Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Continue.”

  “Wait, madame marquise, I have not seen your letter of credit,” and Pascal opened it. “I wager it is an atrocious meanness. Zounds! I was sure of it, — forty thousand francs! What would make a woman like you do with such a beggarly pittance in Paris? Ah! Ah! Oh! — forty thousand francs. Only a German archduke could be capable of such magnificence.”

  Madeleine had at first listened to Pascal without comprehending him. Soon she saw his meaning: he regarded her as the mistress of the prince and living on his liberality.

  A deep blush mounted suddenly to Madeleine’s face. Then a moment of reflection calmed her, and for the sake of her projects she permitted Pascal to keep his opinion, and replied, with a half-smile:

  “Evidently you do not like the prince.”

  “I detest him!” cried Pascal, audaciously, encouraged by the smile of the marquise, and thinking to make a master stroke by braving things out. “I abominate this accursed prince, because he possesses an inestimable treasure — that I would like to take away from him even at the cost of all my—”

  And Pascal threw an impassioned look on Madeleine, who replied:

  “A treasure? I did not think the prince so rich, since he desired to borrow from you, monsieur.”

  “Eh, madame,” said Pascal, in a low, panting voice, “that treasure is you.”

  “Come, you flatter me, monsieur.”

  “Listen, madame,” replied Pascal, after a moment’s silence, “let us come to the point, that is the best method. You are a woman of mind, I am not a fool, we understand each other.”

  “About what, monsieur?”

  “I am going to tell you. If among foreigners I do not pass for a schoolgirl in finances, I am supposed to have a little competency, am I not?”

  “You are known to be immensely rich, monsieur.”

  “I pass then for what I am; I am going to prove it to you; a million of ready money for the expenses of the establishment, a hundred thousand pounds annuity, a wedding basket, each as the united archdukes of Germany could not pay for with all their little savings, and more, I pay for the house. What do you say to that?”

  Madeleine, who did not comprehend him at first, looked at Pascal with an air of astonishment. He continued:

  “This liberality amazes you, or perhaps you do not believe it. It appears to you to be too much, does it? I will show you I can indulge myself in that folly. Here is a little note-book which looks like nothing,” and he drew it from one of the drawers of his desk. “It is my balance-sheet, and, without understanding finances, you can see that this year my income amounted to twenty-seven millions, five hundred and sixty thousand francs. Now let us suppose that my extravagance costs me the round sum of three millions, there remain twenty-four little millions, which, manipulated as I manipulate them, will bring me in fifteen hundred thousand pounds income, and, as I live admirably well on fifty or sixty thousand francs a year, I gain in three years, with my income alone, the three millions which my folly cost me. I tell you that, marquise, because in these adventures it is well to estimate and prove that one can do all he promises. Now confess that the good man Pascal is worth more than an archduke.”

  “So you make this offer to me, monsieur?”

  “What a question! Come, leave your archduke, give me some promise, and I put in your hand a million in drafts. I will make an act with my notary for the hundred thousand pounds annuity, and if Father Pascal is satisfied, he is not at the end of his rolls.”

  The financier spoke the truth; he had made these offers sincerely. The increasing admiration he felt at the sight of Madeleine, the pride of taking the mistress of a prince, the vanity of surrounding her, before the eyes of all Paris, with a splendour which would excite the envy of all, — finally, the abominable hope of inducing the marquise, by means of money, to take Antonine away from Frantz, — all, in his ignominy and in his magnificence, justified his offer to Madeleine.

  Recognising from this offer the degree of influence she exercised over Pascal, Madeleine rejoiced in it, and, to obtain further proof of his sincerity, she said, with apparent hesitation:

  “Without doubt, monsieur, these propositions are above my poor merit, but—”

  “Fifty thousand pounds more annuity, and a charming country-house,” cried Pascal. “That is my last word, marquise.”

  “And this is mine, M. Pascal,” said Madeleine, rising and giving the financier a look which made him recoil.

  “Listen to me well. You are basely avaricious; your magnificent offer proves, then, the impression I have made on you.”

  “If this offer is not enough,” cried Pascal, clasping his hands, “speak, and—”

  “Be silent, I have no need of your money.”

  “My fortune, if necessary.”

  “Look at me well, M. Pascal, and if you have ever dared look an honest woman in the face, and know how to read truth on her brow, you will see that I speak the truth. You might put all your fortune there at my feet, and the disdain and disgust you excite in me would be the same.”

  “Crush me, but let me tell you—”

  “Be silent! It has suited me to let you believe a moment that I was the mistress of the prince; first, because I do not care for the esteem of a man of your character, and then, because that would encourage you in your insulting offers.”

  “But then, why have—”

  “Be silent! I had need to know the degree of influence I possessed over you. I know, and I am going to use it.”

  “Oh, I ask nothing better, if you wish—”

  “I have come here for two reasons; the first, to receive this letter of credit—”

  “Instantly, but—”

  “I have come for another reason, — to put an end to the infamous abuse you have made of an apparent service, a pretended generosity rendered to the husband of my best friend, M. Charles Dutertre.”

  “You are acquainted with the Dutertres! ah, I see the trap.”

  “All means are fair to catch malicious creatures; you are caught.”

  “Oh, not yet,” replied Pascal, gnashing his teeth with rage and despair, for the imperious beauty of Madeleine, increased by her glowing animation, excited his passion to frenzy; “perhaps you triumph too soon, madame.”

  “You will see.”

  “We will see,” said Pascal, trying to pay off with audacity, in spite of the torture he endured, “we will see.”

  “This instant, there on that table, you are going to sign a deed, in good form, by which you engage yourself to grant to M. Dutertre the time that you have granted by your verbal promise, to liquidate his debt to you.”

  “But—”

  “As you are capable of deceiving me, and as I understand nothing of business, I have ordered a notary to draw up this deed, so that you have only to sign it.”

  “This is a pleasantry!”

  “The notary has accompanied me, he is waiting in the next room.”

  “What, have you brought a—”

  “One does not come alone into the house of a man like you. You are going to sign this deed instantly.”

  “For what return?”

  “My disdain and contempt, as always.”

  “Misery! that is violence!”

  “It is so.”

  “You wish to take from me, gratis, my sweetest morsel, — in the very moment when, in the rage which possesses me, no reparation but revenge was left to console me a little! Ah, Madame Dutertre is your best friend! Ah, her tears will be bitter to you! Ah, the sorrows of this family will break your heart! Zounds, that is to the point, and I will have my revenge besides!”

  “You refuse?”

  “If I refuse? Ah, indeed, madame marquise, do you think me an idiot? And for a woman of mind you have shown yourself very weak in this. You might have caught me by cajolery — entangled by some promise. I was capable of—”

  “Come, now, who would stoop so low as to pretend to wish to seduce M. Pascal? You are ordered to repair an injury,
you make reparation, and M. Pascal is despised after as before, to-day as yesterday, and to-morrow as to-day.”

  “Misery! this is enough to make one mad!” cried the financier, astonished, and almost frightened by the tone of conviction with which Madeleine spoke, and he asked himself if she had not discovered some secret rottenness in his life which she intended to use as a weapon. But our hero had been a prudent scoundrel, and soon took heart again after a rapid examination of conscience, and replied:

  “Ah, well, madame, here I am ready to obey when you force me to do so. I am waiting.”

  “It will not be long.”

  “I am waiting.”

  “I have seen in your street several lodgings to let. That is nothing extraordinary, I am sure, M. Pascal; but a happy chance has shown me a very pretty apartment on the first floor, not yet engaged, almost opposite your house.”

  Pascal looked at Madeleine stupidly.

  “This apartment I shall take, and shall install myself there to-morrow.”

  A vague foreboding made the financier start; he turned pale.

  Madeleine continued, fixing her burning gaze on the man’s eyes:

  “At every hour of the day and the night you will know that I am there. You will not be able to go out of your house without passing before my windows, where I shall be often, very often. I am fond of sitting at the window. You will not leave your house, I defy you. An irresistible, fatal charm will draw you back to your punishment every instant. The sight of me will give you torture, and you will seek that sight. Every time you meet my glance, and you will meet it often, you will receive a dagger in your heart, and yet, ambushed behind your curtains, you will watch my every movement.”

  As she talked, Madeleine had made a step toward Pascal, holding him fascinated, panting under her fixed, burning eyes, from which he could not remove his own.

  The marquise continued:

  “That is not all. As this lodging is large, Antonine, immediately after her marriage, and Frantz will come to live with me. I do not know, then, my poor M. Pascal, what will become of you.”

  “Oh, this woman is infernal,” murmured the financier.

  “Judge, then, the tortures of all sorts that you will have to endure. You must have been deeply smitten with Antonine to wish to marry her; you must have been deeply smitten with me to put your fortune at my feet. Ah, well, not only will you suffer an agonising martyrdom in seeing the two women you have madly desired possessed by others, — for I am a widow and will remarry, — but you will curse your riches, for every moment of the day will tell you that they have been impotent, and that they will always be impotent to satisfy your ardent desires.”

  “Leave me!” stammered Pascal, recoiling before Madeleine, who kept him always under her eye. “Leave me! Truly this woman is a demon!”

  “Stop, my poor M. Pascal,” continued the marquise, “you see I pity you in spite of myself, when I think of your envious rage, your ferocious jealousy, exasperated to frenzy by the constant happiness of Antonine, for you will see us every day, and often in the night. Yes, the season is beautiful, the bright moon charming, and many times in the evening, very late, hidden in the shadow with your eyes fixed on our dwelling, you will see sometimes Antonine and sometimes me with our elbows on the balcony railing, enjoying the cool of the evening, and smiling often, I confess, at M. Pascal, then standing behind some window-blind or peeping from some casement, devouring us with his eyes; often Antonine and Frantz will talk of love by the light of the moon, often I and my future husband will be as delightfully occupied under your eyes.”

  “Curses!” cried Pascal, losing all control of himself, “she tortures me on burning coals.”

  “And that is not all,” continued the marquise, in a low, almost panting, voice. “At a late hour of the night you will see our windows closed, our curtains discreetly drawn on the feeble light of our alabaster lamps, so sweet and propitious to the voluptuousness of the night.” Then the marquise, bursting into peals of laughter, added: “And, my poor M. Pascal, I would not be astonished then if, in your rage and despair, you should become mad and blow your brains out.”

  “Not without having my revenge, at least,” muttered Pascal, wrought to frenzy, and rushing to his desk where he had a loaded pistol.

  But Madeleine, who knew she had everything to fear from this man, had, as she slowly approached him, kept him under her eye, and, step by step, had reached the chimney; at the threatening gesture of Pascal she pulled the bell-cord violently.

  At the moment Pascal, livid and frightful, turned to face Madeleine, the servant entered hastily, surprised at the loud ringing of the bell.

  At the sound of the opening door and the sight of his valet, Pascal came to himself, quickly thrust the hand which held the pistol behind him, and let it fall on the carpet.

  The marquise had taken advantage of the interruption to approach the door left open by the servant, and to call in a loud voice to the notary, who, seated in the next room, had also quickly risen at the sudden sound of the bell:

  “Monsieur, a thousand pardons for having made you wait so long; do me the favour to enter.”

  The notary entered.

  “Go out,” said Pascal, roughly, to his servant.

  And the financier wiped his livid brow, which was bathed in a cold sweat.

  Madeleine, alone with Pascal and the notary, said to the latter:

  “You have, monsieur, prepared the deed relating to M. Charles Dutertre?”

  “Yes, madame, there is nothing to do but to approve the document and sign.”

