by Eugène Sue
This announcement increased the confusion and excitement very considerably.
The model young man, anticipating another attack, and thinking he had had quite enough of it, straightened himself up, as a snake straightens itself up from beneath the foot that is crushing it, and said, insolently:
“After these gross insults, I will not remain another minute in this house, but I venture to hope that, in spite of the difference in our ages, M. le Marquis de Maillefort will be so kind as to accede to-morrow to a request which I shall make through two of my friends.”
“Go, monsieur, go! The night brings counsel, and after a little reflection you will abandon your absurd and sanguinary pretensions.”
“So be it, monsieur, but in that case you may rest assured that I shall resort to other means,” retorted the model youth, casting a venomous look at the hunchback, as he turned to depart.
“‘Enough, monsieur, enough.’”
Original etching by Adrian Marcel.
Madame de Mirecourt, recollecting what Madame de Senneterre had said in relation to M. de Macreuse, was not sorry to see that gentleman’s villainy exposed, but to put an end to the excitement and confusion this strange scene had created, she requested several men she knew very well to form a quadrille as soon as possible.
In fact, the young men were already starting out in search of partners.
This exposure of M. de Macreuse filled Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s heart with gratitude and also with terror when she thought that she might have yielded to the interest M. de Macreuse had at first inspired, and perhaps married a man capable of such an infamous act — an act that revealed an utterly depraved nature.
While engaged in these reflections, the orphan saw that Madame de Senneterre and Madame de la Rochaiguë, who had been for a time unable to force their way through the crowd that had gathered around the two men, had returned and resumed their seats beside her. The marquis then rose and stepped around back of the divan, after which he leaned over Madame de la Rochaiguë and said, almost in a whisper:
“Ah, well, madame, you see I am not a bad auxiliary, after all. I discover many strange and villainous things from my post of observation, as I told you some time ago.”
“I am utterly astounded, my dear marquis,” replied the baroness. “I understand everything now, however. This explains why my odious sister-in-law has been dragging the poor dear child off to the Church of St. Thomas d’Aquin every morning. With her apparent stupidity and her religious zeal, Helena is a most perfidious creature. Did any one ever hear of such deceitfulness and treachery?”
“The end is not yet, my dear baroness. You have not only been sheltering a viper in your house, but a veritable serpent as well.”
“A serpent?”
“Yes, an enormous one, with long teeth,” said the marquis, with a meaning glance at M. de la Rochaiguë, who happened to be standing in the doorway, showing his teeth after his usual fashion.
“What! my husband?” exclaimed the baroness. “What do you mean?”
“You will soon know. Do you see that stout man advancing towards us with such a triumphant air?”
“Of course. That is M. de Mornand.”
“He is coming to ask your ward to dance.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. We can let her dance with anybody now, for we were right in our suppositions. The dear child is charmed with M. de Senneterre, my dear marquis.”
“I am sure of it.”
“So behold the Duchesse de Senneterre,” said Madame de la Rochaiguë, triumphantly, “and that without the slightest trouble.”
“The Duchesse de Senneterre!” repeated the hunchback. “Not quite.”
“Of course not, but the matter is virtually settled.”
“So at last you are satisfied with Gerald, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and me, are you not, my dear baroness?”
“Delighted, my dear marquis.”
“That is all I want to know. Now I can devote my attention to that stout man and your serpent of a husband, whose coils—”
“What! M. de la Rochaiguë has dared—”
“Ah, my poor baroness, your ingenuousness rends my heart. Look, listen and profit thereby, poor credulous woman that you are!”
As the marquis uttered these words, M. de Mornand was already bowing low before Mlle. de Beaumesnil to remind her of the engagement she had made to dance with him.
CHAPTER XV.
THE PROSPECTIVE MINISTER’S DEFEAT.
“MADEMOISELLE HAS NOT forgotten that she promised me this dance, I trust,” said M. de Mornand, complacently. “Will she do me the honour to accept my arm?”
“That cannot be, M. de Mornand,” interposed M. de Maillefort, who was still leaning over the back of the sofa on which Ernestine was seated.
M. de Mornand straightened himself up hastily, and, perceiving the marquis, demanded with great hauteur:
“What can not be, monsieur?”
“You can not dance with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur,” answered the hunchback, still in the same quiet tone.
M. de Mornand shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, then, turning to Ernestine, repeated:
“Will mademoiselle do me the honour to accept my arm?”
Embarrassed and bewildered, Ernestine turned to M. de Maillefort as if to ask his advice, and again the marquis repeated in the same quiet but impressive tone, emphasising each word strongly:
“Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand.”
Ernestine was so impressed by M. de Maillefort’s grave, almost solemn manner that, turning to M. de Mornand, she said, casting down her eyes:
“I must beg you to excuse me, monsieur, for I feel too fatigued to keep the promise I made you.”
M. de Mornand bowed low before Ernestine without uttering a word, but as he straightened himself up he cast a meaning glance at the hunchback.
That gentleman answered it by pointing to one of the doors of the gallery towards which he, too, directed his steps, leaving Mlle. de Beaumesnil in a state of great mental perturbation.
