by Eugène Sue
Adrienne started, there could be no doubt that Agricola was meant. But she recovered her tranquillity, when she thought of the security of the hiding-place she had given him.
“The magistrate,” continued the princess, “asked my consent to search the hotel and extension, to discover this man. It was his right. I begged him to commence with the garden-house, and accompanied him. Notwithstanding the improper conduct of Mademoiselle, it never, I confess, entered my head for a moment, that she was in any way mixed up with this police business. I was deceived.”
“What do you mean, madame?” cried Adrienne.
“You shall know all, madame,” said the princess, with a triumphant air, “in good time. You were in rather too great a hurry just now, to show yourself so proud and satirical. Well! I accompanied the commissary in his search; we came to the summer-house; I leave you to imagine the stupor and astonishment of the magistrate, on seeing three creatures dressed up like actresses. At my request, the fact was noted in the official report; for it is well to reveal such extravagances to all whom it may concern.”
“The princess acted very wisely,” said Tripeaud, bowing; “it is well that the authorities should be informed of such matters.”
Adrienne, too much interested in the fate of the workman to think of answering Tripeaud or the princess, listened in silence, and strove to conceal her uneasiness.
“The magistrate,” resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier, “began by a severe examination of these young girls; to learn if any man had, with their knowledge, been introduced into the house; with incredible effrontery, they answered that they had seen nobody enter.”
“The true-hearted, honest girls!” thought Mademoiselle de Cardoville, full of joy; “the poor workman is safe! the protection of Dr. Baleinier will do the rest.”
“Fortunately,” continued the princess, “one of my women, Mrs. Grivois, had accompanied me. This excellent person, remembering to have seen Mademoiselle return home at eight o’clock in the morning, remarked with much simplicity to the magistrate, that the man, whom they sought, might probably have entered by the little garden gate, left open, accidentally, by Mademoiselle.”
“It would have been well, madame,” said Tripeaud, “to have caused to be noted also in the report, that Mademoiselle had returned home at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“I do not see the necessity for this,” said the doctor, faithful to his part: “it would have been quite foreign to the search carried on by the commissary.”
“But, doctor,” said Tripeaud.
“But, baron,” resumed M. Baleinier, in a firm voice, “that is my opinion.”
“It was not mine, doctor,” said the princess; “like M. Tripeaud, I considered it important to establish the fact by an entry in the report, and I saw, by the confused and troubled countenance of the magistrate, how painful it was to register the scandalous conduct of a young person placed in so high a position in society.”
“Certainly, madame,” said Adrienne, losing patience, “I believe your modesty to be about equal to that of this candid commissary of police; but it seems to me, that your mutual innocence was alarmed a little too soon. You might, and ought to have reflected, that there was nothing extraordinary in my coming home at eight o’clock, if I had gone out at six.”
“The excuse, though somewhat tardy, is at least cunning,” said the princess, spitefully.
“I do not excuse myself, madame,” said Adrienne; “but as M. Baleinier has been kind enough to speak a word in my favor, I give the possible interpretation of a fact, which it would not become me to explain in your presence.”
“The fact will stand, however, in the report,” said Tripeaud, “until the explanation is given.”
Abbe d’Aigrigny, his forehead resting on his hand, remained as if a stranger to this scene; he was too much occupied with his fears at the consequences of the approaching interview between Mdlle. de Cardoville and Marshal Simon’s daughters — for there seemed no possibility of using force to prevent Adrienne from going out that evening.
Madame de Saint-Dizier went on: “The fact which so greatly scandalized the commissary is nothing compared to what I yet have to tell you, gentlemen. We had searched all parts of the pavilion without finding any one, and were just about to quit the bed-chamber, for we had taken this room the last, when Mrs. Grivois pointed out to us that one of the golden mouldings of a panel did not appear to come quite home to the wall. We drew the attention of the magistrate to this circumstance; his men examined, touched, felt — the panel flew open! — and then — can you guess what we discovered? But, no! it is too odious, too revolting; I dare not even—”
“Then I dare, madame,” said Adrienne, resolutely, though she saw with the utmost grief the retreat of Agricola was discovered; “I will spare your highness’s candor the recital of this new scandal, and yet what I am about to say is in nowise intended as a justification.”
“It requires one, however,” said Madame de Saint-Dizier, with a disdainful smile; “a man concealed by you in your own bedroom.”
“A man concealed in her bedroom!” cried the Marquis d’Aigrigny, raising his head with apparent indignation, which only covered a cruel joy.
“A man! in the bedroom of Mademoiselle!” added Baron Tripeaud. “I hope this also was inserted in the report.”
“Yes, yes, baron,” said the princess with a triumphant air.
“But this man,” said the doctor, in a hypocritical tone, “must have been a robber? Any other supposition would be in the highest degree improbable. This explains itself.”
“Your indulgence deceives you, M. Baleinier,” answered the princess, dryly.
“We knew the sort of thieves,” said Tripeaud; “they are generally young men, handsome, and very rich.”
“You are wrong, sir,” resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier. “Mademoiselle does not raise her views so high. She proves that a dereliction from duty may be ignoble as well as criminal. I am no longer astonished at the sympathy which was just now professed for the lower orders. It is the more touching and affecting, as the man concealed by her was dressed in a blouse.”
“A blouse!” cried the baron, with an air of extreme disgust; “then he is one of the common people? It really makes one’s hair stand on end.”
“The man is a working smith — he confessed it,” said the princess; “but not to be unjust — he is really a good-looking fellow. It was doubtless that singular worship which Mademoiselle pays to the beautiful—”
“Enough, madame, enough!” said Adrienne suddenly, for, hitherto disdaining to answer, she had listened to her aunt with growing and painful indignation; “I was just now on the point of defending myself against one of your odious insinuations — but I will not a second time descend to any such weakness. One word only, madame; has this honest and worthy artisan been arrested?”
“To be sure, he has been arrested and taken to prison, under a strong escort. Does not that pierce your heart?” sneered the princess, with a triumphant air. “Your tender pity for this interesting smith must indeed be very great, since it deprives you of your sarcastic assurance.”
“Yes, madame; for I have something better to do than to satirize that which is utterly odious and ridiculous,” replied Adrienne, whose eyes grew dim with tears at the thought of the cruel hurt to Agricola’s family. Then, putting her hat on, and tying the strings, she said to the doctor: “M. Baleinier, I asked you just now for your interest with the minister.”
“Yes, madame; and it will give me great pleasure to act on your behalf.”
“Is your carriage below?”
“Yes, madame,” said the doctor, much surprised.
“You will be good enough to accompany me immediately to the minister’s. Introduced by you, he will not refuse me the favor, or rather the act of justice, that I have to solicit.”
“What, mademoiselle,” said the princess; “do you dare take such a course, without my orders, after what has just passed? It is really quite unheard-of
.”
“It confounds one,” added Tripeaud; “but we must not be surprised at anything.”
The moment Adrienne asked the doctor if his carriage was below, D’Aigrigny started. A look of intense satisfaction flashed across his countenance, and he could hardly repress the violence of his delight, when, darting, a rapid and significant glance at the doctor, he saw the latter respond to it by trace closing his eyelids in token of comprehension and assent.
When therefore the princess resumed, in an angry tone, addressing herself to Adrienne: “Madame, I forbid you leaving the house!” — D’Aigrigny said to the speaker, with a peculiar inflection of the voice: “I think, your highness, we may trust the lady to the doctor’s care.”
The marquis pronounced these words in so significant a manner, that the princess, having looked by turns at the physician and D’Aigrigny, understood it all, and her countenance grew radiant with joy.
Not only did this pass with extreme rapidity, but the night was already almost come, so that Adrienne, absorbed in painful thoughts with regard to Agricola, did not perceive the different signals exchanged between the princess, the doctor, and the abbe. Even had she done so, they would have been incomprehensible to her.
Not wishing to have the appearance of yielding too readily, to the suggestion of the marquis, Madame de Saint-Dizier resumed: “Though the doctor seems to me to be far too indulgent to mademoiselle, I might not see any great objection to trusting her with him; but that I do not wish to establish such a precedent, for hence forward she must have no will but mine.”
“Madame,” said the physician gravely, feigning to be somewhat shocked by the words of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, “I do not think I have been too indulgent to mademoiselle — but only just. I am at her orders, to take her to the minister if she wishes it. I do not know what she intends to solicit, but I believe her incapable of abusing the confidence I repose in her, or making me support a recommendation undeserved.”
Adrienne, much moved, extended her hand cordially to the doctor, and said to him: “Rest assured, my excellent friend, that you will thank me for the step I am taking, for you will assist in a noble action.”
Tripeaud, who was not in the secret of the new plans of the doctor and the abbe in a low voice faltered to the latter, with a stupefied air, “What! will you let her go?”
“Yes, yes,” answered D’Aigrigny abruptly, making a sign that he should listen to the princess, who was about to speak. Advancing towards her niece, she said to her in a slow and measured tone, laying a peculiar emphasis on every word: “One moment more, mademoiselle — one last word in presence of these gentlemen. Answer me! Notwithstanding the heavy charges impending over you, are you still determined to resist my formal commands?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Notwithstanding the scandalous exposure which has just taken place, you still persist in withdrawing yourself from my authority?”
“Yes, madame.”
“You refuse positively to submit to the regular and decent mode of life which I would impose upon you?”
“I have already told you, madame, that I am about to quit this dwelling in order to live alone and after my own fashion.”
“Is that your final decision?”
“It is my last word.”
“Reflect! the matter is serious. Beware!”
“I have given your highness my last word, and I never speak it twice.”
“Gentlemen, you hear all this?” resumed the princess; “I have tried in vain all that was possible to conciliate. Mademoiselle will have only herself to thank for the measures to which this audacious revolt will oblige me to have recourse.”
“Be it so, madame,” replied Adrienne. Then, addressing M. Baleinier, she said quickly to him: “Come, my dear doctor; I am dying with impatience. Let us set out immediately. Every minute lost may occasion bitter tears to an honest family.”
So saying, Adrienne left the room precipitately with the physician. One of the servants called for M. Baleinier’s carriage. Assisted by the doctor, Adrienne mounted the step, without perceiving that he said something in a low whisper to the footman that opened the coach-door.
When, however, he was seated by the side of Mdlle. de Cardoville, and the door was closed upon them, he waited for about a second, and then called out in a loud voice to the coachman: “To the house of the minister, by the private entrance!” The horses started at a gallop.
CHAPTER XLIII. A FALSE FRIEND.
NIGHT HAD SET in dark and cold. The sky, which had been clear till the sun went down, was now covered with gray and lurid clouds; a strong wind raised here and there, in circling eddies, the snow that was beginning to fall thick and fast.
The lamps threw a dubious light into the interior of Dr. Baleinier’s carriage, in which he was seated alone with Adrienne de Cardoville. The charming countenance of the latter, faintly illumined by the lamps beneath the shade of her little gray hat, looked doubly white and pure in contrast with the dark lining of the carriage, which was now filled with that, sweet, delicious, and almost voluptuous perfume which hangs about the garments of young women of taste. The attitude of the girl, seated next to the doctor, was full of grace. Her slight and elegant figure, imprisoned in her high-necked dress of blue cloth, imprinted its wavy outline on the soft cushion against which she leaned; her little feet, crossed one upon the other, and stretched rather forward, rested upon a thick bear-skin, which carpeted the bottom of the carriage. In her hand, which was ungloved and dazzlingly white, she held a magnificently embroidered handkerchief, with which, to the great astonishment of M. Baleinier, she dried her eyes, now filled with tears.
Yes; Adrienne wept, for she now felt the reaction from the painful scenes through which she had passed at Saint-Dizier House; to the feverish and nervous excitement, which had till then sustained her, had succeeded a sorrowful dejection. Resolute in her independence, proud in her disdain, implacable in her irony, audacious in her resistance to unjust oppression, Adrienne was yet endowed with the most acute sensibility, which she always dissembled, however, in the presence of her aunt and those who surrounded her.
Notwithstanding her courage, no one could have been less masculine, less of a virago, than Mdlle. Cardoville. She was essentially womanly, but as a woman, she knew how to exercise great empire over herself, the moment that the least mark of weakness on her part would have rejoiced or emboldened her enemies.
The carriage had rolled onwards for some minutes; but Adrienne, drying her tears in silence, to the doctor’s great astonishment, had not yet uttered a word.
“What, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne?” said M. Baleinier, truly surprised at her emotion; “what! you, that were just now so courageous, weeping?”
“Yes,” answered Adrienne, in an agitated voice; “I weep in presence of a friend; but, before my aunt — oh! never.”
“And yet, in that long interview, your stinging replies—”
“Ah me! do you think that I resigned myself with pleasure to that war of sarcasm? Nothing is more painful to me than such combats of bitter irony, to which I am forced by the necessity of defending myself from this woman and her friends. You speak of my courage: it does not consist, I assure you, in the display of wicked feelings — but in the power to repress and hide all that I suffer, when I hear myself treated so grossly — in the presence, too, of people that I hate and despise — when, after all, I have never done them any harm, and have only asked to be allowed to live alone, freely and quietly, and see those about me happy.”
“That’s where it is: they envy your happiness, and that which you bestow upon others.”
“And it is my aunt,” cried Adrienne, with indignation, “my aunt, whose whole life has been one long scandal that accuses me in this revolting manner! — as if she did not know me proud and honest enough never to make a choice of which I should be ashamed! Oh! if I ever love, I shall proclaim it, I shall be proud of it: for love, as I understand it, is the most glorious feeling in the world. But, alas
!” continued Adrienne, with redoubled bitterness, “of what use are truth and honor, if they do not secure you from suspicions, which are as absurd as they are odious?” So saying, she again pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Come, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne,” said M. Baleinier, in a voice full of the softest unction, “becalm — it is all over now. You have in me a devoted friend.” As he pronounced these last words, he blushed in spite of his diabolical craft.
“I know you are my friend,” said Adrienne: “I shall never forget that, by taking my part to-day, you exposed yourself to the resentment of my aunt — for I am not ignorant of her power, which is very great, alas! for evil.”
“As for that,” said the doctor, affecting a profound indifference, “we medical men are pretty safe from personal enmities.”
“Nay, my dear M. Baleinier! Mme. de Saint-Dizier and her friends never forgive,” said the young girl, with a shudder. “It needed all my invincible aversion, my innate horror for all that is base, cowardly, and perfidious, to induce me to break so openly with her. But if death itself were the penalty, I could not hesitate and yet,” she added, with one of those graceful smiles which gave such a charm to her beautiful countenance, “yet I am fond of life: if I have to reproach myself with anything, it is that I would have it too bright, too fair, too harmonious; but then, you know, I am resigned to my faults.”
“Well, come, I am more tranquil,” said the doctor, gayly; “for you smile — that is a good sign.”
“It is often the wisest course; and yet, ought I smile, after the threats that my aunt has held out to me? Still, what can she do? what is the meaning of this kind of family council? Did she seriously think that the advice of a M. D’Aigrigny or a M. Tripeaud could have influenced me? And then she talked of rigorous measures. What measures can she take; do you know?”