by Eugène Sue
“And now a word of advice in Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s interest, my dear child. No one knows, and no one must know that her poor mother summoned me to her in her last hours. My deep affection for the countess must also remain a secret. You will maintain a profound silence on the subject in case either M. or Madame de la Rochaiguë should ever speak of me.”
“I shall comply with your wishes, monsieur.”
“And I will come on Saturday, that is understood,” said the hunchback, rising. “It will give me great pleasure to introduce you to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I feel sure that you yourself will find a pleasure you do not anticipate in this meeting.”
“I hope so, monsieur,” replied Herminie, rather absently, for, seeing that the marquis was about to go, she did not know how to broach the subject that had been uppermost in her mind ever since the hunchback’s arrival.
At last, endeavouring to appear perfectly calm, she said:
“Before you go, monsieur, will you have the goodness to give me a little information if it be in your power to do it?”
“Speak, my dear child,” said M. de Maillefort, reseating himself.
“M. le marquis, in the social world to which you belong, have you ever chanced to meet Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre?”
“I was one of her deceased husband’s most intimate friends, and I am extremely fond of the present Duc de Senneterre, one of the best, most whole-souled young men I know. I had fresh proofs of his nobility of character only yesterday,” added the hunchback, with evident emotion.
A slight flush suffused Herminie’s face on hearing Gerald thus praised by a man she esteemed as highly as M. de Maillefort.
That gentleman, evidently much surprised, continued:
“But what information do you desire in relation to Madame de Senneterre, my dear child? Has any one proposed that you should give her daughters lessons?”
Hastily catching at these words which helped her out of a great difficulty by furnishing her with a pretext for her inquiries, Herminie, in spite of her natural abhorrence of anything like deception, replied:
“Yes, monsieur, some one told me that I might possibly secure pupils in that distinguished family, but before making any attempt in that direction, I was anxious to know if I could expect from Madame de Senneterre the consideration my rather too sensitive nature exacts. In short, monsieur, I am anxious to know whether Madame de Senneterre possesses a kindly nature or whether I am not likely to find in her that haughtiness which sometimes characterises persons of such an exalted position as hers.”
“I understand you perfectly, and I am very glad you applied to me, for knowing you as I know you, dear, proud child that you are, I say very plainly, neither seek nor accept any pupils in that family. The Mlles. de Senneterre are lovely girls — they have their brother’s disposition — but the duchess — !”
“Well, monsieur?” asked poor Herminie.
“Ah, my dear child, the duchess is more deeply in love with her title than any other woman I ever saw — which is very strange, as she is really extremely well born, while this ridiculous and absurd pride of rank is generally confined to parvenus. In short, my dear child, I would much rather see you brought in contact with twenty M. Bouffards than with this insufferably arrogant woman. The Bouffards are so coarse and ignorant that their rudeness amuses rather than wounds, but in the Duchesse de Senneterre you will find the most polite insolence, or rather the most insolent politeness, imaginable, so I am sure that you, my dear child, who have such a high respect for yourself, could not remain in Madame de Senneterre’s company ten minutes without being wounded to the quick, and resolving that you would never set foot in her house again. That being the case, what is the use of entering it?”
“I thank you, monsieur,” replied Herminie, almost crushed by this revelation which destroyed her last hope, — a hope she had preserved in spite of herself, that perhaps Madame de Senneterre, touched by her son’s love, would consent to make the concession that Herminie’s pride demanded.
“No, no, my dear child,” continued the marquis, “Gerald de Senneterre’s filial tenderness must blind him completely for him not to lose all patience with his mother’s absurd arrogance, and for him not to see that she is as hard-hearted as she is narrow-minded. In short, her selfishness is only exceeded by her cupidity. I have every reason to know this, so I am delighted to defraud her of a victim by enlightening you in regard to her. And now good-bye. Let me be of service to you in any matter, however small, as often as you can. It will serve to content me while waiting for something better. And now I will again bid you good-bye until Saturday.”
“Until Saturday, monsieur.”
And M. de Maillefort departed, leaving Herminie alone with her immeasurable despair.
CHAPTER XI.
THE BALL.
THE DAY OF Madame de Mirecourt’s ball had arrived.
The three suitors for Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s hand were to press their claims at this brilliant fête.
The announcement that the richest heiress in France was to make her début that evening furnished a topic for general conversation, and made every one forget a suicide that had plunged one of the most illustrious houses in France into mourning.
Madame de Mirecourt did not attempt to conceal her intense gratification that her house had been selected for Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s début, and secretly congratulated herself, too, at the thought that it would probably be in her house that the marriage of this famous heiress with the Duc de Senneterre would be virtually concluded, for being devoted to Gerald’s mother, Madame de Mirecourt was one of the most ardent promoters of the scheme.
Having stationed herself as usual near the door of the main drawing-room to welcome her guests, Madame de Mirecourt awaited the coming of the Duchesse de Senneterre with the utmost impatience. That lady, who was to be accompanied by her son, had promised to come early, but had not yet arrived.
An unusually large number of guests, attracted thither by curiosity, had crowded into the principal salon in order to be the first to see Mlle. de Beaumesnil, whose name was upon every lip.
There was not a marriageable young man who had not bestowed an unusual amount of care upon his toilet, not that these young men had any openly avowed intentions, but — who knows? Heiresses are so peculiar, and who could foresee the consequences of a brief chat, of a quadrille, or of a first impression?
So each young man, as he cast a last complacent glance in his mirror, recalled all sorts of romantic episodes in which wealthy damsels had fallen in love at first sight with some stranger, whom they had finally married against the wishes of their relatives, — for all these worthy bachelors had but one thought in this instance, marriage, and they even carried their honesty so far as to love marriage for the sake of marriage itself, and the bride became little more than an accessory in their eyes.
Each bachelor had endeavoured to make the most of himself according to his character and appearance. The handsome ones had striven to make themselves still more handsome and irresistible.
Those of a less attractive or even homely exterior assumed a spirituelle or melancholy air.
In short, each and every one said to himself, like the people who allow themselves to be enticed into those lotteries that offer prizes of several millions:
“Of course it is absurd to suppose that I shall win one of these fabulous prizes. I have but one chance in nobody knows how many thousand, but somebody has got to win. Why may I not be the lucky one?”
As for the persons that composed the assemblage, they were very nearly the same who had attended the dance given by Madame de Senneterre several months before, and who had taken a more or less prominent part in the numerous conversations on the subject of Madame de Beaumesnil’s approaching death.
Several of these persons also recollected the curiosity that had been expressed in regard to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, who was then in a foreign land, and whom no one had ever seen, so a majority of Madame Mirecourt’s guests would conseque
ntly witness to-night the solution of the problem propounded several weeks before.
Was the richest heiress in France as beautiful as a star or as hideous as a monster? Was she glowing with health or a hopeless consumptive?
It was ten o’clock, and Madame de Mirecourt was becoming very uneasy. Madame de Senneterre and her son had not made their appearance; Mlle. de Beaumesnil might arrive at any moment, and it had been arranged that Ernestine should be chaperoned by Madame de la Rochaiguë or Madame de Senneterre the entire evening, and that Gerald should dance the first quadrille with the heiress.
Every minute the crowd increased. Among the newcomers, M. de Mornand, accompanied by M. de Ravil, advanced in the most disinterested air imaginable to pay his respects to Madame de Mirecourt, who greeted him very graciously, and innocently remarked, without the slightest suspicion how true her words were:
“I am sure you came partially to see me, but chiefly to see the lioness of the evening, Mlle. de Beaumesnil.”
The prospective minister smiled as he replied, with truly diplomatic guile:
“I assure you, madame, I came only to have the honour of paying my respects to you, and to witness one of those charming fêtes you alone know how to give.”
After which M. de Mornand made his best bow and passed on, whispering to Ravil:
“Go and see if she is in one of the other rooms. I will remain here. Try to bring the baron to me if you see him.”
De Ravil nodded an assent to his Pylades and mingled with the crowd, saying to himself, as he thought of the meeting of the day before, which he had carefully refrained from mentioning to M. de Mornand:
“So here is an heiress who wanders about lonely parts of the town, grisette fashion, and then returns to that abominable Madame Laîné, who is complacently waiting for her in a cab. This last surprises me very little, however, as that unscrupulous female told me flatly, a week or so ago, that I could no longer count upon her influence. But at whose expense is she favouring this intrigue on the part of the little Beaumesnil? for there must be an intrigue, of course. That big ninny of a Mornand is no good. I might have known it. I must ferret out the truth of all this, for the more I think of it, the more convinced I am that the best thing for me to do is to drop Mornand, and devote my attention to the goose that lays the golden eggs, and, as a preliminary measure, I’ll watch what goes on here this evening.”
Just as the cynic vanished in the crowd, the Duchesse de Senneterre entered the room, but alone — her expression indicative of the deepest annoyance.
Madame de Mirecourt advanced a few steps to meet her, and, with the cleverness which women of the world possess in such an eminent degree, she found a way, though surrounded by a crowd of guests, and engaged to all appearance in exchanging the usual commonplaces with the duchess, to really hold the following low-toned conversation with her:
“But where is Gerald?”
“The doctor had to bleed him this evening.”
“Good Heavens! what is the matter with him?”
“He has been in a terrible state ever since yesterday.”
“But why did you not warn me, my dear duchess?”
“Because up to the very last minute he declared that he was coming, though he did feel so badly.”
“It is too bad! Mlle. de Beaumesnil may come at any moment, and you were to have taken possession of her immediately upon her arrival.”
“I know it, so I am in misery — nor is this all.”
“Why, what else is troubling you, my dear duchess?”
“I cannot exactly explain why, but I have some doubts as to my son’s intentions.”
“What an idea!”
“He has acted so strangely of late.”
“But did he not assure you this very day that, though he was far from well, he intended coming here this evening to meet Mlle. de Beaumesnil?”
“Certainly; and another thing that reassures me is that M. de Maillefort — whom Madame de la Rochaiguë fears so much, and to whom my son has imprudently confided our plans — M. de Maillefort is on our side, for he knows the object of this meeting, and yet he promised to accompany Gerald and me.”
“There is no help for it, I suppose, but it certainly is a fine opportunity lost. When Madame de la Rochaiguë arrives with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, do not leave them for an instant, and so arrange with the baroness that the girl shall have only unattractive men for partners.”
“Yes, that is very important.”
Every minute or two new guests came up to pay their respects to Madame de Mirecourt.
Suddenly Madame de Senneterre made a hasty movement, then, in a quick aside to her friend, exclaimed:
“Why, that is M. de Macreuse who has just come in! Can it be you receive that creature?”
“Why, my dear duchess, I have met him at your house a hundred times; besides, it was one of my most particular friends, the sister of the Bishop of Ratopolis, Madame de Cheverny, who requested an invitation for him. You know, too, that M. de Macreuse is received everywhere on account of his St. Polycarpe Mission.”
“St Polycarpe has nothing in the world to do with it. I assure you, my dear,” said the duchess, interrupting her friend impatiently, “I received the man like everybody else, but I am sorry enough now, for I have discovered that he is nothing more or less than a scoundrel, a man that shouldn’t be allowed in decent society. I have even heard that valuable articles have been known to disappear during his visits,” added Madame de Senneterre, unblushingly.
“Great Heavens! is it possible that the man’s a thief?” exclaimed Madame de Mirecourt.
“No, my dear, of course not, he only borrows a diamond or some other jewel now and then, and forgets to return it.”
At that very instant M. de Macreuse, who had been watching the expression of the ladies’ faces as he slowly advanced, and who shrewdly suspected that they were none too charitably inclined towards him, but who nevertheless came forward to bow to the mistress of the house with imperturbable assurance, interrupted the conversation by saying:
“I hoped, madame, to have had the honour of presenting myself here this evening under Madame de Cheverny’s auspices, but unfortunately for me she is feeling far from well, and made me the bearer of her profound regrets.”
“I am truly inconsolable that indisposition deprives me of the pleasure of seeing Madame de Cheverny this evening,” replied Madame de Mirecourt, dryly, still under the influence of what Madame de Senneterre had just said to her.
But Macreuse was not easily disconcerted, for bowing low to the duchess this time, he said, smilingly:
“I have less occasion to regret the kind protection of my friend, Madame de Cheverny, as I may almost venture to count upon yours, madame la duchesse.”
“Justly, monsieur,” responded Madame de Senneterre, with bitter hauteur, “I was just speaking to Madame de Mirecourt of you when you came in, and congratulating her upon having the honour of receiving you in her house.”
“I expected no less from the habitual kindness of madame la duchesse, to whom I am indebted for many valuable acquaintances in the delightful circle in which she moves,” replied M. de Macreuse, in tones of the utmost respect.
After which he bowed low again, and passed on.
This protégé of Abbé Ledoux, Madame de Beaumesnil’s former confessor, was much too shrewd and clear-sighted not to have felt that, in his late interview with Madame de Senneterre (the interview in which he had confessed that he was an aspirant for Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s hand), he had, in vulgar parlance, put his foot in it, though the duchess had ostensibly promised him her support.
Too late Macreuse awoke to the fact that the duchess had a marriageable son, and the haughty and sarcastic greeting she had just given him confirmed this pious young man’s suspicions; but he troubled himself very little about this hostility, feeling sure, from Mlle. Helena de la Rochaiguë’s reports, that he was not only the first suitor in the field, but that he had already made a deep impression upon the y
oung heiress by his touching melancholy and piety.
So, full of hope, M. de Macreuse first satisfied himself that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was not in the room, and then stationed himself in a convenient place to watch for her arrival, resolved to take advantage of the first opportune moment to invite her to dance.
“Did any one ever see anything to equal his impudence?” exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, as the abbé’s protégé moved away.
“Really, my dear duchess, what you tell me astonishes me beyond measure. And to think that M. de Macreuse is regarded as a model of virtue and piety almost everywhere!”
“A fine model he is! There are plenty of other things I could tell you about him, too—”
But interrupting herself, Madame de Senneterre exclaimed:
“Here comes Mlle. de Beaumesnil at last. Ah, what a pity it is that Gerald is not here!”
“Oh, well, you can console yourself with the thought that Mlle. de Beaumesnil will hear nothing but your son’s praises the entire evening. Remain here, and I will bring the dear child to you. You and the baroness must not leave her even for a moment.”
And Madame de Mirecourt advanced to meet Mlle. de Beaumesnil, who had just come in, accompanied by M. and Madame de la Rochaiguë.
The young girl was leaning on her guardian’s arm. A low buzzing sound, produced by loud whispers of “That is Mlle. de Beaumesnil,” created a general stir in the spacious rooms, and a crowd of curious observers soon filled the doorways of the salon in which Ernestine found herself.
It was in the midst of this eager excitement that the richest heiress in France, lowering her eyes under the curious looks directed upon her from every side, made her entrance into society.
The poor child was secretly comparing this eagerness and impatience to see and to be seen by her, as well as the murmurs of admiration which she heard as she advanced, with the entirely different reception she had received at Madame Herbaut’s house the Sunday before; and all this only made her the more resolved to carry her attempted test as far as possible, and thus satisfy herself once for all in regard to the honour and sincerity of the people with whom she seemed destined to live.