  “Very well,” said the marquise; then, while Pascal, wholly overcome, was leaning on the armchair before his desk, she took a sheet of paper and a pen, and wrote what follows:

  “Sign the deed, and, not only will I not live opposite your house, but this evening I will leave Paris, and will not return in a long time. What I promise I will keep.”

  Having written these lines, she handed the paper to Pascal, and said to the notary:

  “I beg your pardon, sir; it concerned a condition relating to the deed that I desire to submit to M. Pascal.”

  “Certainly, madame,” replied the notary, while the financier was reading.

  He had hardly concluded his examination of the note, when he said to the notary, in a changed voice, as if he were eager to escape a great danger:

  “Let us — finish — this — deed.”

  “I am going, monsieur, to give you a reading of it before signing,” replied the notary, drawing the deed from his pocketbook, and slowly unfolding it.

  But M. Pascal snatched it rudely from his hands and said, as if his sight were overcast:

  “Where must I sign?”

  “Here, monsieur, and approve the document first, but it is customary—”

  Pascal wrote the approval of the document with a spasmodic and trembling hand, signed it, threw the pen on the desk, and inclined his head so as not to meet the glance of Madeleine.

  “There is no flourish here,” said the careful notary.

  Pascal made the flourish; the notary took the deed with a surprised, almost frightened look, so sinister and dreadful was the expression of Pascal’s face.

  The marquise, perfectly cool, took up her letter of credit lying on the desk, and said to the financier:

  “As I will have need of all my funds for my journey, monsieur, and as I leave this evening, I am going, if you please, to receive the whole amount of this letter of credit.”

  “Pass to the counting-room,” replied Pascal, mechanically, his eyes wandering and bloodshot; his livid pallor had suddenly turned to a purplish red.

  Madeleine preceding the notary, who made a pretext of saluting Pascal in order to look at him again, still with an air of alarm, went out of the office, shut the door, and said to the servant:

  “Where is the counting-room, please?”

  “The first door on the left in the court, madame.”

  The marquise left the parlour when a loud noise was
heard in the office of M. Pascal.

  It sounded like the fall of a body on the floor.

  The servant, leaving Madeleine and the notary at once, ran to his master’s room.

  The marquise, after having received bank-bills to the amount of her letter of credit, was just about to enter her carriage, accompanied by the notary, when she saw the servant rush out of the gateway with a frightened air.

  “What is the matter, my good friend?” asked the notary, “you seem to be alarmed.”

  “Ah, monsieur, what a pity! my master has just had an attack of apoplexy. I am running for the physician.”

  And he disappeared, running at the top of his speed.

  “I thought,” said the notary, addressing Madeleine, “this dear gentleman did not appear to be in his natural condition. Did you not observe the same thing, madame marquise?”

  “I thought, like you, there was something peculiar in the countenance of M. Pascal.”

  “God grant this attack may be nothing serious, madame. So rich a man to die in the vigour of life, that would really be a pity!”

  “A great pity indeed! But tell me, monsieur, if you wish, I can take you home in my carriage, and you can deliver to me the deed relating to M. Dutertre; I have need of it.”

  “Here it is, madame, but I shall not permit you to drive out of your way for me. I am going only two or three steps from here.”

  “Very well. Have the kindness, then, to take these forty thousand francs. I wish to have ten thousand for my journey and a letter of credit on Vienna.”

  “I will attend to it immediately, madame. And when will you need this money?”

  “This evening before six o’clock, if you please.”

  “I will be on time, madame.”

  The notary bowed respectfully, and Madeleine ordered the coachman to drive directly to the factory of Charles Dutertre.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  MADELEINE, AS WE have said, on leaving the house of M. Pascal, went directly to the home of Madame Dutertre, who was alone in her bedchamber when the servant announced the marquise. Sophie, seated in an armchair, seemed a prey to overwhelming despair. At the sight of her friend, she raised her head quickly; her sad face, bathed in tears, was of a deadly pallor.