Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  Olivier trembled, as he touched this hand which he dared not carry to his lips, but he pressed it tenderly with mingled love and deference.

  Then, without trying to conceal the tears that filled his eyes, he said:

  “By this dear hand so generously given, mademoiselle, I swear to you, and ask your friend to bear witness to my vow, I swear that my life shall be consecrated to your happiness.”

  CHAPTER XVII.

  A FRIEND IN NEED.

  AFTER THE VOWS thus plighted by Mlle. de Beaumesnil and Olivier Raymond in Herminie’s presence, the three actors in the scene maintained an almost solemn silence for several minutes.

  All three fully realised the gravity of the obligation assumed.

  “How delightful it is to be rich,” thought Olivier, “for I am rich in comparison with this dear child who has only her own labour to depend upon. What happiness it gives me to be able to assure her an existence superior even to her wildest dreams.”

  His features were radiant with the delight of this thought, as he broke the silence by saying to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:

  “Until I became sure of your consent, mademoiselle, I did not care to broach the subject to your relative, though I have every reason to hope she will accede to my request. Do you not think so? As for my uncle, need I tell you that his joy will almost equal mine, when he knows that he can call you his daughter? If you think proper, mademoiselle, he had better be the one, perhaps, to go to your relative and make known my request.”

  This proposal threw Ernestine into a state of deep perplexity. Yielding to an outburst of irresistible confidence, that told her that every possible guarantee of safety and happiness would be found in Olivier, she had never once thought of the many difficulties that were sure to arise from the maintenance of the incognito which she dared not throw off at once, however.

  But already somewhat familiar with the sudden dilemmas resulting from the position in which she had placed herself, Mlle. de Beaumesnil replied, after a moment’s reflection:

  “I am hardly able to say to-day whether it had better be M. Bernard or Herminie who goes to my relative to inform her of your intentions — and of my consent. I will think the matter over, and let you know my decision the next time I see you.”

  “Ernestine is right, M. Olivier,” remarked Herminie; “from what I have heard of her relative’s disposition, it would be advisable to act with prudence, as — as the consent of this parent is indispensable to Ernestine’s marriage.”

  “I shall be guided entirely by Mlle. Ernestine and by you, Mlle. Herminie, in this matter. Sure of Mlle. Ernestine’s consent, I can wait with patience. If you knew with what happiness I think of the future — our future, I can say now! And my brave, kind uncle, how happy he will be surrounded by our care, for it will not be at all unpleasant to you to live with him, will it, Mlle. Ernestine? He is so good and kind, and it would make him so happy to have us with him!”

  “Did you not tell me that he would call me his daughter, M. Olivier? I shall be very proud of that title and try to deserve it.”

  “Tell me, Mlle. Herminie,” asked Olivier, addressing the duchess, “after such a reply, can there be a happier man in the world than I?”

  “No, M. Olivier,” replied the duchess, smothering a sigh as she thought how she, too, might have enjoyed the same felicity if Gerald’s position had been as modest as Olivier’s; “no, I do not believe there can be any greater happiness than yours, nor any that is more richly deserved.”

  “We shall not be high and mighty seigneurs, Mlle. Ernestine,” said Olivier, smiling, “for a second lieutenant is no great things, but even a single epaulette honourably worn levels all conditions. Besides, I am young, and I shall soon have two epaulettes instead of one, some day I shall become a major, perhaps even a colonel.”

  “Beware of ambition, M. Olivier,” said Ernestine, smiling in her turn.

  “That is true. It seems to me that I am devoured with ambition now. It would give me such happiness to see you enjoy the consideration with which the wife of a colonel is surrounded! My poor uncle, too, how proud he would be to see me hold that rank. Then, think of it, Mlle. Ernestine, we should be millionaires on a colonel’s pay. And what pleasure it would give me to surround you with comforts and even luxuries enough to make you forget the hardships of your youth, and to at last see my poor uncle placed above the reach of want, for he is sometimes subjected to great privations!”

