward as if he had been struck. + +“I was a witness of that murder,” continued Gerfaut, slowly, as he +emphasized each word; “I will write my deposition and give it to a man +of whom I am as sure as of myself. If I die to-morrow, I will leave him +a mission which no effort on your part will prevent him from fulfilling. +He shall watch over your slightest actions with inexorable vigilance; he +will be Madame de Bergenheim’s protector, if you forget that your first +duty is to protect her. The day upon which you abuse your position with +her, the day when she shall call out despairingly, ‘Help me!’ that day +shall my deposition be placed in the hands of the public prosecutor +at Nancy. He will believe its contents; of that you may be certain. +Besides, the river is an indiscreet tomb; before long it will give up +the body you have confided to it. You will be tried and condemned. You +know the punishment for murder! It is hard labor for life.” + +Bergenheim darted toward the mantel at these words and seized a +hunting-knife which hung there. Octave, as he saw him ready to strike, +crossed his arms upon his breast, and said, coldly: + +“Remember that my body might embarrass you; one corpse is enough.” + +The Baron threw the weapon on the floor with such force that he broke it +in two. + +“But it was you,” he said, in a trembling voice, “you were Lambernier’s +assassin. I--He knew this infamous secret, and his death was involuntary +on my part.” + +“The intention is of little account. The deed is the question. There is +not a jury that would not condemn you, and that is what I wish, for such +a sentence would bring a legal separation between you and your wife and +give her her liberty.” + +“You are not speaking seriously,” said Christian, turning pale; “you, +a gentleman, would not denounce me! And, besides, would not my being +sentenced injure the woman in whom you take so much interest?” + +“I know all that,” Gerfaut replied; “I too cling to the honor of my +name, and yet I expose it. I have plenty of enemies who will be glad +enough to outrage my memory. Public opinion will condemn me, for they +will see only the action, and that is odious. There is one thing, +however, more precious and necessary to me than the world’s opinion, and +that is peace for every day, the right to live; and that is the reason +why, happiness having forsaken me, I am going to bequeath it to the +one whom fate has put in your power, but whom I shall not leave to your +mercy.” + +“I am her husband,” Bergenheim replied, angrily. + +“Yes, you are her husband; so the law is on your side. You have only to +call upon society for its aid; it will come but too gladly at your call +and help you crush a defenceless woman. And I, who love her as you have +never known how to love her, I can do nothing for her! Living, I must +keep silent and bow before your will; but dead, your absurd laws no +longer exist for me; dead, I can place myself between you and her, and I +will do it. Since, in order to aid her, I have no choice of arms, I will +not recoil from the one weapon which presents itself. Yes, if in order +to save her from your vengeance, I am obliged to resort to the shame of +a denunciation, I swear to you here, I will turn informer. I will sully +my name with this stain; I will pick up this stone from the mud, and I +will crush your head with it.” + +“These are a coward’s words!” exclaimed Christian, as he fell back in +his chair. + +Gerfaut looked at him with a calm, stony glance, while replying: + +“No insults, please! One of us will not be living to-morrow. Remember +what I tell you: if I fall in this duel, it will be to your interest to +have this matter stop then and there. I submit to death myself; but I +exact liberty for her--liberty, with peace and respect. Think it over, +Monsieur; at the first outrage, I shall arise from my tomb to prevent +a second, and dig a trench between you and her which never can be +crossed\--the penitentiary!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. A FRIEND’S ADVICE + +After she came out of her faint, Madame de Bergenheim remained for a +long time in a dazed condition, and did not realize, save in a confused +manner, her real position. She saw vaguely, at her first glance, +the curtains of the bed upon which she lay, and thought that she had +awakened from an ordinary sleep. Little by little, her thoughts became +clearer, and she saw that she was fully dressed, also that her room +seemed brighter than it usually was with only her night-lamp lighted. +She noticed between the half-open curtains a gigantic form reflected +almost to the ceiling opposite her bed. She sat up and distinctly saw a +man sitting in the corner by the fireplace. Frozen with terror, she fell +back upon her pillow as she recognized her husband. Then she remembered +everything, even the slightest details of the scene in the small parlor. +She felt ready to faint again when she heard Christian’s steps upon the +carpet, although he walked with great precaution. + +The Baron looked at her a moment, and then, opening the bed-curtains, he +said: + +“You can not pass the night thus, it is nearly three o’clock. You must +go to bed as usual.” + +Clemence shivered at these words, whose accent, however, was not hard. +She obeyed mechanically; but she had hardly risen when she was obliged +to recline upon the bed, for her trembling limbs would not support her. + +“Do not be afraid of me,” said Bergenheim, drawing back a few steps; “my +presence should not frighten you. I only wish that people should know +that I have passed the night in your chamber, for it is possible that +my return may arouse suspicion. You know that our love is only a comedy +played for the benefit of our servants.” + +There was such affected lightness in these remarks that the young woman +was cut to the very quick. She had expected an explosion of anger, but +not this calm contempt. Her revolted pride gave her courage. + +“I do not deserve to be treated thus,” said she; “do not condemn me +without a hearing.” + +“I ask nothing of you,” replied Christian, who seated himself again +beside the mantel; “undress yourself, and go to sleep if it is possible +for you to do so. It is not necessary for Justine to make any comments +tomorrow about your day clothes not having been removed.” + +Instead of obeying him, she went toward him and tried to remain standing +in order to speak to him, but her emotion was so intense that it took +away her strength and she was obliged to sit down. + +“You treat me too cruelly, Christian,” said she, when she had succeeded +to recover her voice. “I am not guilty; at least, not so much as you +think I am--” said she, drooping her head. + +He looked at her attentively for a moment, and then replied, in a voice +which did not betray the slightest emotion: + +“You must know that my greatest desire is to be persuaded of this by +you. I know that too often appearances are deceitful; perhaps you +will be able to explain to me what took place last evening; I am still +inclined to believe your word. Swear to me that you do not love Monsieur +de Gerfaut.” + +“I swear it!” said she, in a weak voice, and without raising her eyes. + +He went to the bed and took down a little silver crucifix which was +hanging above it. + +“Swear it to me upon this crucifix,” said he, presenting it to his wife. + +She tried in vain to raise her hand, which seemed fastened to the arm of +her chair. + +“I swear it!” she stammered a second time, while her face became as pale +as death. + +A savage laugh escaped Christian’s lips. He put the crucifix in its +place again without saying a word, then he opened the secret panel and, +taking out the casket, placed it upon the table before his wife. She +made a movement as if to seize it, but her courage failed her. + +“You have perjured yourself to your husband and to God!” said Bergenheim +slowly. “Do you know what kind of woman you are?” + +Clemence remained for some time powerless to reply; her respiration was +so painful that each breath seemed like suffocation; her head, after +rolling about on the back of the chair, fell upon her breast, like a +blade of grass broken and bruised by the rain. + +“If you have read those letters,” she murmured, when she had strength +enough to speak, “you must know that I am not as unworthy as you think. +I am very guilty--but I still have a right to be forgiven.” + +Christian, at this moment, had he been gifted with the intelligence +which fathoms the mysteries of the heart, might have renewed the bonds +which were so near being broken; he could at least have stopped Clemence +upon a dangerous path and saved her from a most irreparable fall. But +his nature was too unrefined for him to see the degrees which separate +weakness from vice, and the intoxication of a loving heart from the +depravity of a corrupt character. With the obstinacy of narrow-minded +people, he had been looking at the whole thing in its worst light, and +for several hours already he had decided upon his wife’s guilt in his +own mind; this served now as a foundation for his stern conduct. His +features remained perfectly impassive as he listened to Clemence’s words +of justification, which she uttered in a weak, broken voice. + +“I know that I merit your hatred-but if you could know how much I +suffer, you would surely forgive me--You left me in Paris very young, +inexperienced; I ought to have fought against this feeling better than I +did, but I used up in this struggle all the strength that I had--You can +see how pale and changed I have become within the past year. I have aged +several years in those few months; I am not yet what you call a--a lost +woman. He ought to have told you that--” + +“Oh, he has! of course he has,” replied Christian with bitter irony. +“Oh, you have in him a loyal cavalier!” + +“You do not believe me, then! you do not believe me!” she continued, +wringing her hands in despair; “but read these letters, the last ones. +See whether one writes like this to a woman who is entirely lost--” + +She tried to take the package which her husband held; instead of giving +the letters to her, he lighted them at the candle and then threw them +into the fireplace. Clemence uttered a cry and darted forward to save +them, but Christian’s iron hand seized her and pushed her back into her +chair. + +“I understand how much you care for this correspondence,” said he, in a +more excited tone, “but you are more loving than prudent. Let me destroy +one witness which accuses you. Do you know that I have already killed a +man on account of these letters?” + +“Killed!” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, whom this word drove almost to +madness, for she could not understand its real meaning and applied it +to her lover. “Well, then, kill me too, for I lied when I said that I +repented. I do not repent! I am guilty! I deceived you! I love him and I +abhor you; I love him! kill me!” + +She fell upon her knees before him and dragged herself along the floor, +striking her head upon it as if she wished to break it. Christian +raised her and seated her in the chair, in spite of her resistance. She +struggled in her husband’s arms, and the only words which she uttered +were: “I love him! kill me! I love him! kill me!” + +Her grief was so intense that Bergenheim really pitied her. + +“You did not understand me,” he said, “he is not the man I killed.” + +She became motionless, dumb. He left her then, from a feeling of +compassion, and returned to his seat. They remained for some time +seated in this way, one on each side of the fireplace; he, with his head +leaning against the mantel; she, crouched in her chair with her face +concealed behind her hands; only the striking of the clock interrupted +this silence and lulled their gloomy thoughts with its monotonous +vibrations. + +A sharp, quick sound against one of the windows interrupted this sad +scene. Clemence arose suddenly as if she had received a galvanic shock; +her frightened eyes met her husband’s. He made an imperious gesture +with his hand as if to order silence, and both listened attentively and +anxiously. + +The same noise was heard a second time. A rattling against the blinds +was followed by a dry, metallic sound, evidently caused by the contact +of some body against the window. + +“It is some signal,” said Christian in a low voice, as he looked at his +wife. “You probably know what it means.” + +“I do not, I swear to you,” replied Clemence, her heart throbbing with a +new emotion. + +“I will tell you, then; he is there and he has something to say to you. +Rise and open the window.” + +“Open the window?” said she, with a frightened look. + +“Do what I tell you. Do you wish him to pass the night under your +window, so that the servants may see him?” + +At this command, spoken in a severe tone, she arose. Noticing that their +shadows might be seen from the outside when the curtains were drawn, +Bergenheim changed the candles to another place. Clemence walked slowly +toward the window; she had hardly opened it, when a purse fell upon the +floor. + +“Close it now,” said the Baron. While his wife was quietly obeying, he +picked up the purse, and opening it, took the following note from it: + + “I have ruined you--you for whom I would gladly have died! But of + what use are regrets and despair now? And my blood will not wipe + away your tears. Our position is so frightful that I tremble so + speak of it. I ought to tell you the truth, however, horrible as it + may be. Do not curse me, Clemence; do not impute to me this + fatality, which obliges me thus to torture you. In a few hours I + shall have expiated the wrongs of my love, or you yourself may be + free. Free! pardon me for using this word; I know it is an odious + one to you, but I am too troubled to find another. Whatever + happens, I am about to put within your reach the only aid which it + is possible for me to offer you; it will at least give you a choice + of unhappiness. If you never see me again, to live with him will be + a torture beyond your strength, perhaps, for you love me. I do not + know how to express my thoughts, and I dare not offer you advice or + entreat you. All that I feel is the necessity of telling you that + my whole life belongs to you, that I am yours until death; but I + hardly dare have the courage to lay at your feet the offering of a + destiny already so sad, and which may soon be stained with blood. + A fatal necessity sometimes imposes actions which public opinion + condemns, but the heart excuses, for it alone understands them. + Do not be angry at what you are about to read; never did words like + these come out of a more desolate heart. During the whole day a + post-chaise will wait for you at the rear of the Montigny plateau; + a fire lighted upon the rock which you can see from your room will + notify you of its presence. In a short time it can reach the Rhine. + A person devoted to you will accompany you to Munich, to the house + of one of my relatives, whose character and position will assure you + sufficient protection from all tyranny. There, at least, you will + be permitted to weep. That is all that I can do for you. My heart + is broken when I think of the powerlessness of my love. They say + that when one crushes the scorpion which has wounded him, he is + cured; even my death will not repair the wrong that I have done you; + it will only be one grief the more. Can you understand how + desperate is the feeling which I experience now? For months past, + to be loved by you has been the sole desire of my heart, and now I + must repent ever having attained it. Out of pity for you, I ought + to wish that you did love me with a love as perishable as my life, + so that a remembrance of me would leave you in peace. All this is + so sad that I have not the courage to continue. Adieu, Clemence! + Once more, one last time, I must say: I love you! and yet, I dare + not. I feel unworthy to speak to you thus, for my love has become a + disastrous gift. Did I not ruin you? The only word that seems to + be permissible is the one that even a murderer dares to address to + his God: pardon me!” + +After reading this, the Baron passed the letter to his wife without +saying a word, and resumed his sombre attitude. + +“You see what he asks of you?” he said, after a rather long pause, as +he observed the dazed way in which Madame de Bergenheim’s eyes wandered +over this letter. + +“My head is bewildered,” she replied, “I do not understand what he +says--Why does he speak of death?” + +Christian’s lips curled disdainfully as he answered: + +“It does not concern you; one does not kill women.” + +“They need it not to die,” replied Clemence, who gazed at her husband +with wild, haggard eyes. + +“Then you are going to fight?” she added, after a moment’s pause. + +“Really, have you divined as much?” he replied, with an ironical smile; +“it is a wonderful thing how quick is your intelligence! You have spoken +the truth. You see, each of us has his part to play. The wife deceives +her husband; the husband fights with the lover, and the lover in order +to close the comedy in a suitable manner--proposes to run away with the +wife, for that is the meaning of his letter, notwithstanding all his +oratorical precautions.” + +“You are going to fight!” she exclaimed, with the energy of despair. +“You are going to fight! And for me--unworthy and miserable creature +that I am! What have you done? And is he not free to love? I alone +am the guilty one, I alone have offended you, and I alone deserve +punishment. Do with me what you will; shut me up in a convent or a cell; +bring me poison, I will drink it.” + +The Baron burst into sardonic laughter. + +“So you are afraid that I shall kill, him?” said he, gazing at her +intently, with his arms crossed upon his breast. + +“I fear for you, for us all. Do you think that I can live after causing +blood to be shed? If there must be a victim, take me--or, at least, +begin with me. Have pity! tell me that you will not fight.” + +“But think--there is an even chance that you may be set free!” said he. + +“Spare me!” she murmured, shivering with horror. + +“It is a pity that blood must be shed, is it not?” said Bergenheim, in +a mocking tone; “adultery would be pleasant but for that. I am sure +that you think me coarse and brutal to look upon your honor as a serious +thing, when you do not do so yourself.” + +“I entreat you!” + +“I am the one who has to entreat you. This astonishes you, does +it not?--While I live, I shall protect your reputation in spite of +yourself; but if I die, try to guard it yourself. Content yourself with +having betrayed me; do not outrage my memory. I am glad now that we +have no children, for I should fear for them, and should feel obliged +to deprive you of their care as much as lay in my power. That is one +trouble the less. But as you bear my name, and I can not take it away +from you, I beg of you do not drag it in the mire when I shall not be +here to wash it for you.” + +The young woman fell back upon her seat as if every fibre in her body +had been successively torn to pieces. + +“You crush me to the earth!” she said, feebly. + +“This revolts you,” continued the husband, who seemed to choose the most +cutting thrust; “you are young; this is your first error, you are not +made for such adventures. But rest assured, one becomes accustomed to +everything. A lover always knows how to find the most beautiful phrases +with which to console a widow and vanquish her repugnances.” + +“You are killing me,” she murmured, falling back almost unconscious in +her chair. + +Christian leaned over her, and, taking her by the arm, said in a low +tone: + +“Remember, if I die and he asks you to follow him, you will be an +infamous creature if you obey him. He is a man to glory in you; that is +easy enough to see. He is a man who would drag you after him--” + +“Oh! have pity--I shall die--” + +Clemence closed her eyes and her lips twitched convulsively. + +The first rays of the morning sun fell upon another scene in the +opposite wing of the chateau. Marillac was quietly sleeping the sleep +of the just when he was suddenly awakened by a shaking that nearly threw +him out of his bed. + +“Go to the devil!” he said, angrily, when he succeeded in half opening +his heavy eyes, and recognized Gerfaut standing beside his bed. + +“Get up!” said the latter, taking him by the arm to give more force to +his command. + +The artist covered himself with the clothes up to his chin. + +“Are you walking in your sleep or insane?” asked Marillac, “or do you +want me to go to work?” he added, as he saw that his friend had some +papers in his hand. “You know very well I never have any ideas when +fasting, and that I am stupid until noon.” + +“Get up at once!” said Gerfaut, “I must have a talk with you.” + +There was something so serious and urgent in Gerfaut’s accent as he +said these words, that the artist got up at once and hurriedly dressed +himself. + +“What is the matter?” he asked, as he put on his dressing-gown, “you +look as if the affairs of the nation rested upon you.” + +“Put on your coat and boots,” said Octave, “you must go to La +Fauconnerie. They are used to seeing you go out early in the morning for +your appointments with Reine, and therefore--” + +“It is to this shepherdess you would send me!” interrupted the artist, +as he began to undress himself; “in that case I will go to bed again. +Enough of that!” + +“I am to fight with Bergenheim at nine o’clock!” said Gerfaut, in a low +voice. + +“Stupendous!” exclaimed Marillac, as he jumped back a few steps, and +then stood as motionless as a statue. Without wasting any time in +unnecessary explanations, his friend gave him a brief account of the +night’s events. + +“Now,” said he, “I need you; can I count upon your friendship?” + +“In life and in death!” exclaimed Marillac, and he pressed his hand with +the emotion that the bravest of men feel at the approach of a danger +which threatens one who is dear to them. + +“Here,” said Gerfaut, as he handed him the papers in his hand, “is a +letter for you in which you will find my instructions in full; they will +serve you as a guide, according to circumstances. This sealed paper will +be deposited by you in the office of the public prosecutor at Nancy, +under certain circumstances which my note explains. Finally, this is my +will. I have no very near relative; I have made you my heir. + +“Listen to me! I do not know a more honest man than you, that is the +reason why I select you. First, this legacy is a trust. I speak to you +now in case of events which probably will never happen, but which I +ought to prepare for. I do not know what effect this may have upon +Clemence’s fate; her aunt, who is very austere, may quarrel with her +and deprive her of her rights; her personal fortune is not very large, I +believe, and I know nothing about her marriage settlement. She may thus +be entirely at her husband’s mercy, and that is what I will not allow. +My fortune is therefore a trust that you will hold to be placed at her +disposal at any time. I hope that she loves me enough not to refuse this +service of me.” + +“Well and good!” said Marillac; “I will admit that the thought of +inheriting from you choked me like a noose around my neck.” + +“I beg of you to accept for yourself my copyrights as author. You can +not refuse that,” said Gerfaut, with a half smile; “this legacy belongs +to the domain of art. To whom should I leave it if not to you, my +Patroclus, my faithful collaborator?” + +The artist took several agitated turns about his room. + +“To think,” he exclaimed, “that I was the one who saved this +Bergenheim’s life! If he kills you, I shall never forgive myself. And +yet, I told you this would end in some tragic manner.” + +“What business had he there? Is it not so? What can I say? We were +seeking for a drama; here it is. I am not anxious on my own account, but +on hers. Unhappy woman! A duel is a stone that might fall upon a man’s +head twenty times a day; it is sufficient for a simpleton if you stare +at him, or for an awkward fellow if you tread upon his toes; but on her +account--poor angel!--I can not think of it. I need the fullest command +of my head and my heart. But it is growing lighter; there is not a +moment to lose. Go to the stable; saddle a horse yourself, if there is +no servant up; go, as I said, to La Fauconnerie; I have often seen a +post-chaise in the tavern courtyard; order it to wait all day at the +back of the Montigny plateau. You will find everything explained in +detail in the note which I have given you. Here is my purse; I need no +money.” + +Marillac put the purse in his pocket and the papers in his +memorandum-book; he then buttoned up his redingote and put on his +travelling cap. His countenance showed a state of exaltation which +belied, for the time being, the pacific theories he had expounded a few +days before. + +“You can depend upon me as upon yourself,” said he with energy. “If +this poor woman calls for my aid, I promise you that I will serve her +faithfully. I will take her wherever she wishes; to China, if she asks +it, and in spite of the whole police force. If Bergenheim kills you and +then follows her up, there will be another duel.” + +As he said these words, he took his stiletto and a pair of pistols from +the mantel and put them in his pocket, after examining the edge of the +one and the caps of the others. + +“Adieu!” said Gerfaut. + +“Adieu!” said the artist, whose extreme agitation contrasted strongly +with his friend’s calm. “Rest easy! I will look after her--and I will +publish a complete edition--But what an idea--to accept a duel as +irregular as this! Have you ever seen him use a gun? He had no right to +exact this.” + +“Hurry! you must leave before the servants are up.” + +“Kiss me, my poor fellow!” said Marillac, with tears in his eyes; “it is +not very manly I know, but I can not help it--Oh! these women! I adore +them, of course; but just now I am like Nero, I wish that they all had +but one head. It is for these little, worthless dolls that we kill each +other!” + +“You can curse them on your way,” said Gerfaut, who was impatient to see +him leave. + +“Oh, good gracious, yes! They can flatter themselves this moment that +they all inspire me with a deadly hatred.” + +“Do not make any noise,” said his friend, as he carefully opened the +door. + +Marillac pressed his hand for the last time, and went out. When he +reached the end of the corridor, he stopped a moment, then went back. + +“Above all things,” said he, as he passed his head through the half-open +door, “no foolish proceedings. Remember that it is necessary that one +of you should fall, and that if you fail; he will not. Take your +time--aim--and fire at him as you would at a rabbit.” + +After this last piece of advice, he went away; ten minutes after he had +left, Gerfaut saw him riding out of the courtyard as fast as Beverley’s +four legs would carry him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. THE WILD BOAR + +The most radiant sun that ever gilded a beautiful September day had +arisen upon the castle. The whole valley was as fresh and laughing as a +young girl who had just left her bath. The rocks seemed to have a band +of silver surrounding them; the woods a mantle of green draped over +their shoulders. + +There was an unusual excitement in the courtyard of the chateau. The +servants were coming and going, the dogs were starting a concert of +irregular barks, and the horses were jumping about, sharing their +instinctive presentiment and trying to break away from the bridles which +held them. + +The Baron, seated in his saddle with his usual military attitude, and a +cigar in his mouth, went from one to another, speaking in a joking tone +which prevented anybody from suspecting his secret thoughts. Gerfaut had +imposed upon his countenance that impassible serenity which guards the +heart’s inner secrets, but had not succeeded so well. His affectation of +gayety betrayed continual restraint; the smile which he forced upon +his lips left the rest of his face cold, and never removed the wrinkle +between his brows. An incident, perhaps sadly longed for, but unhoped +for, increased this gloomy, melancholy expression. Just as the cavalcade +passed before the English garden, which separated the sycamore walk +from the wing of the chateau occupied by Madame de Bergenheim, Octave +slackened the pace of his horse and lingered behind the rest of his +companions; his eyes closely examined each of the windows; the blinds +of her sleeping-room were only half closed; behind the panes he saw +the curtains move and then separate. A pale face appeared for a moment +between the blue folds, like an angel who peeps through the sky to gaze +upon the earth. Gerfaut raised himself on his stirrups so as to drink in +this apparition as long as possible, but he dared not make one gesture +of adieu. As he was still endeavoring to obtain one more glance, he saw +that the Baron was at his side. + +“Play your role better,” said he to him; “we are surrounded by spies. De +Camier has already made an observation about your preoccupied demeanor.” + +“You are right,” said Octave; “and you join example to advice. I admire +your coolness, but I despair of equalling it.” + +“You must mingle with my guests and talk with them,” Christian replied. + +He started off at a trot; Gerfaut followed his example, stifling a sigh +as he darted a last glance toward the chateau. They soon rejoined the +cart which carried several of the hunters, and which Monsieur de Camier +drove with the assurance of a professional coachman. + +There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the trot of the horses and +the sound of the wheels upon the level ground. + +“What the devil ails your dogs?” exclaimed Monsieur de Camier suddenly, +as he turned to the Baron, who was riding behind him. “There they are +all making for the river.” Just at this moment the dogs, who could be +seen in the distance, hurried to the water-side, in spite of all that +their leader could do to prevent them. They almost disappeared behind +the willows that bordered the river, and one could hear them barking +furiously; their barks sounded like rage mingled with terror. + +“It is some duck that they have scented,” observed the prosecutor. + +“They wouldn’t bark like that,” said Monsieur de Camier, with the +sagacity of a professional hunter; “if it were a wolf, they could not +make a greater uproar. Is it by chance some wild boar who is taking a +bath, in order to receive us more ceremoniously?” + +He gave the horses a vigorous blow from the whip, and they all rapidly +approached the spot where a scene was taking place which excited to the +highest pitch everybody’s curiosity. Before they reached the spot, the +keeper, who had run after the dogs to call them together, came out of a +thicket, waving his hat to stop the hunters, exclaiming: + +“A body! a body!” + +“A body! a drowned man!” he exclaimed, when the vehicle stopped. + +This time it was the public prosecutor who arose and jumped from the +cart with the agility of a deer. + +“A drowned man!” said he. “In the name of the law, let nobody touch the +body. Call back the dogs.” + +As he said these words he hastened to the spot which the servant pointed +out to him. Everybody dismounted and followed him. Octave and Bergenheim +had exchanged strange glances when they heard the servant’s words. + +It was, as the servant had announced, the battered body of a man, thrown +by the current against the trunk of the tree, and there caught between +two branches of the willow as if in a vise. + +“It is the carpenter!” exclaimed Monsieur de Camier as he parted the +foliage, which had prevented the head from being seen until then, for he +recognized the workman’s livid, swollen features. “It is that poor devil +of a Lambernier, is it not, Bergenheim?” + +“It is true!” stammered Christian, who, in spite of his boldness, could +not help turning away his eyes. + +“The carpenter!--drowned!--this is frightful!--I never should have +recognized him--how disfigured he is!” exclaimed the others, as they +pressed forward to gaze at this horrible spectacle. + +“This is a sad way to escape justice,” observed the notary, in a +philosophical tone. + +The Baron seized this opening with avidity. + +“He must have crossed the river to escape,” said he, “and in his haste +he made a misstep and fell.” + +The public prosecutor shook his head with an air of doubt. + +“That is not probable,” said he; “I know the place. If he tried to cross +the river a little above or a little below the rock--it doesn’t matter +which--the current would have carried him into the little bay above the +rock and not here. It is evident that he must have drowned himself or +been drowned farther down. I say, been drowned, for you can see that he +has a wound upon the left side of his forehead, as if he had received a +violent blow, or his head had, hit against a hard substance. Now, if +he had been drowned accidentally while crossing the river, he would not +have been wounded in this manner.” + +This remark silenced the Baron; and while the others exhausted +conjectures to explain the way in which this tragic event had taken +place, he stood motionless, with his eyes fastened upon the river +and avoiding a glance at the dead body. During this time the public +prosecutor had taken from his pocket some paper and a pen, which he +usually carried with him. + +“Gentlemen,” said he, seating himself upon the trunk of a tree opposite +the drowned man, “two of you will do me the favor to act as witnesses +while I draw up my official report. If any of you have a statement to +make in regard to this affair, I beg of him to remain here, so that I +may receive his deposition.” + +Nobody stirred, but Gerfaut threw such a penetrating glance at the Baron +that the latter turned away his eyes. + +“Gentlemen,” continued the magistrate, “I do not wish any of you to +renounce the sport on account of this untoward incident. There is +nothing attractive about this spectacle, and I assure you that if my +duty did not keep me here, I should be the first to withdraw. Baron, I +beg of you to send me two men and a stretcher in order to have the body +carried away; I will have it taken to one of your farms, so as not to +frighten the ladies.” + +“The prosecutor is right,” said Christian, whom these words delivered +from a terrible anxiety. + +After a deliberation, presided over by Monsieur de Camier, the +‘tragueurs’ and the dogs left in silence to surround the thickets where +the animal had been found to be hidden. At the same time the hunters +turned their steps in the opposite direction in order to take their +positions. They soon reached the ditch alongside of which they were to +place themselves. From time to time, as they advanced, one of them left +the party and remained mute and motionless like a sentinel at his post. +This manoeuvre gradually reduced their numbers, and at last there were +only three remaining. + +“You remain here, Camier,” said the Baron, when they were about sixty +steps from the last position. + +That gentleman, who knew the ground, was hardly flattered by this +proposition. + +“By Jove!” said he, “you are on your own grounds; you ought at least to +do the honors of your woods and let us choose our own positions. I think +you wish to place yourself upon the outskirts, because it is always +about that region that the animal first appears; but there will be two +of us, for I shall go also.” + +This determination annoyed Christian considerably, since it threatened +to ruin the plan so prudently laid out. + +“I am going to put our friend Gerfaut at this post,” said he, whispering +to the refractory hunter; “I shall be very much pleased if he has an +opportunity to fire. What difference does one boar more or less make to +an old hunter like you?” + +“Well and good; just as you like,” retorted Monsieur de Carrier, +striking the ground with the butt-end of his gun, and beginning to +whistle in order to cool off his anger. + +When the adversaries found themselves side by side and alone, +Bergenheim’s countenance changed suddenly; the smiling look he +had assumed, in order to convince the old hunter of his cheerful +disposition, gave place to deep gravity. + +“You remember our agreement,” he said, as they walked along; “I feel +sure that the boar will come in our direction. At the moment when I call +out, ‘Take care!’ I shall expect you to fire; if, at the end of twenty +seconds, you have not done so, I warn you that I shall fire myself.” + +“Very well, Monsieur,” said Gerfaut, looking at him fixedly; “you also +doubtless remember my words; the discovery of this body will give +them still more weight. The public prosecutor has already begun his +preliminary proceedings; remember that it depends on me how they shall +be completed. The deposition which I spoke to you about is in the +hands of a safe person, who is fully instructed to make use of it if +necessary.” + +“Marillac, I suppose,” said Christian, in an evil tone; “he is your +confidant. It is a fatal secret that you have confided to him, Monsieur. +If I survive today, I shall have to secure his silence. May all this +blood, past, present, and future, be on your head!” + +Deeply affected by this reproach, the Vicomte bowed his head in silence. + +“Here is my place,” said the Baron, stopping before the trunk of an old +oak, “and there is the elm where you are to station yourself.” + +Gerfaut stopped, and said, in a trembling voice: + +“Monsieur, one of us will not leave these woods alive. In the presence +of death, one tells the truth. I hope for your peace of mind, and my +own, that you will believe my last words. I swear to you, upon my honor +and by all that is sacred, that Madame de Bergenheim is innocent.” + +He bowed, and withdrew from Christian without waiting for a response. + +Bergenheim and Gerfaut were out of sight of the others, and stood at +their posts with eyes fastened upon each other. The ditch was wide +enough to prevent the branches of the trees from troubling them; at +the distance of sixty feet, which separated them, each could see his +adversary standing motionless, framed by the green foliage. Suddenly, +barking was heard in the distance, partially drowned by the firing of a +gun. A few seconds later, two feeble reports were heard, followed by an +imprecation from Monsieur de Camier, whose caps flashed in the pan. The +Baron, who had just leaned forward that he might see better through the +thicket, raised his hand to warn Octave to hold himself in readiness. He +then placed himself in position. An extreme indecision marked Gerfaut’s +attitude. After raising his gun, he dropped it to the ground with a +despondent gesture, as if his resolution to fire had suddenly abandoned +him; the pallor of death could not be more terrible than that which +overspread his features. The howling of the dogs and shouts of the +hunters increased. Suddenly another sound was heard. Low, deep growls, +followed by the crackling of branches, came from the woods opposite our +adversaries. The whole thicket seemed to tremble as if agitated by a +storm. + +“Take care!” exclaimed Bergenheim, in a firm voice. + +At the same moment an enormous head appeared, and the report of a gun +was heard. When Gerfaut looked through the smoke caused by his gun, at +the farther end of the ditch, nothing was to be seen but the foliage. + +The boar, after crossing the clearing, vanished like a flash, leaving +behind him a trail of broken branches--and Bergenheim lay behind the +trunk of the old oak, upon which large drops of blood had already +fallen. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. BERGENHEIM’S REVENGE + +On the same morning the drawing-room of the Bergenheim castle was the +theatre of a quiet home scene very much like the one we described at the +beginning of this story. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was seated in her +armchair reading the periodicals which had just arrived; Aline was +practising upon the piano, and her sister-in-law was seated before one +of the windows embroidering. By the calm attitude of these three ladies, +and the interest they seemed to show in their several occupations, one +would have supposed that they were all equally peaceful at heart. Madame +de Bergenheim, upon rising, had resumed her usual habits; she managed +to find the proper words to reply when spoken to, her dejection did not +differ from her usual melancholy enough for it to become the subject of +remark. A rather bright color in her cheeks heightened her beauty; her +eyes never had sparkled with more brilliancy; but if a hand had been +placed upon her forehead, one would have soon discovered by its burning +the secret of all this unwonted color. In fact, in the midst of +this sumptuous room, surrounded by her friends, and bending over her +embroidery with most exquisite grace, Madame de Bergenheim was slowly +dying. A wasting fever was circulating like poison through her veins. +She felt that an unheard-of sorrow was hanging over her head, and that +no effort of hers could prevent it. + +At this very moment, either the man she belonged to or the one she loved +was about to die; whatever her widowhood might be, she felt that +her mourning would be brief; young, beautiful, surrounded by all the +privileges of rank and fortune, life was closing around her, and left +but one pathway open, which was full of blood; she would have to bathe +her feet in it in order to pass through. + +“What is that smoke above the Montigny rock?” Aline exclaimed with +surprise; “it looks as if there were a fire in the woods.” + +Madame de Bergenheim raised her eyes, shivered from head to foot as she +saw the stream of smoke which stood out against the horizon, and then +let her head droop upon her breast. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil stopped +her reading as she heard Aline’s remark, and turned slowly to look out +of the window. + +“That’s some of the shepherds’ work,” said she; “they have built a fire +in the bushes at the risk of setting fire to the whole woods. Really, I +do not know what to think of your husband, Clemence; he takes everybody +away to the hunt with him, and does not leave a soul here to prevent his +dwelling from being devastated.” + +Clemence made no reply, and her sister-in-law, who expected she would +say something to keep the conversation alive, returned and seated +herself at the piano with a pouting air. + +“Thanks, that will do for to-day!” exclaimed the old lady at the first +notes; “you have split our heads long enough. You would do better to +study your history of France.” + +Aline closed the piano angrily; but instead of obeying this last piece +of advice, she remained seated upon the stool with the sulky air of +a pupil in disgrace. A deep silence reigned. Madame de Bergenheim +had dropped her embroidery without noticing it. From time to time she +trembled as if a chill passed over her, her eyes were raised to watch +the smoke ascending above the rock, or else she seemed to listen to some +imaginary sound. + +“Truly,” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, as she laid her journal +down in her lap, “good morals have made great progress since the July +revolution. Yesterday a woman twenty years of age ran away to Montpelier +with her lover; to-day, here is another, in Lyons, who poisons her +husband and kills herself afterward. If I were superstitious, I should +say that the world was coming to an end. What do you think of such +atrocious doings, my dear?” + +Clemence raised her head with an effort, and answered, in a gloomy +voice: + +“You must pardon her, since she is dead.” + +“You are very indulgent,” replied the old aunt; “such creatures ought to +be burned alive, like the Brinvilliers.” + +“They often speak in the papers of husbands who kill their wives, but +not so often of wives killing their husbands,” said Aline, with the +partisan feeling natural to the fair sex. + +“It is not proper that you should talk of such horrid things,” said the +old lady, in a severe tone; “behold the fruits of all the morals of the +age! It is the effect of all the disgusting stuff that is acted nowadays +upon the stage and written in novels. When one thinks of the fine +education that is given youth at the present time, it is enough to make +one tremble for the future!” + +“Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle, you may be sure that I shall never kill +my husband,” replied the young girl, to whom this remark seemed +particularly addressed. + +A stifled groan, which Madame de Bergenheim could not suppress, +attracted the attention of the two ladies. + +“What is the matter with you?” asked Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, +noticing for the first time her niece’s dejected air and the frightened +expression in her eyes. + +“Nothing,” murmured the latter; “I think it is the heat of the room.” + +Aline hastily opened a window, then went and took her sister-in-law’s +hands in her own. + +“You have a fever,” said she; “your hands burn and your forehead also; I +did not dare tell you, but your beautiful color--” + +A frightful cry which Madame de Bergenheim uttered made the young girl +draw back in fright. + +“Clemence! Clemence!” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who thought +that her niece had gone insane. + +“Did you not hear?” she cried, with an accent of terror impossible to +describe. She darted suddenly toward the drawing-room door; but, instead +of opening it, she leaned against it with arms crossed. Then she ran two +or three times around the room in a sort of frenzy, and ended by falling +upon her knees before the sofa and burying her head in its cushions. + +This scene bewildered the two women. While Mademoiselle de Corandeuil +tried to raise Clemence, Aline, still more frightened, ran out of the +room to call for aid. A rumor which had just begun to arise in the +courtyard was distinctly heard when the door was thrown open. A moment +more, and a piercing shriek was heard, and the young girl rushed into +the parlor; throwing herself on her knees beside her sister-in-law she +pressed her to her breast with convulsive energy. + +As she felt herself seized in this fashion, Clemence raised her head +and, placing her hands upon Aline’s shoulders, she pushed her backward +and gazed at her with eyes that seemed to devour her. + +“Which? which?” she asked, in a harsh voice. + +“My brother--covered with blood!” stammered Aline. + +Madame de Bergenheim pushed her aside and threw herself upon the sofa. +Her first feeling was a horrible joy at not hearing the name of Octave; +but she tried to smother her hysterical utterances by pressing her mouth +against the cushion upon which her face was leaning. + +A noise of voices was heard in the vestibule; the greatest confusion +seemed to reign among the people outside. At last, several men entered +the drawing room; at their head was Monsieur de Camier, whose ruddy face +had lost all its color. + +“Do not be frightened, ladies,” said he, in a trembling voice; “do +not be frightened. It is only a slight accident, without any danger. +Monsieur de Bergenheim was wounded in the hunt,” he continued, +addressing Mademoiselle de Corandeuil. + +At last, the folding-doors were thrown open, and two servants appeared, +bearing the Baron upon a mattress. + +When the servants had deposited their burden in front of one of +the windows, Aline threw herself upon her brother’s body, uttering +heartrending cries. Madame de Bergenheim did not stir; she lay upon +the sofa with eyes and ears buried in the cushions, and seemed deaf and +blind to all that surrounded her. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was the +only one who preserved her presence of mind. Controlling her emotion, +she leaned over the Baron and sought for some sign of life. + +“Is he dead?” she asked, in a low voice, of Monsieur de Camier. + +“No, Mademoiselle,” replied the latter, in a tone which announced that +he had little hope. + +“Has a physician been sent for?” + +“To Remiremont, Epinal, everywhere.” + +At this moment Aline uttered a cry of joy. Bergenheim had just stirred, +brought to life, perhaps, by the pressure of his sister’s arms. He +opened his eyes and, closed them several times; at last his energy +triumphed over his sufferings; he sat up on his improvised cot and, +leaning upon his left elbow, he glanced around the room. + +“My wife!” said he, in a weak voice. + +Madame de Bergenheim arose and forced her way through the group that +surrounded the mattress, and silently took her place beside her husband. +Her features had changed so terribly within a few moments that a murmur +of pity ran through the group of men that filled the room. + +“Take my sister away,” said Christian, disengaging his hand from the +young girl, who was covering it with kisses and tears. + +“My brother! I can not leave my brother!” exclaimed Aline, as she was +dragged away rather than led to her room. + +“Leave me for a moment,” continued the Baron; “I wish to speak to my +wife.” + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil gave Monsieur de Gamier a questioning glance, +as if to ask if it were best to grant this request. + +“We can do nothing before the doctors arrive,” said the latter, in a low +voice, “and perhaps it would be imprudent to oppose him.” + +Mademoiselle de Corandeuil recognized the correctness of this +observation, and left the room, asking the others to follow her. During +this time, Madame de Bergenheim remained motionless in her place, +apparently insensible to all that surrounded her. The noise of the +closing door aroused her from her stupor. She looked around the room +as if she were seeking the others; her eyes, which were opened with the +fixed look of a somnambulist, did not change their expression when they +fell upon her husband. + +“Come nearer,” said he, “I have not strength enough to speak loud.” + +She obeyed mechanically. When she saw the large red stain which had +soaked Christian’s right sleeve, she closed her eyes, threw back her +head, and her features contracted with a horrified expression. + +“You women are wonderfully fastidious,” said the Baron, as he noticed +this movement; “you delight in causing a murder, but the slightest +scratch frightens you. Pass over to the left side; you will not see so +much blood-besides, it is the side where the heart is.” + +There was something terrible in the irony of the voice in which he spoke +at this moment. Clemence fell upon her knees beside him and took his +hand, crying, + +“Pardon! pardon!” + +The dying man took away his hand, raised his wife’s head, and, looking +at her a few moments attentively, he said at last: + +“Your eyes are very dry. No tears! What! not one tear when you see me +thus!” + +“I can not weep,” replied she; “I shall die!” + +“It is very humiliating for me to be so poorly regretted, and it +does you little honor--try to shed a few tears, Madame--it will be +remarked--a widow who does not weep!” + +“A widow--never!” she said, with energy. + +“It would be convenient if they sold tears as they sell crape, would it +not? Ah! only you women have a real talent for that--all women know how +to weep.” + +“You will not die, Christian--oh! tell me that you will not die--and +that you will forgive me.” + +“Your lover has killed me,” said Bergenheim, slowly; “I have a bullet in +my chest--I feel it--I am the one who is to die--in less than an hour I +shall be a corpse--don’t you see how hard it is already for me to talk?” + +In reality his voice was becoming weaker and weaker. His breath grew +shorter with each word; a wheezing sound within his chest indicated the +extent of the lesion and the continued extravasation of blood. + +“Mercy! pardon!” exclaimed the unhappy woman, prostrating herself upon +the floor. + +“More air--open the windows--” said the Baron, as he fell back upon the +mattress, exhausted by the efforts he had just made to talk. + +Madame de Bergenheim obeyed his order with the precision of an +automaton. A fresh, pure breeze entered the room; when the curtains were +raised, floods of light illuminated the floor, and the old portraits, +suddenly lighted up, looked like ghosts who had left their graves to +witness the death agonies of the last of their descendants. Christian, +refreshed by the air which swept over his face, sat up again. He gazed +with a melancholy eye at the radiant sun and the green woods which lay +stretched out in front of the chateau. + +“I lost my father on such a day as this,” said he, as if talking to +himself--“all our family die during the beautiful weather--ah! do you +see that smoke over the Montigny rock?” he exclaimed, suddenly. + +After opening the windows, Clemence stepped out upon the balcony. +Leaning upon the balustrade, she gazed at the deep, rapid river which +flowed at her feet. Her husband’s voice calling her aroused her from +this gloomy contemplation. When she returned to Christian, his eyes were +flaming, a flush like that of fever had overspread his cheeks, and a +writhing, furious indignation was depicted upon his face. “Were you +looking at that smoke?” said he, angrily; “it is your lover’s signal; +he is there--he is waiting to take you away--and I, your husband, forbid +you to go--you must not leave me--your place is here--close by me.” + +“Close by you,” she repeated, not understanding what he said. + +“Wait at least until I am dead,” he continued, while his eyes flashed +more and more--“let my body get cold--when you are a widow you can do as +you like--you will be free--and even then--I forbid it--I order you to +wear mourning for me--above all, try to weep--” + +“Strike me with a knife! At least I should bleed,” said she, bending +toward him and tearing open her dress to lay bare her bosom. + +He seized her by the arm, and, exerting all his wasting strength to +reach her, he said, in a voice whose harshness was changed almost into +supplication: + +“Clemence, do not dishonor me by giving yourself to him when I am +dead--I would curse you if I thought that you would do that.” + +“Oh! do not curse me!” she exclaimed; “do not drive me mad. Do you not +know that I am about to die?” + +“There are women who do not see their husband’s blood upon their lover’s +hands--but I would curse you--” + +He dropped Clemence’s arm and fell back upon the mattress with a sob. +His eyes closed, and some unintelligible words died on his lips, which +were covered with a bloody froth. He was dying. + +Madame de Bergenheim, crouched down upon the floor, heard him repeating +in his expiring voice: + +“I would curse you--I would curse you!” + +She remained motionless for some time, her eyes fastened upon the dying +man before her with a look of stupefied curiosity. Then she arose and +went to the mirror; she gazed at herself for a moment as if obeying the +whim of an insane woman, pushing aside, in order to see herself better, +the hair which covered her forehead. Suddenly a flash of reason came to +her; she uttered a horrible cry as she saw some blood upon her face; she +looked at herself from head to foot; her dress was stained with it; she +wrung her hands in horror, and felt that they were wet. Her husband’s +blood was everywhere. Then, her brain filled with the fire of raving +madness, she rushed out upon the balcony, and Bergenheim, before his +last breath escaped him, heard the noise of her body as it fell into the +river. + +Several days later, the Sentinelle des Vosges contained the following +paragraph, written with the official sorrow found in all death-notices +at thirty sous per line: + +“A frightful event, which has just thrown two of our best families +into mourning, has caused the greatest consternation throughout the +Remiremont district. Monsieur le Baron de Bergenheim, one of the richest +land-owners in our province, was killed by accident at a wild-boar +hunt on his own domains. It was by the hand of one of his best friends, +Monsieur de Gerfaut, well known by, his important literary work, which +has given its author a worldwide reputation, that he received his +death-blow. Nothing could equal the grief of the involuntary cause of +this catastrophe. Madame de Bergenheim, upon learning of this tragic +accident, was unable to survive the death of her adored husband, and +drowned herself in her despair. Thus the same grave received this +couple, still in the bloom of life, to whom their great mutual affection +seemed to promise a most happy future.” + +Twenty-eight months later the Parisian journals, in their turn, +inserted, with but slight variations, the following article: + +“Nothing could give any idea of the enthusiasm manifested at the +Theatre-Francais last evening, at the first representation of Monsieur +de Gerfaut’s new drama. Never has this writer, whose silence literature +has deplored for too long a time, distinguished himself so highly. His +early departure for the East is announced. Let us hope that this voyage +will turn to the advantage of art, and that the beautiful and sunny +countries of Asia will be a mine for new inspirations for this +celebrated poet, who has taken, in such a glorious manner, his place at +the heal of our literature.” + +Bergenheim’s last wish had been realized; his honor was secure; +nobody outraged by even an incredulous smile the purity of Clemence’s +winding-sheet; and the world did not refuse to their double grave the +commonplace consideration that had surrounded their lives. + +Clemence’s death did not destroy the future of the man who loved her so +passionately, but the mourning he wears for her, to this day, is of +the kind that is never put aside. And, as the poet’s heart was always +reflected in his works, the world took part in this mourning without +being initiated into its mystery. When the bitter cup of memory +overflowed in them, they believed it to be a new vein which had opened +in the writer’s brain. Octave received, every day, congratulations upon +this sadly exquisite tone of his lyre, whose vibrations surpassed in +supreme intensity the sighs of Rene or Obermann’s Reveries. Nobody knew +that those sad pages were written under the inspiration of the most +mournful of visions, and that this dark and melancholy tinge, which was +taken for a caprice of the imagination, had its source in blood and in +the spasms of a broken heart. + + + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + Antipathy for her husband bordering upon aversion + Attractions that difficulties give to pleasure + Attractive abyss of drunkenness + Consented to become a wife so as not to remain a maiden + Despotic tone which a woman assumes when sure of her empire + Evident that the man was above his costume; a rare thing! + I believed it all; one is so happy to believe! + It is a terrible step for a woman to take, from No to Yes + Lady who requires urging, although she is dying to sing + Let them laugh that win! + Let ultra-modesty destroy poetry + Love is a fire whose heat dies out for want of fuel + Mania for fearing that she may be compromised + Material in you to make one of Cooper’s redskins + Misfortunes never come single + No woman is unattainable, except when she loves another + Obstinacy of drunkenness + Recourse to concessions is often as fatal to women as to kings + Regards his happiness as a proof of superiority + She said yes, so as not to say no + These are things that one admits only to himself + Those whom they most amuse are those who are best worth amusing + Topics that occupy people who meet for the first time + Trying to conceal by a smile (a blush) + When one speaks of the devil he appears + Wiped his nose behind his hat, like a well-bred orator + You are playing ‘who loses wins!’ + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gerfaut, Complete, by Charles de Bernard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERFAUT, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3985-0.txt or 3985-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/8/3985/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |