by Eugène Sue
“No, no, it shall never be said that I allowed myself to be cajoled by the charms and perfidious words of a mere adventuress, and that I was fool enough to give my consent to her marriage with my son.”
The hunchback sprang forward with a terrible look at Madame de Senneterre, but, before he could utter a word, Herminie replied, in faltering tones, while big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks:
“Pardon me, madame. Insult finds me speechless and defenceless, especially when it is M. de Senneterre’s mother that insults. I have but one favour to ask of you, madame. It is to remember that I not only anticipated this refusal, but accepted it in advance, so it would have been more generous in you not to have come here to crush me with it. What was my crime, madame? Simply to have believed that M. de Senneterre’s station in life was as obscure and laborious as my own. But for that, I would have died rather than yielded to such a love.”
“What!” exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, “you did not know that my son—”
“M. de Senneterre represented himself to be a man who was obliged to labour hard for his daily bread. I believed him; I loved him, — loved him truly and disinterestedly. When I discovered who he really was, I refused to see him again, for I was resolved that I would never marry him against the wishes of his family. That, madame, is the truth, and the whole truth,” added Herminie, in a voice broken with sobs. “This love, for which, thank God, I shall never have to blush, must be sacrificed. I expected it, but I believed I had the right to suffer without the presence of witnesses. I forgive your cruel words, madame. You are a mother, you did not know, perhaps, that I was worthy of your son, — and maternal love is sacred, even if it be in the wrong.”
Herminie dried the tears that were streaming down her pale face, then continued, in a weak and faltering voice, for, overcome by this painful scene, she felt that her strength was fast failing her:
“Will you have the goodness to say to M. de Senneterre, madame, that I forgive him the wrong he has, unconsciously, done me. Here, before you — you — his mother — I swear that — I will never see him again, — and you need have no fear of my breaking my word. So, madame, you can leave here reassured and content, — but — but I feel so strangely — M. de Maillefort — come to me — I beg — come — I—”
The poor girl could say no more. Her lips fluttered feebly, and she cast a despairing look at the hunchback, who sprang forward only just in time to receive her almost lifeless form in his arms. He placed her tenderly in an armchair, then, turning to Madame de Senneterre, with a terrible expression on his face, he cried:
“Ah, you shall weep tears of blood for your cruelty here, madame. Go, go, I tell you. Don’t you see that she is dying!”
Herminie did, indeed, look as if death had claimed her for his own, with her marble white face, and her head hanging inertly down upon one shoulder. Her forehead, bathed in a cold sweat, was half covered with some soft ringlets of golden hair which had escaped from their confinement, and an occasional tear forced its way through her half closed eyelids, while ever and anon a convulsive shudder shook her entire body.
M. de Maillefort could not restrain his tears, and, turning to Madame de Senneterre, he exclaimed, bitterly, in a voice hoarse with emotion: “You are gloating over your work, are you not?”
What was the hunchback’s astonishment to see compassionate grief and keen remorse plainly imprinted upon this haughty woman’s face, for, conquered at last by Herminie’s noble and touching resignation, she, in turn, burst into tears, and said to the marquis, in beseeching tones:
“Have pity on me, M. de Maillefort I came here resolved to keep my promise, but — but my pride revolted in spite of me. I lost my head. Now, I repent, oh, how bitterly! I am ashamed, I am horrified at my heartless conduct.”
And, running to Herminie, the duchess tenderly lifted her head and kissed her upon the forehead; then, twining her arms around her to support her, said, in a voice faltering with emotion:
“Poor child! Will she ever forgive me? M. de Maillefort, ring for assistance, call some one, her pallor terrifies me.”
Just then hurried steps were heard in the hall. The door flew open, and Gerald rushed in like one distracted, his eyes wild, his manner threatening, for, from the garden in which he had concealed himself without the knowledge of either Herminie or M. de Maillefort, he had heard his mother’s cruel words.
“Gerald!” cried the astonished marquis.
“I was there,” the young man exclaimed, pointing to the window. “I heard all, and—”
But the young duke did not complete the sentence, so amazed was he to see his mother supporting Herminie’s head upon her bosom.
“My son,” exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, “I am truly horrified at what I have done. I consent to everything. She is an angel. May Heaven forgive me!”
“Oh, mother, mother,” murmured Gerald, in accents of ineffable gratitude, as he fell upon his knees beside Herminie, and covered her cold hands with tears and kisses.
“You have done wisely,” the marquis said, in low tones, to Madame de Senneterre. “It is adoration that your son will feel for you now.”
That same instant, seeing Herminie make a slight movement, Gerald exclaimed, joyfully:
“She is recovering consciousness!”
Then, in a thrilling voice, he cried:
“Herminie, it is I. It is Gerald!”
On hearing M. de Senneterre’s voice, Herminie gave a slight start, then slowly opened her eyes, which seemed at first fixed and troubled, like the eyes of one awaking from a dream.
Then the sort of mist which seemed to obscure her mental faculties faded away, and the girl slowly raised her head, which had been reposing on Madame de Senneterre’s bosom, and looked around her.
To her intense astonishment, she saw that Gerald’s mother was supporting her in her arms and watching her with the tenderest solicitude.
Believing she was still in a dream, Herminie hastily raised herself, and passed her burning hands over her eyes, after which her gaze, as it became more and more assured, was directed, first upon M. de Maillefort, who was gazing at her with ineffable delight, and then upon Gerald, who was still kneeling before her.
“Gerald!” she cried, rapturously.
Then, with an expression of mingled hope and fear, she hastily glanced around at Madame de Senneterre, as if to satisfy herself that it was indeed from Gerald’s mother that she was receiving these marks of touching interest.
Gerald, noticing the girl’s movement, hastily exclaimed:
“Herminie, my mother consents to everything.”
“Yes, yes, mademoiselle,” exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, effusively. “I consent to everything. There are many wrongs for which I must ask forgiveness, — but my love and tenderness will enable me to gain it at last.”
“Can this be true, madame?” cried Herminie, clasping her hands. “Oh, God, can it be possible! You really consent? All this is not a dream?”
“No, Herminie, it is not a dream,” exclaimed Gerald, rapturously. “We belong to each other now! You shall soon be my wife.”
“No, my noble child, it is not a dream,” said M. de Maillefort, “It is a fitting reward for a life of toil and virtue.”
“No, mademoiselle, it is not a dream,” said Madame de Senneterre, “for it is you,” she added, casting a meaning glance at the marquis, “you, Mlle. Herminie, who nobly support yourself by your own exertions, that I joyfully accept as my daughter-in-law in M. de Maillefort’s presence, for I am satisfied that my son could not make a choice more worthy of him, of me, and of his family.”
Half an hour afterwards Madame de Senneterre and her son took an affectionate leave of Herminie, who, in company with M. de Maillefort, forthwith repaired to the house of Mlle. de Beaumesnil to tell her the good news, and sustain the courage of the richest heiress in France, for a final and formidable ordeal was in store for her, or, rather, for Olivier.
CHAPTER XXV.
A SUSPICIOUS C
IRCUMSTANCE.
WHILE M. DE Senneterre was taking his mother home, Herminie and M. de Maillefort were bowling swiftly along in the marquis’s carriage on their way to Mlle. de Beaumesnil.
The delight of the marquis and his youthful protégée, whose happiness was now assured, can be imagined.
The marquis knew Madame de Senneterre well enough to feel sure that she was incapable of retracting the solemn consent she had given to the marriage of Gerald and Herminie.
Nevertheless, M. de Maillefort resolved to call on Madame de Senneterre the following morning, and assure her that he had not changed his intention of adopting Herminie, who was dearer to him than ever, if that were possible, since he had witnessed her noble and touching behaviour during her interview with the haughty Duchesse de Senneterre.
M. de Maillefort’s only fear now was that the proud and sensitive girl might refuse to accept the advantages he was so anxious to confer upon her; but almost sure that he would succeed in overcoming her scruples eventually, he resolved to maintain an absolute silence concerning his intentions for the present.
M. de Maillefort and his companion had been driving along for several minutes, when a block of vehicles at the corner of the Rue de Courcelles obliged their driver to check his horses for an instant.
There was a locksmith’s shop on the corner of this street, and the hunchback, who had put his head out of the carriage window to ascertain the cause of the sudden stop, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and, hastily drawing in his head, muttered:
“What can that man be doing there?”
As was natural, Herminie’s eyes quickly followed those of the hunchback, and she could not repress a movement of disgust and aversion which M. de Maillefort failed to notice, however, for almost at the same instant he lowered the curtain of the window nearest him.
By drawing this small silken curtain a little aside, the marquis could see without being seen, and through the tiny opening he seemed to be watching something or somebody with considerable uneasiness, while Herminie, not daring to question him, gazed at him wonderingly.
The marquis had caught sight of M. de Ravil in the locksmith’s shop, and he could still see him talking with the locksmith, — a man with a kind, honest face. He was showing him a key, and evidently giving him some instructions in regard to it, for, taking the key, the locksmith placed it in his vice just as M. de Maillefort’s carriage again started on its way towards the Faubourg St. Germain, and M. de Macreuse’s new friend, or, rather, his new accomplice, was lost to sight.
“What is the matter, monsieur?” inquired Herminie, seeing that the hunchback had suddenly become thoughtful.
“I just observed an apparently insignificant thing, my dear child, but it makes me a trifle uneasy. I saw a man in a locksmith’s shop just now, showing the locksmith a key. I should not even have noticed the fact, though, if I did not know that the man who had the key was a scoundrel, capable of anything, and under certain circumstances the slightest act of a man like that furnishes food for reflection.”
“Is the man you refer to unusually tall, and has he a bad, hard face?”
“So you, too, noticed him?”
“I have had only too much cause to do so, monsieur.”
“Explain, my dear child.”
So Herminie briefly related Ravil’s many futile attempts to obtain access to her since the evening he so grossly insulted her while on her way to Madame de Beaumesnil’s.
“If the scoundrel is in the habit of hanging around your house, my dear child, it is not so surprising that we should have seen him in a shop in this part of the town. Still, what can have taken him to this locksmith’s?” asked the hunchback, thoughtfully. “Since he became so intimate with that rascal, Macreuse, I have been keeping a close watch on both of them. One of my men is shadowing them, for such creatures as they are are never more dangerous than when they are playing dead, — not that I fear them myself; oh, no, but I do fear for Ernestine.”
“For Ernestine?” asked the duchess, with quite as much surprise as uneasiness. “What can she have to fear from creatures like these?”
“You do not know, my dear child, that this Ravil was the most zealous aider and abettor of one of the suitors for Ernestine’s hand. Macreuse, too, made equally nefarious attempts to secure this tempting prey. As I unmasked them both in public, I fear that their resentment will fall upon Ernestine, especially as their rage, on finding that they will not be able to make the poor child their victim, is so venomous; but I am watching them closely, and this visit of Ravil to the locksmith — though I cannot imagine the motive of it now — will make me redouble my vigilance.”
“But you can hardly imagine that this visit would affect Ernestine in any way.”
“I am not at all sure that it does, my dear child, but I think it strange that De Ravil should take the trouble to seek out a locksmith in this remote part of the town. But let us say no more about it. Such scoundrels as those two men are should not be allowed to mar pure and richly deserved happiness. My task is only half completed. Your happiness is assured, my child, and now I trust this may prove an equally fortunate day for Ernestine. Here we are at last. Find her and tell her of your happiness while I go up to the baron’s apartments. I have a few words to say to him, after which I will rejoin you in Ernestine’s rooms.”