  “Yes, in spite of your generous assistance, M. Olivier,” said Ernestine, with deep emotion, “and in spite of the hard work you have been doing all through your furlough.”

  “Ah, you have been tattling, Mlle. Herminie,” said Olivier, gaily.

  “At all events, I was entirely disinterested,” she retorted; “for when I told Ernestine all the good I knew of you, M. Olivier, I was far from suspecting that you would corroborate my statements so soon.”

  “And I must tell M. Olivier, with that frankness on which he sets such store, that he misjudges me very much if he thinks I am pining for the luxury he promises me,” said Ernestine, smiling.

  “And I,” said Olivier, “shall reply with equal frankness that I am terribly selfish, and that, in hoping to be able to surround Mlle. Ernestine with luxury, I am thinking only of the pleasure it will give me.”

  “And I, who am Reason personified,” said Herminie, with a melancholy smile, “I shall tell Mlle. Ernestine and M. Olivier that they are two foolish children to indulge in these golden visions. The present should content them.”

  “Yes, I admit it is wrong,” responded Olivier, gaily. “Just see where ambition leads one! I am dreaming of becoming a colonel, instead of saying to myself that my worthy uncle and myself — thanks to my pay as a second lieutenant — have never been so rich before. Think of it, nearly six thousand francs a year — for us two. What happiness to be able to say, ‘For us three, Mlle. Ernestine!’”

  “Six thousand francs a year? Why, that is an enormous amount,” exclaimed the richest heiress in France. “How can any one spend all that money?”

  “Poor child!” Olivier said to himself, exulting in his new-found prosperity, “I thought as much. She has been so poor up to this time, that it seems an immense fortune to her.”

  But he said aloud:

  “We shall manage to spend our three thousand francs, all the same, I expect, Mlle. Ernestine. In the first place, I shall always insist upon your being nicely dressed, in simple but elegant toilets. Our rank requires it, you know, mademoiselle. An officer’s wife — why, the army regulations require her to be well dressed, you understand.”

  “If the dignity of your rank is at stake, why, I submit, of course,” replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, laughing, “but only on condition that your dear uncle shall have a pretty garden, as he is so fond of flowers.”

  “That is understood, Mlle. Ernestine. We can easily find a snug little apartment with a garden in a quiet part of the town, for as I shall belong to the garrison we can not live in the Batignolles any longer. But — great Heavens—”

  “What is the matter, M. Olivier?”

  “Are you a Bonapartist, Mlle. Ernestine?” inquired the young officer, with comical seriousness.

  “Why certainly, M. Olivier. I admire the emperor very much. But why do you ask that question?”

  “Then we are lost, mademoiselle, for my poor uncle shelters beneath his roof the most implacable enemy of the great Napoleon that ever lived.”

  “Indeed!”

  “You will shudder to hear her frightful stories of his atrocities; but seriously, Mlle. Ernestine, I shall be obliged to ask your indulgence, and your affection as well, for a very worthy woman, my uncle’s housekeeper, who during the ten years she has been in his employ has never allowed a day to pass without lavishing every attention upon him, and without quarrelling with him in the most outrageous manner on the subject of the Corsican ogre.”

  “Very well, M. Olivier, I will disclose my admiration for the great emperor only to your dear u
ncle, and play the hypocrite before this worthy woman. Oh, you shall see; I am very politic, and she will love me in spite of my Bonapartism.”

  Madame Moufflon, the concierge, having rapped at the door, interrupted the conversation by handing a letter to Herminie, who, recognising the handwriting as that of M. de Maillefort, told the portress to ask the messenger to wait, as there might be an answer required.

  So Olivier, fearing that a longer stay would be indiscreet, and being also in a hurry to find Commander Bernard, and report the success of his wooing, said to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:

  “I came here in a very anxious frame of mind, Mlle. Ernestine. Thanks to you, I am going away the happiest and most contented of men. I need not tell you how impatiently I shall await your decision in regard to your relative. If you think it advisable for my uncle to approach her on the subject, please let me know as soon as possible.”

  “I will do so at our next interview, which had better take place here, M. Olivier.”

  “May I not be permitted to bring my uncle?” asked Olivier. “There is so much that he wishes to say to you. He will be so anxious to see you, too, that it would hardly be fair to deny him the favour, for there is nothing he wouldn’t be capable of doing in order to reach you, and tell you of his joy and gratitude.”

  “Herminie and I will not force your dear uncle to any extreme measures, for I, myself, am very impatient to see him again, so à bientôt, M. Olivier.”

  “A bientôt, mademoiselle.”

  And Olivier departed, leaving the two girls alone together.

  Herminie then opened M. de Maillefort’s letter. It read as follows:

  “It is still to-morrow, Saturday, my dear child, that I shall call to take you to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, only, if agreeable to you, I will come at three in the afternoon, instead of at noon as we agreed.

  “A cousin-germain of mine, the Prince Duc de Haut-Martel, the head of our house, has just died in Hungary.

  “I received this news through the Austrian ambassador, upon whom I must call early to-morrow morning for some necessary formalities, which, to my great regret, will prevent me from fulfilling my engagement with you as early as I promised.

  “I shall see you, then, to-morrow, my dear child,

  “Affectionately,

  “Maillefort.”

  “Ernestine, you will excuse me to write a few words in answer to this letter, will you not?” asked Herminie, seating herself at the table.

  So, while the duchess was writing to M. de Maillefort, Mlle. de Beaumesnil reflected with growing satisfaction upon the engagement she had just contracted with Olivier.

  The duchess wrote M. de Maillefort that she would expect him at three the following afternoon, then rang for Madame Moufflon, and asked her to deliver the note to the messenger.

  When the portress had left the room, Herminie returned to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and, kissing her affectionately, asked:

  “You are very happy, are you not, Ernestine?”

  “Yes, very happy, Herminie,” replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, “and it was here in your home that this happiness came to me, my dear friend. How generous M. Olivier is! How much he must esteem and love me for him to desire to marry me, when his position is so superior to mine! That, in itself, is enough to make me adore him, and to make me place implicit faith in his promises. With what a feeling of security I can now face the future, however trying may be the circumstances in which I find myself to-day!”

  “Yes, Ernestine, you are indeed certain of happiness. Your life cannot fail to be pleasant and fortunate. To love and to be loved worthily is, indeed, a fate to be envied.”

  And as the contrast between her own future and that of her friend struck her, the poor duchess could not help bursting into tears.

  “It is, indeed, true that happiness is always selfish!” cried Ernestine. “Oh, Herminie, forgive me, forgive me! How much you must have suffered! Every word of our conversation with M. Olivier must have pierced your soul! You heard us talk of our mutual love, of our hope of a blissful future, and all the while you felt that you, perhaps, would have to renounce all such joys. Ah, our thoughtlessness must have pained you deeply, my dear Herminie.”

  “No, no, Ernestine,” said the poor duchess, drying her eyes, “on the contrary, your happiness has been a great consolation to me. Has it not enabled me to forget my own grief and despair all the morning?”

  “Despair? But why do you say that? M. de Senneterre is worthy of you,” cried Ernestine, thoughtlessly, remembering only her conversation with the young duke the evening before. “He loves you as you deserve to be loved, I know it.”

  “You know it, Ernestine? How do you know it?”

  “I mean that — that I am sure of it, Herminie,” replied Ernestine, much embarrassed. “All you have told me about him convinces me that you could not have placed your affections more wisely. The obstacles to your union are great, I admit, but by no means insurmountable.”

  “But they are, Ernestine. I have never told you before, but my own sense of dignity will not permit me to marry M. de Senneterre, unless his mother comes here and tells me that she consents to my marriage with her son. Without that, nothing could induce me to enter this aristocratic family.”

  “Oh, Herminie, how much I admire your pride!” exclaimed Ernestine. “And what does M. de Senneterre say?”

  “When M. Olivier told him my resolution, far from appearing either surprised or shocked, Gerald replied: ‘What Herminie asks is only just. Her dignity, as well as mine, requires it. Despair is cowardly and foolish. It is for me to find the means of compelling my mother to acknowledge the worth of the woman to whom I shall be proud to give my name.’ Noble and touching words, were they not, Ernestine?”

  “You are right, Herminie.”

  “My mother loves me devotedly,’ added M. de Senneterre, ‘and nothing is impossible to an ardent lover. I shall find a way to convince my mother of the wisdom of my choice, and to induce her to make the advances Herminie has a right to expect. How I shall do it, I cannot say, but I shall do it, for Herminie’s happiness and mine are at stake.’

  “And does not this courageous resolve inspire you with some hope?” asked Ernestine.

  The duchess shook her head sadly as she replied:

  “Gerald is sincere in his determination, but he deceives himself. All I have heard of his mother convinces me that this haughty woman will never—”

  “Never! why do you say never?” cried Ernestine, interrupting her friend. “Ah, Herminie, you have no idea how much the love of a man like M. de Senneterre can accomplish. His mother is a very proud woman, you say; so much the better. She would show herself pitiless to any cowardly humility, while your eminently proper pride will be sure to impress her, as she, too, is proud; so she will at least be obliged to esteem and respect you. That will be one great advantage gained; her love for her son will do the rest, for you do not know how she idolises him. She loves him so devotedly, in fact, that she has so far forgotten herself as to mix herself up in a shameful conspiracy in order to secure him an immense fortune by an act unworthy of him. Why, then, is her maternal love likely to fail when a worthy, commendable act on her part is alone needed to assure her son’s happiness? Believe me, Herminie, no one ever need despair when there is a mother’s heart to appeal to.”

  “Really, Ernestine, you amaze me. You speak of M. de Senneterre and his family as if you knew them.”

  “Well, I may as well admit, my dear Herminie,” said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, unable to resist her desire to allay her friend’s fears and to encourage her to hope, “that, knowing how unhappy you were, I managed to make some inquiries about the Senneterre family through my relative.”

  “But how?”

  “She knows one of Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s servants.”

  “Your relative does?”

  “Yes, and she discovered in this way that Madame de Senneterre has been mixed up in an unfortunate scheme to bring about a marriage between her son and Mlle. de Beaumesnil
, that rich heiress.”

  “Gerald was to marry Mlle. de Beaumesnil?” exclaimed Herminie.

  “Yes, but he nobly refused. Her immense fortune has no attraction for him, because he loves you, — loves you devotedly, Herminie.”

  “Is this true?” exclaimed the duchess, delightedly. “Are you sure of what you say, Ernestine?”

  “Perfectly sure.”

  “It is not so much that this disinterestedness on Gerald’s part astonishes me,” said Herminie, “as that—”

  “That you are proud of this new proof of his love. Am I not right?”

  “Yes, yes,” exclaimed the duchess, her hopes reviving in spite of herself. “But once more, I can not help asking if you are perfectly sure of what you say? My poor child, you are so anxious to see me happy that I am afraid you have lent too ready an ear to these reports, for servants’ gossip, you know, is proverbially unreliable. Do you know whether Gerald has ever met Mlle. de Beaumesnil?”

  “Once or twice, I think my relative told me. But why do you ask that question, Herminie?”

  “Because it seems to me that I shall feel very uncomfortable to-morrow, knowing that there has been some talk of a marriage between Gerald and Mlle. de Beaumesnil.”

  “Why, what is to happen to-morrow, Herminie?”

  “I am to give Mlle. de Beaumesnil her first music lesson.”

  “To-morrow?” exclaimed Ernestine, without concealing her surprise.

  “Read this letter, my dear,” replied the duchess. “It is from that gentleman, the hunchback, you remember, that you once met here.”

  “M. de Maillefort probably had his reasons for not warning me of his intentions,” Ernestine said to herself, as she perused the missive. “I am glad that he is hastening the dénouement, however, for my powers of dissimulation are nearly exhausted. What a relief it will be to confess all!”