This little scene had passed unnoticed, the few words interchanged between the marquis and M. de Mornand having been uttered in subdued tones and in the midst of the confusion that always accompanies the forming of a quadrille, so no one but Madame de la Rochaiguë and the Duchesse de Senneterre had the slightest suspicion of what had occurred.
M. de Mornand on his way to the gallery was accosted successively by M. de la Rochaiguë and M. de Ravil, who had watched with mingled wonder and uneasiness their protégé’s futile efforts to induce the heiress to keep her engagement.
“What! you are not going to dance?” inquired De Ravil.
“What has happened, my dear M. de Mornand?” asked the baron, in his turn. “I thought I saw you talking with that accursed hunchback, whose insolence and audacity really exceed all bounds.”
“You are right, monsieur,” replied the prospective minister, his face darkening. “M. de Maillefort seems to think he can do anything he pleases. Such insolence as his must be put a stop to. He actually had the impertinence to forbid your ward’s dancing with me.”
“And she obeyed him?” exclaimed the baron.
“What else could the poor girl do after such an injunction?”
“Why this is abominable, outrageous, inconceivable!” exclaimed the baron. “I will go to my ward at once, and—”
“That is useless now,” said M. de Mornand. Then, turning to Ravil, he added:
“Come with me. I must have an explanation with M. de Maillefort. He is waiting for me in the gallery.”
“I, too, will accompany you,” added the baron.
As the three gentlemen approached the hunchback, they saw Messrs. de Morainville and d’Hauterive standing beside him, as well as five or six other men who had been assembled at the request of the marquis.
“M. de Maillefort, I have a few words of explanation to ask of you,” said M. de Mornand, in coldly polite tones.
“I am at y
our service, monsieur.”
“Then, if agreeable to you, you and I will go to the picture-gallery. Ask one of your friends to accompany you.”
“I am not disposed to comply with your request, monsieur, for I intend to have our explanation as public as possible.”
“Monsieur?”
“I do not see why you should fear publicity if I do not.”
“So be it, then,” responded M. de Mornand, “so I ask you here before these gentleman, why, when I had the honour to invite a certain young lady to dance a few minutes ago, you took the liberty of saying to that young lady, ‘Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand.’ Those were your very words.”
“Those were my very words, monsieur. You have an excellent memory. I hope it will not play you false, presently.”
“And I wish to say to M. de Maillefort,” interposed the baron, “that he arrogates to himself an authority, a right, and a surveillance which belong to me exclusively, for in telling my ward that—”
“My dear baron,” said the marquis, smilingly, interrupting M. de la Rochaiguë, “you are a model, paragon, and example for all guardians, past, present and future, as I will prove to you later, but permit me now to reply to M. de Mornand, whom I have just had the honour to congratulate upon his excellent memory, and to ask him if he recollects something I said to him at a certain matinée dansante given by the Duchesse de Senneterre, — something in relation to a slight scratch that was intended to fix in his memory a date which I might have occasion to remind him of at some future day.”
“That is true, monsieur,” said M. de Mornand, “but that affair has not the slightest connection with the explanation I just demanded of you.”
“On the contrary, monsieur, this explanation is the natural consequence of that affair.”
“Be more explicit, if you please, monsieur.”
“I will. At that entertainment at the house of Madame de Senneterre, in the garden, under a clump of lilacs, in the presence of several gentlemen, and notably M. de Morainville and M. d’Hauterive here, you had the audacity to calumniate Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil in the most shameless manner.”
“Monsieur!”
“Without either compassion or consideration for an unfortunate lady who was then lying at the point of death,” continued the hunchback, interrupting M. de Mornand, indignantly, “you insulted her in the most cowardly manner and even went so far as to say that no honourable man would ever marry the daughter of such a mother as Madame de Beaumesnil.”
And at a hasty movement on the part of M. de Mornand, who was white with rage, the marquis, turning to Messrs. de Morainville and d’Hauterive, asked:
“Is it not true that M. de Mornand made that remark in your presence, gentlemen?”
“M. de Mornand did make that remark in our presence,” they replied. “It is impossible for us to deny the fact.”
“And I, myself, unseen by you, heard you make it, monsieur,” continued the hunchback, “and, carried away with just indignation, I could not help exclaiming, ‘Scoundrel!’”
“So it was you!” cried Mornand, furious to see all his hopes of future wealth thus rudely blighted.
“Yes, it was I, and that is why I just told Mlle. de Beaumesnil that she could not and should not dance with you, monsieur, — a man who had publicly defamed her mother; and I leave it to these gentlemen here if I have not done perfectly right to interfere in this matter.”
A silence that was anything but complimentary to M. de Mornand followed the words of the hunchback.
De Ravil alone ventured to speak. It was in an ironical tone.
“M. le marquis must be trying to pose as a paladin or knight-errant to inflict a wound upon a gallant gentleman, as a sort of memento, merely to prevent him from dancing a quadrille with Mlle. de Beaumesnil some day.”
“Or rather to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur,” corrected the marquis, “for your friend is as mercenary as Mlle. de Beaumesnil is rich, which is saying a good deal, and in the conversation I overheard at Madame de Senneterre’s dance, M. de Mornand betrayed his intentions even at that early day. By defaming Madame de Beaumesnil’s character, and making the disgraceful effects of his calumnies extend to the daughter, and even to any man who might wish to marry her, M. de Mornand hoped to drive away all rivals. This infamous conduct exasperated me beyond endurance. In my indignation the word ‘Scoundrel!’ escaped me. I subsequently devised a way to offer M. de Mornand the reparation due him, however. Hence the wound which was to serve as a sort of memento, and hence my resolve to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I have succeeded, for I defy him now to venture into the presence of the richest heiress in France, even if he delivers a dozen more philanthropical speeches on the cod fisheries, or even under your protection, baron, — you the most exemplary, admirable, and high-minded of guardians, who were not only willing, but eager, to sacrifice your ward’s happiness and welfare to your absurd ambition.”
And as no one made any attempt to reply, the hunchback continued:
“Ah, gentlemen, these villainies are of such frequent occurrence in society that it would be well to make an example of at least one offender. Because such shameful things often occur among respectable people, is that any reason they should go unpunished? What! there is a prison cell for poor devils who make a few louis by cheating at cards, and there is no pillory in which to place people who, by means of false pretences and foul lies, endeavour to secure possession of an enormous fortune, and plot in cold blood to enchain for ever an innocent child, whose only crime is the possession of a colossal fortune, which, unbeknown to her, excites the most shameless cupidity in those around her! And when these men succeed, people praise them and envy them and welcome them to their houses. People praise their shrewdness and go into ecstasies over their good fortune! Yes, for thanks to the wealth acquired by such unworthy means, they will entertain magnificently, and their gold not only enables them to gratify their every wish, but to attain any official position, no matter how exalted. The unfortunate woman who has enriched them, and whom they have so basely deceived, weeps her life away or plunges into a career of dissipation in order to forget her misery. Ah, gentlemen, I have at least had the satisfaction of bringing two scoundrels to grief, for M. de Macreuse, whom I drove from this house a few minutes ago, had devised a similar scheme.”
“You are outwitted like the fool that you are, and it has been very cleverly done,” De Ravil whispered in the ear of his friend, who stood as if petrified. “I will never forgive you as long as I live for having made me lose my percentage on that dowry.”
Noble and generous sentiments exert such an irresistible influence sometimes that, after the hunchback’s scathing words, M. de Mornand felt that he was censured by every one. Not a voice was lifted in his defence, but fortunately the termination of the quadrille brought quite a crowd of people into the gallery, and the prospective minister was thus afforded an opportunity to make his escape, pale and agitated, and without having been able to find a word to say in refutation of M. de Maillefort’s grievous charges.
The marquis then rejoined Madame de la Rochaiguë, who was as entirely in the dark concerning what had just taken place as Ernestine.
“It is absolutely necessary that you take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once,” M. de Maillefort said to the baroness. “Her presence here is no longer desirable. Yes, my dear child,” added the marquis, turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, “the unpleasant curiosity you excite is increasing, instead of diminishing. To-morrow I will tell you all, but now take my advice and go home at once.”
“Oh, gladly, monsieur,” replied Ernestine, “for I am in misery.”
So the young girl rose and took the arm of Madame de la Rochaiguë, who said to the hunchback, in a tone of the liveliest gratitude:
“I understand the situation now, I think. M. de Mornand had also entered the lists, it seems.”
“We will talk all thi
s over to-morrow. Now, in Heaven’s name, take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once!”
“Ah, you are certainly our guardian angel, my dear marquis,” whispered Madame de la Rochaiguë. “I was wise to confide in you!”
“Yes, yes, but for pity’s sake, get Mlle. de Beaumesnil away.”
The orphan cast a quick glance of gratitude at the hunchback, then, agitated and almost terrified by the exciting events of the evening, she left the ballroom in company with Madame de la Rochaiguë; but M. de Maillefort remained, unwilling to appear to leave under cover of the sort of stupor his daring act had caused.
De Ravil, like a true cynic, had no sooner witnessed the ruin of his friend Mornand’s hopes than he abandoned him then and there. The future minister had thrown himself into a cab, but Ravil wended his way homeward on foot, reviewing the events that had just occurred, and comparing the overthrow of M. de Mornand with that of M. de Macreuse.
As he turned the corner of the street on which Madame de Mirecourt’s house stood, De Ravil saw in the bright moonlight a man a short distance ahead of him, walking now slowly, now with feverish haste.
The agitated bearing of this man excited the cynic’s curiosity. He quickened his pace, and soon recognised M. de Macreuse, who could not tear himself away from the house where the marquis lingered, — the marquis whose heart Macreuse would have torn from his breast, had he been able to do it.
Yielding to a truly diabolical impulse, Ravil approached Macreuse, and said:
“Good evening, M. de Macreuse.”
The abbé’s protégé raised his head, and the evil passions that filled his heart could be read so plainly in his face that De Ravil congratulated himself upon his idea.
“What do you want?” Macreuse demanded, brusquely, not recognising De Ravil at the first glance. Then looking at him more attentively, he said: