by Eugène Sue
“Oh, yes, they are certainly the most considerate of relatives, so full of tenderness and dignity,” replied Ernestine, with a rather peculiar expression. “Ah, well, you see, then, that it will be an easy matter for me to secure an evening to myself.”
“Yes, mademoiselle, but how shall we manage to get out of the house?”
“Get out of the house?”
“Yes. I mean without meeting any one on the stairway, or being seen by the concierge.”
“That is your lookout. I depend upon you to devise a means of doing that.”
“Oh, it is very easy to say devise a means, mademoiselle, but—”
“I foresaw this difficulty, of course, but I said to myself, ‘My dear Laîné is very clever. She will assist me in this.’”
“Heaven knows I would be only too glad to, mademoiselle, but I really do not see—”
“Put on your thinking-cap. I have never used any but the main stairway, but are there no servants’ stairways leading from my apartments?”
“Of course, mademoiselle. There are two such staircases, but you would run a great risk of meeting the servants if you used either of them; that is,” added the governess, thoughtfully,— “that is unless you should choose the time that they are at dinner, about eight o’clock, for example.”
“Your idea is an admirable one.”
“Mademoiselle should not rejoice too soon.”
“Why?”
“Mademoiselle will still have to pass the porter’s lodge, and he is a regular Cerberus, for ever on the watch.”
“That is true, we shall have to think of some other way.”
“I am trying, mademoiselle, but it’s no easy matter, I assure you.”
“But not impossible, it seems to me.”
“Ah, I have an idea, mademoiselle!” exclaimed the governess, suddenly, after reflecting a moment.
“Let me hear it.”
“Excuse me, mademoiselle, but I’m not sure that it is at all feasible yet. Let me go and see. I’ll be back in a moment.”
And the governess darted out of the room. The orphan was left alone.
“I was right,” she murmured, with an expression of bitter disgust. “This woman has a base and mercenary nature, like so many others, but these very failings will ensure me her submission, and, above all, her discretion.”
In a few minutes the governess returned, radiant.
“Victory, mademoiselle!” she exclaimed, rapturously.
“Explain, if you please.”
“Mademoiselle is aware that her dressing-room opens into my bedroom.”
“Yes.”
“And adjoining my chamber there is a large room containing the wardrobes for mademoiselle’s dresses.”
“Well?”
“There is a door in this room which opens upon a narrow staircase to which I never paid any attention before.”
“And where does this staircase lead?”
“It leads down to a small door which has been closed up, but which opens, as nearly as I can judge, upon the side street.”
“This door opens upon the street?” cried Mlle. de Beaumesnil, quickly.
“Yes, mademoiselle, and this is not at all surprising. In many of the large houses in this neighbourhood there are small private stairways leading up to the sleeping apartments, because in former times the ladies of the court—”
“The ladies of the court?” inquired Ernestine, so naïvely that Madame Laîné’s eyes fell before the girl’s innocent gaze.
So, fearing that she was going too far, and that she might imperil her recently acquired intimacy with her pupil, Madame Laîné said:
“I don’t care to fill mademoiselle’s ears with a lot of servants’ gossip.”
“And you are right. But if this door which leads into the street is condemned, how shall we open it?”
“It is bolted and nailed up on the inside — but mademoiselle needn’t worry. I have all night before me, and to-morrow morning I hope to have a good report to make to mademoiselle.”
“Very well If you think it necessary, inform your friend, Madame Herbaut, in advance that you will bring a relative with you to-morrow evening.”
“I will do so, though it isn’t at all necessary. Mademoiselle, if she accompanies me, will be as cordially received as I am. There is very little ceremony among people of that class.”
“Very well, it is understood, then. But I repeat once more that I shall expect the utmost caution on your part. Your reward depends upon that.”
“Mademoiselle can punish me in any way she pleases if I break my word.”
“I would much rather reward you. See what you can do about that door now, and let me hear early to-morrow morning.”
“But really, mademoiselle, all this is very extraordinary!”
“What do you mean?”
“I refer to mademoiselle’s desire to go to Madame Herbaut’s. It seems to me such a strange idea on mademoiselle’s part. But I feel no uneasiness,” added the governess, with a complacent air. “I know mademoiselle too well to suppose for one moment that she would involve a poor woman like myself in any trouble, and though I do not presume to question mademoiselle, may I not — as I, of course, must not speak of this matter to any one else — may I not know why, mademoiselle—”
“Good-night, my dear Laîné,” said mademoiselle, rising, and thus putting an end to the conversation. “Let me know the results of your researches early to-morrow morning.”
Delighted to have a secret between her pupil and herself at last, a secret which she regarded as convincing proof of a confidence which would ensure her a modest fortune, at least, Madame Laîné discreetly withdrew, leaving Mlle. de Beaumesnil again alone.
After a few moments of reflection the orphan unlocked her desk, and, opening the journal dedicated to her mother, began to write hurriedly, even impetuously.
CHAPTER XXXII.
UNBURDENING THE HEART.
“THE RESOLVE I have just made, my dear mother,” wrote Ernestine, “is a dangerous one; I fear I did wrong to make it, but to whom can I turn for advice?