“Did I not hear you say something in regard to a final test?”
“Yes, my dear child.”
“Does it relate to M. Olivier?”
“Yes, and if he sustains the ordeal bravely and nobly, as I am sure he will, Ernestine will have no cause to envy you your felicity.”
“And did Ernestine consent to this test, monsieur?”
“Yes, my child, for it would not only serve to establish the nobility of Olivier’s sentiments beyond a doubt, but also remove any scruples he might feel about marrying Ernestine when he discovers that the little embroideress is the richest heiress in France.”
“Alas! monsieur, it is on that point I feel the greatest misgivings. M. Olivier is so extremely sensitive in regard to all money matters, Gerald says.”
“And for that very reason I gave my poor brain no rest until I had found, or at least fancied I had found, a means of escape from this danger. I can not explain any further now, but you will soon know all.”
Meanwhile the carriage had paused in front of the Rochaiguë mansion. The footman opened the door, and while Herminie hastened to Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s apartments the hunchback went up to the baron’s study, where he found that gentleman evidently expecting him, for he promptly advanced to meet him, displaying his long teeth with the most satisfied air imaginable.
The fact is, M. de la Rochaiguë, after reflecting on the marquis’s offers, — and threats, — had decided to accept a proposal that would enable him to gratify his political ambition at last, and had consequently given his consent to this marriage under certain conditions that seemed incomprehensible to him, — M. de Maillefort not having deemed it advisable to inform the baron of the double character Mlle. de Beaumesnil had been playing.
“Well, my dear baron, has everything been satisfactorily arranged?” inquired the hunchback.
“Yes, my dear marquis. The interview is to take place here in my study, and, as this room is separated from the adjoining room only by a portière, everything that is said can be distinctly heard in there.”
The marquis examined the two rooms for himself and then returned to M. de la Rochaiguë.
“This arrangement will suit perfectly, my dear baron. But tell me, did the inquiries you made in relation to M. Olivier Raymond prove entirely satisfactory?”
“I called on his old colonel in the African army this morning, and M. de Berville spoke of him in the highest possible terms.”
“I was sure that he would, my dear baron, but I wished you to satisfy yourself, and from several different sources, of my protégé’s irreproachable character.”
“He possesses neither wealth nor rank, unfortunately,�
� responded the baron, with a sigh, “but there doesn’t seem to be the slightest doubt that he is an exceedingly honest and worthy young man.”
“And what you have heard about him is nothing in comparison with what you will soon discover for yourself.”
“What! is there still another mystery in store for me, my dear marquis?”
“Have a little patience, and an hour from now you will know all. By the way, I hope you haven’t said a word to your wife or sister in regard to our plans?”
“How can you ask me such a question, my dear marquis? Am I not longing to have my revenge upon Helena and the baroness? Think of their deceiving me as they did! Each of them plotting to bring about a marriage between my ward and one of their protégés, and making me play the most ridiculous rôle. Ah, it will at least be some consolation to outwit them in my turn.”
“No weakness, though, baron. Your wife openly boasts that she can make you do exactly as she pleases, — that she leads you around by the nose, in short, — excuse the expression.”
“Well, well, we shall see! So she leads me around by the nose, does she?”
“I think we shall have to admit that she has, in days gone by.”
“I admit nothing of the kind.”
“But now you are a statesman, any such weakness would be unpardonable, for you no longer belong to yourself, and, apropos of this, did you see our delegates again?”
“We had another conference last evening. I talked to them two hours on the subject of an alliance with England.”
The baron rose, and slipping his left hand in the bosom of his coat, and assuming his usual oratorical attitude, continued:
“I subsequently gave them my views upon the importation of horned cattle, and briefly expounded the principles of religious liberty as practised in Belgium; and I must admit that your electors seemed much pleased, to say the least.”