Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  The commander’s bell rang, and on hearing the sound the housekeeper said to the young man, whose face wore an almost heart-broken expression:

  “That is the commander ringing. For heaven’s sake don’t look so sad, M. Olivier; he will be sure to suspect something.”

  “You needn’t be afraid of that. But, by the way, Gerald is sure to call this morning. You must let him in.”

  “All right, M. Olivier. Go to the commander at once, and I will soon have your breakfast ready. Dear me, M. Olivier,” she continued, with a sigh, “can you be content with—”

  “My dear, good woman,” cried the young soldier, without allowing her to finish, “don’t I always have enough? Aren’t you always depriving yourself of something to give it to me?”

  “Hush! Monsieur is ringing again. Hasten to him at once!”

  And Olivier obeyed.

  CHAPTER XXV.

  MATRIMONIAL INTENTIONS DISCLOSED.

  AT THE SIGHT of Olivier, the commander’s features assumed a joyful expression, and, not being able to rise from his armchair, he held out both hands to his nephew, saying:

  “Good morning, my boy.”

  “Good morning, uncle.”

  “I feel strongly inclined to scold you.”

  “Me, uncle?”’

  “Certainly. Though you only returned yesterday you were off this morning almost before sunrise. I woke quite early, happy in the thought that I was not alone, as I have been for two months past. I glance over at your bed, but no Olivier is to be seen. You had already flown.”

  “But, uncle—”

  “But, my boy, you have cheated me out of nearly two months of your leave already. A hitch in your master mason’s business matters, you told me. So be it; but now, thanks to the earnings of these two months, you must be almost a millionaire, so I intend to enjoy your society from this on. You have earned plenty of money. As it is for me that you are always working, I cannot prevent you from making me presents, and Heaven only knows what you are plotting to do with your millions this very minute, M. Croesus; but I tell you one thing, if you leave me as much of the time alone as you did before you went away, I will not accept another present from you. I swear I will not!”

  “But, uncle, listen to me—”

  “You have only two more months to spend with me, and I am determined to make the most of them. What is the use of working as you do? Do you suppose that, with a manager like Mother Barbançon, my purse is not always full? Only two or three days ago I said to her: ‘Well, Madame Steward, how are we off for funds?’ ‘You needn’t worry about that, monsieur,’ she replied; ‘when one has more than one spends, there is a plenty.’ I tell you that a cashier who answers like that is a comfort.”

  “Oh, well, uncle,” said Olivier, anxious to put an end to this embarrassing conversation, “I promise that I will leave you as little as possible henceforth. Now, one thing more, do you feel able to see Gerald this morning?”

  “Why, of course. What a kind and loyal heart that young duke has! When I think that during your absence he came here again and again to see me, and smoke his cigar with me! I was suffering the torments of the damned, but somehow he managed to make me feel ever so much more comfortable. ‘Olivier is away,’ he said to me, ‘and it is my business to look after you.’”

  “My good Gerald!” murmured Olivier, deeply moved.

  “Yes, he is good. A young man of his position, who leaves his pleasures, his sweethearts, and friends of his own age, to come and spend two or three hours with an old cripple like me, proves conclusively that he has a good heart. But I’m not a conceited fool, I know very well that it was on your account that Gerald came to see me, my dear nephew, and because he knew it would give you pleasure.”

  “No, no, uncle. It was for your sake, and for yours alone, believe me!”

  “Hum!”

  “He will tell you so himself, presently, for he wrote yesterday to ask if he would find us at home this morning.”

  “Alas! he is only too certain to find me; I cannot budge from my armchair. You see the melancholy proof of that,” added the old sailor, pointing to his dry and weedy flower borders. “My poor garden is nearly burnt up. Mamma Barbançon has been too busy to attend to it; besides, my illness seems to have put her all out of sorts. I suggested asking the porter to water the flowers every day or two; but you should have heard how she answered me. ‘Bring strangers into the house to steal and destroy everything!’ You know what a temper the good woman has, and I dared not insist, so you can see what a terrible condition my poor flowers are in.”

  “Never mind, uncle; I am back now, and I will act as your head gardener,” said Olivier, gaily. “I have thought of it before, and if I had not been obliged to go out early this morning on business, you would have found your garden all weeded, and fresh as a rose sparkling with dew when you woke this morning. But to-morrow morning, — well, you shall see!”

  The commander was about to thank Olivier when Madame Barbançon opened the door and asked if M. Gerald could come in.

  “I should say he could come in!” exclaimed the old naval officer, gaily, as Olivier advanced to meet his friend.

  “Thank heaven! his master mason has returned him to us at last,” exclaimed the veteran, pointing to Olivier.

  “Hopeless chaos seemed to reign in the worthy man’s estimates,” replied Olivier, “and when they were at last adjusted, the manager of the property, struck by my fine handwriting and symmetrical figures, asked me to straighten out some accounts of his, and I consented. But now I think of it, do you know, Gerald, who owns the magnificent château in which I spent the last two months?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “Well, the Marquise of Carabas.”

  “What Marquise of Carabas?”

  “The enormously wealthy heiress you were talking to us about before I went away.”

  “Mlle. de Beaumesnil?” exclaimed Gerald, in profound astonishment.

  “The same. This magnificent estate belongs to her and yields her a yearly income of twenty thousand livres; and it seems that she has dozens of such properties.”

  “What the devil can one do with so much money?” exclaimed the veteran.

  “It is certainly a strange coincidence,” murmured Gerald, thoughtfully.

  “And why?”

  “Because there is a possibility of my marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil.”

  “Indeed, M. Gerald,” said the veteran, artlessly, “so a desire to marry has seized you since I saw you last?”

  “So you are in love with Mlle. de Beaumesnil?” asked Olivier, no less naïvely.

  Gerald, surprised at these questions, replied, after a moment of reflection:

  “It is perfectly natural that you should speak in this way, commander, and you, too, Olivier; and among all the persons I know you are the only ones. Yes, for if I had said to a thousand other people, ‘It is proposed that I should marry the richest heiress in France,’ each and every one of them would have replied without a thought about anything else: ‘Yes, marry her by all means. It is a splendid match; marry her, by all means!’”

  Then, after another pause, Gerald added:

  “Of course it is only right, but how rare, oh, how rare!”

  “Upon my word, I had no idea that I was saying anything remarkable, M. Gerald. Olivier thinks exactly as I do, don’t you, my boy?”

  “Yes, uncle. But what is the matter with you, Gerald? Why do you seem so serious all of a sudden?”

  “I will tell you,” said the young duke, whose features did, indeed, wear an unusually thoughtful expression. “I came here this morning to inform you of my matrimonial intentions, — you, commander, and you, Olivier, for I regard you both as sincere and devoted friends.”

  “You certainly have no truer ones, M. Gerald,” said the veteran, earnestly.

  “I am certain of that, commander, and this knowledge made me doubly anxious to confide my projects to you.”

  “That is very na
tural,” replied Olivier, “for you know so well that whatever interests you interests us.”

  “The real state of the case is this,” said Gerald, replying to his friend’s words by a friendly gesture. “Yesterday, my mother, dazzled by Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s wealth, proposed to me that I should marry that young lady. My mother considered my success certain, if I would consent to follow her counsels. But remembering the pleasures of my bachelor life and of independence, I at first refused.”

  “But if you have no liking for married life, the millions upon millions should not induce you to change this determination,” remarked the old naval officer, kindly.

  “But wait, commander,” said Gerald, with some little embarrassment. “My refusal irritated my mother. She told me I was blind, and that I had no sense; but finally her anger gave place to such profound chagrin that, seeing her inconsolable at my refusal, I—”

  “You consented to the marriage?” asked Olivier.

  “Yes,” replied Gerald.

  Then noticing a slight movement of astonishment on the part of the old sailor, Gerald added:

  “Commander, my decision seems to surprise you.”

  “Yes, M. Gerald.”

  “But why? Tell me frankly.”

  “Well, M. Gerald, if you consent to marry contrary to your inclination, and that merely to please your mother, I fear you are making a great mistake,” answered the veteran, in firm, but affectionate tones, “for sooner or later your wife will suffer for the compulsion you exert upon yourself to-day, and one ought not to marry to make a woman unhappy. Don’t you agree with me, Olivier?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “But how could I bear to see my mother weep, my mother who seems to have set her heart upon this marriage?”

  “But think of seeing your wife weep, M. Gerald. Your mother has your affection to console her, while your wife, poor orphan that she is, who will console her? No one, or perhaps she will do as so many other women do, — console herself with lovers who are inferior to you in every way. They will torment her, they will disgrace her, perhaps, — another chance of misery for the poor creature!”

  The young duke’s head drooped, and he answered not a word.

  “You asked us to be frank with you, M. Gerald,” continued the commander, “and we are, because we love you sincerely.”

  “I did not doubt that you would be perfectly frank with me, so I ought to be equally so, and say in my defence that in consenting to this marriage I was influenced by another and not altogether ungenerous sentiment. You remember that I spoke of Macreuse, the other day, Olivier?”

  “That miserable wretch who put little birds’ eyes out with pins!” cried the veteran, upon whom this incident had evidently made a deep impression, “that hypocrite who is now a hanger-on of the clergy?”

  “The same, commander. Well, he is one of the aspirants for Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s hand.”

  “Macreuse!” exclaimed Olivier. “Poor girl, but he has no chance of success, has he?”

  “My mother says not, but I fear that he has; for the Church supports Macreuse’s claims, and the Church is very powerful.”

  “Such a scoundrel as that succeed!” cried the old officer. “It would be shameful!”

  “And it was because I was so indignant at the idea that, already touched by my mother’s disappointment, I consented to the marriage partly in order to circumvent that wretch, Macreuse.”

  “But afterwards, M. Gerald, you reflected, did you not, that an honourable man like yourself does not marry merely to please his mother and circumvent a rival, even if that rival is a Macreuse?”

  “What, commander!” exclaimed Gerald, evidently much surprised. “Do you think it would be better to allow this wretch to marry Mlle. de Beaumesnil, when he wants her only for her money?”

  “Nothing of the kind,” answered the veteran, warmly. “One should always prevent a crime when one can, and if I were in your place, M. Gerald—”

  “What would you do, commander?”

  “I would go first to M. Macreuse, and say to him: ‘You are a scoundrel, and as scoundrels should not be allowed to marry women to make them miserable all their lives, I forbid you to marry Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I will prevent you from marrying her; I do not know her, I have no intention of marrying her myself, but I take an interest in her because she is in some danger of becoming your wife. As that, in my opinion, would be infinitely worse for her than if she were going to be bitten by a mad dog, I intend to warn her that you are worse than a mad dog.’”

  “That would be doing exactly right, uncle, exactly!” cried Olivier.

  But Gerald motioned him not to interrupt the veteran, who continued:

  “I should then go straight to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and say to her: ‘My dear young lady, there is a certain M. Macreuse who wants to marry you for your money. He is a vile cur, and I will prove it to his face whenever and wherever you like. Take my advice; it is entirely disinterested, for I haven’t the slightest idea of marrying you myself, but honest men should always put unsuspecting persons on their guard against scoundrels.’ I tell you, M. Gerald, my way may be unconventional, but there might be very much worse ones.”

  “The course my uncle suggests, though rather rough, certainly has the merit of being eminently straightforward, you must admit, my dear Gerald,” said Olivier, smilingly; “but you, who are so much better versed in the ways of the world than either of us are, probably know whether you could not achieve the same result by less violent means.”

  But Gerald, more and more impressed by the veteran’s frankness and good sense, had listened to him very respectfully.

  “Thanks, commander,” he exclaimed, offering him his hand, “you and Olivier have prevented me from doing a dishonourable deed, for the danger was all the greater from the fact that I was investing it with a semblance of virtue. To make my mother the happiest of women, and prevent Mlle. de Beaumesnil from becoming the victim of a man like Macreuse, seemed a very fine thing to me at first. I was deceiving myself most abominably, for I not only gave no thought whatever to the future of this young girl whom I would probably make miserable for life, but I was yielding, though unconsciously, to the fascination of her colossal wealth.”

  “You are wrong about that, Gerald, I am sure.”

  “I am not, upon my word, Olivier. So, to save myself from further temptation, I shall return to my first resolution, viz., not to marry at all. I regret only one thing in this change of plans,” added Gerald, with much feeling, “and that is the deep disappointment I shall cause my mother, though she is sure to approve my course eventually.”

  “But listen, Gerald,” interrupted Olivier; “you should not do wrong merely to please your mother, as uncle says. Yet a mother is so kind, and it grieves one so much to see her unhappy, why should you not try to satisfy her without the sacrifice of your convictions as an honest and honourable man?”

  “Good, my boy!” exclaimed the veteran. “But how is that to be done?”

  “Explain, Olivier.”

  “You have no wish to marry, you say?”

  “Not the slightest.”

  “And you have never seen Mlle. de Beaumesnil?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you cannot love her, of course, that is evident. But who knows but you might fall in love with her if you did see her? A bachelor life is your idea of perfect happiness now, I admit. But is it not quite possible that Mlle. de Beaumesnil might inspire you with a taste for married life instead?”

  “You are right, Olivier,” exclaimed the veteran. “You ought to see the young lady before you refuse, M. Gerald, and perhaps, as Olivier says, the desire to marry may seize you.”

  “Impossible, commander!” cried Gerald, gaily. “One is born a husband as one is born a poet or a cripple, and then there is another objection, — the most important of all, — that occurs to me now. It is that the young lady in question is the richest heiress in France.”

  “And what of that?” urged Olivier. �
��What difference does that make?”

  “It makes a great deal of difference,” replied Gerald, “for even if I was obliged to admit that Mlle. de Beaumesnil pleased me infinitely, — that I was dead in love with her, in fact, and that she shared my love, — the fact remains that she is the possessor of a princely fortune, while I have nothing; for my paltry twelve thousand a year would be but a drop in the ocean of Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s millions. It would be too humiliating to a man’s pride, would it not, commander, to marry a woman to whom you can give nothing, but who gives you everything? Besides, however sincere your love may be, don’t you have the appearance of marrying for mercenary motives? Don’t you know that everybody would say: ‘Mlle. de Beaumesnil wanted to be a duchess. Gerald de Senneterre hadn’t a penny, so he sold her his name and title, and threw himself in.’”

  On hearing these words, the uncle glanced at his nephew with a decidedly embarrassed air.

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE COMMANDER’S ADVICE.

  GERALD DID NOT fail to notice this fact, and it was with a smile that he exclaimed:

  “Yes, I was sure of it, commander. There is something so humiliating to an honest man’s pride in such a glaring inequality of fortune that you are as unpleasantly impressed by it as I am. Your silence proves that conclusively.”

  “The fact is,” replied the veteran, after a moment’s silence,— “the fact is, I really can’t explain why such a state of things would appear perfectly natural and right to me if it was the man who possessed the fortune, and the lady had nothing.”

  Then the old officer added, with a good-natured smile:

  “You think me a great simpleton, I expect, M. Gerald.”

  “Quite the contrary. Your thought owes its origin to the most profound delicacy of feeling, commander,” answered Gerald. “It is the most natural thing in the world that a penniless, but charming young girl, accomplished and endowed with noble attributes of mind and heart, should marry an immensely rich man, — if their love be mutual, — but for a man who has nothing, to marry a woman who has everything—”