“To you, my dearest mother, I know, but it was while invoking your aid and protection that this idea occurred to me, and I feel that I must solve, at any cost, the doubts that so torment me.
“During the last few days many revelations have been made to me, some of such a sad and depressing nature that they seem to have upset me entirely, and it is with great difficulty, even now, that I can compose myself sufficiently to lay my heart bare to you, my kind and tender mother.
“For some time after my arrival in this house, I could speak only in terms of the highest praise of my guardian and his family, though sometimes in my secret heart I did censure them a little for the inordinate amount of flattery and attention they lavished upon me.
“This attention and these flatteries have not ceased; they have rather increased, if that were possible.
“My mental attributes, my character, and even my slightest word and act are praised in the most exaggerated way. As for my figure, my bearing, my personal appearance, and my every movement, they are all equally graceful, enchanting, divine, — in short, there is not a more attractive person in the world than I am.
“Saintly Mlle. Helena, who was never known to utter an untruth, assures me that I look like a madonna.
“Madame de la Rochaiguë says, with what she terms really brutal frankness, that I am endowed with such rare distinction and elegance of manner, as well as so many charms of person, that I am sure to become the most admired woman in Paris some day, in spite of myself.
“And last, but not least, according to my guardian, a serious-minded and extremely thoughtful man, the beauty of my features and the dignity of my bearing give me a striking resemblance to the beautiful Duchesse de Longueville, so famous under the Fronde.
“And when one day, in my artlessness, I expressed astonishment at my resembling so many persons at the same time, do you know, my dearest mother, what the a
nswer was?
“‘It is very simple. In you, mademoiselle, the most diverse charms are united, so, in you, each person finds the attraction he prefers.’
“And these flatteries pursue me everywhere. If the hair-dresser comes to arrange my hair, never before in his life did he see such superb tresses.
“If I am taken to the milliner’s,’What is the use of selecting any particular shape?’ says that lady. ‘With a face like mademoiselle’s any style is equally charming and becoming.’
“The dressmaker declares that my figure is so wonderfully elegant that, dressed in a loosely fitting sack, I should drive the ladies most famed for their perfection of form wild with envy.
“It is the same with the shoemaker, who declares that he will have to make a special last for me, never having worked for the possessor of so small a foot as mine.
“The glovemaker outdoes him even, by declaring that I have the hand of a dwarf.
“So you see, my dear mother, I may almost consider myself a phenomenon, fit for a museum.
“Oh, mother, mother, it was not in this way that you spoke when, taking my face in your two hands, and kissing me on the forehead, you said:
“‘My poor Ernestine, you are not beautiful, or even pretty, but the candour and sweetness of your disposition are so plainly written on your expressive face that I do not regret your lack of beauty.’
“And these words of praise, the only ones, I believe, that you ever gave me, I believed, and they made me very happy.
“But alas! the daughter you so fondly loved, has she remained worthy of you? I do not know. I am not sure.
“Then I knew nothing of doubts, suspicion, and mockery! And for several days past cruel presentiments have taken such a hold on me that I am as much astonished as alarmed.
“There must be something terribly insidious in the effects of flattery, for — to you I must confess all — though I have often thought the praises lavished upon me must be exaggerated, I wondered why it should be that so many different people should be so unanimous in praising everything I said and did.
“Nor is this all.
“The other day Madame de la Rochaiguë took me to a concert. I soon perceived that everybody was looking at me. A number of persons even passed and repassed me several times, to examine me more closely, I suppose, though I was very simply dressed. Even when I come out of church I notice that every one stares at me. I mention the fact, and my guardian and his family say: ‘Yes, you are right. Everybody does stare at you. See what a sensation you create everywhere!’
“And, in the face of this evidence, what can I say? Nothing.
“I must admit that all this flattery was becoming very pleasant to me. It surprised me less and less, and though it sometimes occurred to me how grossly exaggerated it was, I promptly silenced any misgivings on the subject, by saying to myself:
“‘But if this is not true, why is the sensation I create — as my guardian says — so general?’
“Alas! I was soon to learn.
“This is what occurred:
“A gentleman of whom I have never dared to speak until now, has called at my guardian’s house several times. This gentleman is M. le Marquis de Maillefort. He is deformed; he has a sardonic air, and he is always uttering the most sarcastic remarks or ironical compliments that sting worse than his sarcasms.
“On account of the antipathy he inspired in me, I usually found some excuse for leaving the drawing-room soon after his arrival, and I was encouraged in this by the persons around me, for they both feared and hated M. de Maillefort, though they always greeted him with pretended affability.
“Three days ago he was ushered into the room where I happened to be sitting alone with Mlle. Helena. To leave the room at once would have been too discourteous, so I remained, hoping to be able to make my escape in a few minutes.
“This short conversation then ensued between M. de Maillefort and Mlle. Helena. Alas! I have not forgotten a word of it.
“‘Ah, good evening, my dear Mlle. Helena,’ the marquis began, with his most sarcastic air. ‘I am delighted to find Mlle. de Beaumesnil with you. She will derive such benefit from your pious conversation. She must profit so much by your excellent counsels, as well as by those of your worthy brother and your no less excellent sister-in-law!’
“‘We hope so, indeed, M. le marquis, for we feel that we have a sacred duty to fulfil towards Mlle. de Beaumesnil.’
“‘Unquestionably,’ replied M. de Maillefort, in more and more sarcastic tones, ‘a sacred duty to which you and yours will sedulously devote yourselves. Are you not continually repeating to Mlle. de Beaumesnil: “You are the richest heiress in France, and being that, you are necessarily the most accomplished and wonderfully gifted person in the world?”’
“‘But, monsieur,’ exclaimed Mlle. Helena, interrupting him, ‘what you say—’
“‘I leave it to Mlle. de Beaumesnil herself,’ retorted the marquis. ‘If she speaks the truth, will she not be obliged to admit that a continual chorus of praise is resounding around her, magnificently sustained by our dear baron, his wife, and you, Mlle. Helena, — a delightful chorus in which you all three sustain your parts with wonderful skill, with touching self-abnegation and sublime disinterestedness? All rôles are alike to you. To-day, as leaders of the choir, you give the keynote to a crowd of Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s admirers; to-morrow, brilliant soloists, you will improvise hymns of praise which will reveal the extent of your resources, the flexibility of your art, and, above all, the adorable sincerity of your noble hearts.’
“‘I suppose, then, monsieur,’ said Mlle. Helena, colouring, doubtless, with anger, ‘I suppose, then, that I am to infer that our dear ward has none of the admirable traits and personal charms which are so generally conceded to her.’
“‘Because she is the richest heiress in France,’ replied M. de Maillefort, with an ironical bow to me; ‘and in this character Mlle. de Beaumesnil has a right to the most outrageous as well as the most insulting flattery, — insulting, because it is so manifestly untrue, and dictated solely by baseness and cupidity.’
“I rose, and left the room, scarcely able to keep back the tears.
“I cannot forget his words, mother. They are continually ringing in my ears.
“M. de Maillefort’s remarks were a revelation to me. My eyes were opened. I understand everything now.
“The praises of every sort and kind, the attentions and protestations of affection lavished upon me, the sensation I always create at entertainments, even the flattering remarks of my tradespeople, are all addressed to the richest heiress in France.
“Ah, mother, it was not without cause that I wrote you of the strange and unpleasant effect it produced upon me when, the day after my arrival in this house, I was so pompously informed that I was the mistress of a colossal fortune.
“‘It seems to me,’ I said to you then,’that I am in the situation of a person who possesses a valuable treasure, and fears that it may be stolen from him at any moment.’
“I understand this feeling now.
“It was the vague presentiment of this fear and distrust which has pursued me so relentlessly since the truth was thus harshly revealed to me.
“The praise bestowed upon me, the protestations of attachment made to me, are due solely to my wealth.
“Yes, mother, M. de Maillefort’s spiteful remarks have really been productive of a great deal of good, though they did cause me so much pain, for they have enlightened me in regard to the incomprehensible but increasing dislike my guardian and his family were inspiring in my heart.
“This revelation at last explains the obsequiousness and servility which surround me on every side.
“And now, my dearly beloved mother, my confession becomes a painful one, even when made to thee. It may be because this atmosphere of deceit and adulation in which I am living has already contaminated me, or, perhaps, because I shrink in such dismay from the thought that all this praise and all these demonstrati
ons of affection are due solely to my wealth, but I can scarcely credit so much baseness and deceitfulness, nor can I quite believe that I am so utterly unattractive, or that I am wholly incapable of inspiring any sincere and disinterested affection.
“And you see, my dearest mother, I no longer know what to think, not only of other people, but of myself. These doubts, this continual suspicion and distrust, are intolerable. I try in vain to devise some means of discovering the truth. From whom can I expect an honest reply?
“Nor is this all. Several recent events have rendered my situation still more trying.
“You shall judge of it.
“M. de Maillefort’s sarcastic allusions in regard to the perfections which I must necessarily possess in my character of heiress have doubtless been repeated to my guardian and his wife by Mlle. Helena, or else some other event, of which I am ignorant, has induced those around me to disclose projects of which I had no previous knowledge or even suspicion, and which have increased my distrust and uneasiness a thousandfold.”
Mademoiselle was here interrupted in her writing by two cautious raps at her door.
Surprised and almost terrified, as in her preoccupation she had forgotten the subject of her late conversation with her governess, the orphan asked, in trembling tones:
“Who is it?”
“I, mademoiselle,” replied Madame Laîné’s voice.
“Come in,” said Ernestine, remembering now.
“What is the matter?” she asked, as her governess entered.
“I have some good news for mademoiselle. My hands are all bloody, you see, but that doesn’t matter.”
“I see,” cried Ernestine, greatly alarmed. “What has happened? How did you hurt yourself so? Here, take this handkerchief and stanch the blood.”
“Oh, it’s but a mere scratch, mademoiselle,” replied the governess, heroically. “In your service, I would brave death itself.”
This exaggeration cooled Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s compassion very considerably, and she replied: