The Sword of Honor; or, The Foundation of the French Republic

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XXI.

  A LOVE FROM THE GRAVE.

  His marriage with Charlotte achieved, John Lebrenn, his sister, his wifeand Madam Desmarais took up their abode in the modest dwelling on AnjouStreet. Here also was Lebrenn's smithy, now for two months transformedinto an armorer's shop, for he had received an order for guns for thevolunteers, and, with his companions, set about the work with a will.

  On the evening of May the 30th, in the year of his marriage, Lebrenn waslooking over the newspapers while he rested from the heavy labors of theday, when his wife, sad and engrossed, came to him, saying to herself:

  "No--painful though the confidence be, my last talk with the poor child,and my tender attachment for Victoria, will not permit me to postponeit--" Then, aloud to her husband, she began:

  "I have for long hesitated, my friend, over the communication I am aboutto make to you. But the interest I feel in Victoria compels me to-day tospeak. Closer knowledge of your sister's character has shown me, myfriend, that you do not over-state when you say that, despite theyouthful degradation she perforce underwent, her heart has remainedpure. And yet I very wrongly harbored an evil thought against her. NowI have the proof of my mistake. I attributed to jealousy the change wenoticed coming over her. I thought to myself that Victoria, used toconcentrate upon you all her tenderness, to share your life, might feeltoward me that sort of sisterly jealousy which the best and bravest ofsisters feel in spite of themselves toward the wife of an idolizedbrother. I blush for my error, my friend, but still it was pardonable.Do you recall that shortly after our wedding we began to remark in yoursister a growing sadness and taciturnity? Did she not seem by turnshappy and saddened at our intimacy? Has she not appeared almostcontinuously under the empire of some secret brooding?"

  "True; for long I have noticed in Victoria a sort of capriciouschangefulness of spirit which contrasted strongly with her ordinaryequability. Thus, after having taken upon herself the task of eveninglessons for our three apprentice boys and little Oliver, the orphan ladwhom we took in, who, in spite of his eighteen years, knows no more thanthe younger boys, my sister suddenly declared she was going to stop thelessons and leave Paris; and without a word of explanation, at that."

  "You remember, John, how bitter were her farewells at leaving us?"

  "Happily, at the end of barely a week, Victoria returned, and--strangecontradiction--insisted upon resuming her functions as school mistress."

  "But her sadness, her sighs, the decline of her health proved only toowell the persistence of her secret anguish. I said to myself, 'Thecourageous woman is fighting with all her might against her sisterlyjealousy. In vain she tried to flee. Drawn again to us by hertenderness for John, she prefers to live with us and suffer.' But no, myfriend, I was in error. I am now positive of it."

  "To what cause, then, do you attribute Victoria's deep dejection andchagrin?"

  "I shall surprise you, my friend, in revealing the burden--it is love!"

  Mute with astonishment, John looked at his wife at first withoutanswering her. Then, sadly smiling, and shaking his head incredulously,he said:

  "Charlotte, you mistake. Victoria has had but one love in her life. Hewhom she loved to distraction is dead. She will be faithful to thatflame to the tomb."

  "You related to me the sad story of Victoria and Maurice, the youngsergeant in the French Guards, killed by his disgraceful punishment.But, recall to mind that two or three days after our marriage, when youpresented Oliver and the three apprentices, whom she wished to teach toread, to her, she suddenly shuddered, and cried as in greatbewilderment--'Good God! Is it a vision, or is it a specter? 'Tis he,'tis Maurice I see again!'"

  "I remember the circumstance. And instantly coming to herself, Victoriatold us she had had a spell of dizziness; but said no more on thesubject."

  "So, noticing her embarrassment, her downheartedness, we did not insiston knowing from her the real cause of so strange an incident; but a fewdays after this first meeting with Oliver, a remarkable change began tomanifest itself in your sister's manner."

  "That is all true; but what do you conclude from it?"

  "I conclude, my friend, that it was in amazement at something inOliver's appearance that your sister uttered the wandering words whichstartled us. I now believe the words expressed the surprise, mingledwith affright, into which she was thrown by the striking resemblancebetween Oliver and Sergeant Maurice. And finally, the resemblance isexplained by what I have discovered;--Oliver is Maurice's brother!"

  "Strange, strange indeed!" muttered John. "But tell me, how did you comeby the discovery?"

  "As you know, we had to bring Oliver into the house, so as to have himclose by us, as he is suffering from some languorous malady whichrenders him unable, despite his courage and willingness, to work in theshop. The unhappy boy, undermined by a slow fever, is in a deplorablestate of weakness."

  "The physician attributes it to his rapid growth. Oliver is, in fact,hardly eighteen. He has grown fast lately; this would explain histemporary lassitude."

  "The physician, it seems to me, is deceived there. I shall tell you why,my friend. Just now, in coming from the shop, I crossed the garden. Isaw Oliver seated under the yoke-elm bower, apparently sunk in mournfulrevery. His eye was fixed, his face bathed in tears. On seeing me hefurtively tried to wipe his eyes. His features revealed mentalsuffering; it was easy to see that all was not physical in his malady.'Oliver,' I said, seating myself close beside him, 'the cause of yourillness is not the one the doctor gives. You feel some greatdisappointment, you hide it from us--that is wrong. My husband cares foryou like a father, why do you not confide your trouble to him?' Heseemed as much pained as surprised at my penetration; the embarrassedanswers he gave were not sincere. He attributed his sorrow to theloneliness he felt in being left an orphan, without any relatives."

  "Such a reply from Oliver surprises me. Has he not often shown by hismanner the most touching recognition of our kindnesses toward him? Wemake him forget, he says, the unhappiness of his orphanhood; we surroundhim with a family's attention."

  "No doubt he was hiding the truth from me, my friend. Then I spoke tohim of the family he mourned. He eagerly seized upon the topic, as ifglad of an avenue of escape from the new questions he feared I would putto him. He gave me many details of his parents. I learned that hisfurthest memories went back only ten or twelve years, when he was a boyof six or seven. He remembered that his brother Maurice wore the uniformof the French Guards, and came often to see their mother, a poorlace-weaver."

  "There can no longer be any doubt!" cried Lebrenn, greatly amazed. "Andindeed, by dint of much turning about of my early memories, which aregreatly confused as I was then only a child, meseems that SergeantMaurice, whom I saw often at the house as my sister's betrothed, did, infact, resemble Oliver."

  "So, my friend, what is there astonishing in the fact that Victoria,finding again, so to speak, Maurice in his younger brother, should yielddespite herself to the reawakening of a sentiment which always ruled herso strongly? A strange sentiment, against which Victoria rebels,although in vain, for a thousand reasons, among them the difference inyears between herself and Oliver. Victoria, although still young and inthe ripeness of her beauty, might be his mother. The slow malady whichis gnawing at Oliver's heart has no other cause than a secret and madlove for our sister Victoria."

  These last words of Charlotte's, recalling to him many circumstancespreviously insignificant, forced conviction upon Lebrenn. He felt as onecrushed, under the weight of the revelation, and presaging its sadconsequences, cried, "Charlotte, Charlotte, what sorrows I foresee--ifyour suspicions are well founded! And what is worse, I believe you speaksooth."

  "My friend, my suspicions are but too well founded. They explain thesadness of our poor sister; they explain her heart's anguish, the causeof which has eluded us. Alas, her grief arises from the conflict betweenher reason and this strange passion, so incomprehensible at firstglance. And still, one can see how her love for Maurice, lasting be
yondthe grave, would predispose her toward a similar sentiment for hisbrother, who reflects so perfect an image of the departed. On the otherhand, no more is it really strange that Oliver, drawn to your sister byher many proofs of interest in him, by her beauty, by the loftiness ofher spirit and the nobility of her character, should end in becomingseriously enamored of her. His love, which seeks to hide itself from alleyes, and which hardly dares acknowledge itself, thinking it could neverbe returned, will consume him, and perhaps carry him to the grave."

  John was silent for some moments. "The affair is so delicate," he saidat length, "that I would not venture upon taking it up with Victoria,confident though I am of her attachment to me. We must, then, see toOliver, and seek to snatch him from his wild passion. I shall have tohasten into execution a project I had already formed for his future.Everything about the boy seems to indicate military inclinations. A longtime before his illness I observed during the Section drills not onlyhis aptitude in the handling of arms, but with what insight he seemed toanticipate, as it were, the manoeuvres, and with what precision heexecuted them."

  "Indeed, you have often told me of it, my friend. There are in Oliver,you say, the makings of an officer."

  "I wished to wait, before proposing to him to enrol, until his healthwas completely restored. But, although his convalescence must, indeed,be allowed time for, I think I shall now push forward his engagement inwhatever corps of the army is most to his liking. The distractions ofthe trip to join his regiment, the change of scene, the soldier's life,will, I doubt not, by awakening in Oliver his martial talents, exercisea salutary influence over his health. He will feel his mind growgradually calmer in the measure that he finds himself further andfurther removed from Victoria. And lastly, she, no longer having Oliverdaily before her, will succeed, I hope, in mastering this fatal love.'Twould be a happy solution."

  The conversation of John and his wife was broken in upon by the entranceof Madam Desmarais. The lady seemed quite uneasy, and said to herson-in-law in alarm:

  "My God! What is going on in Paris to-night? They are beating theassembly! The streets are all excitement and hubbub. I was hardly ableto get back home, for the crowds. Have we another _day_ to fear?"

  "According to what you say, dear mother, there probably will be a _day_to-morrow," replied John, smiling. "But it will be as peaceful as itwill be imposing, and will, I hope, insure the safety of the Republic."

  "May God hear you, my dear John. I know what faith one can place in yourwords. Nevertheless, I can not help but tremble when I think of yourbeing engaged in these struggles, which may at any time end inmassacre."

  Gertrude, the old servant of the family, who had followed MadamDesmarais and her daughter to their new dwelling, just then entered andsaid to John: "Monsieur, your foreman Castillon is in the entry. Hewishes me to tell you he would like to speak with you."

  "Go and tell him he may come in, my good Gertrude."

  "Charlotte and I will leave you," said Madam Desmarais. "If you go out,John, come and see us before you leave."

  "Certainly, dear mother." Then addressing his wife, John added,significantly, "If you see Victoria before I do, keep silence on thesubject of our talk."

  "Speaking of Victoria, my children, I must say that the change in herhealth seems serious."

  "We share your fears, good mother. Without a doubt, Victoria issuffering from some secret sorrow. But you know what reserve we mustproceed with if we wish to win our sister's confidence. Depend upon us,mother, and until John or I have seen you, say nothing to Victoria whichcould lead her to suppose that we have remarked the change whichafflicts us--alas, with all too much cause."

  "You may count upon my discretion," replied Madam Desmarais. She and herdaughter then left the room, and soon Castillon, foreman to JohnLebrenn, was engaged in conversation with his master.