XVII.
By this one word Henrietta sealed her destiny; and she knew it. She wasfully aware of the terrible rashness of her plan. A voice had calledto her, from her innermost heart, that her honor, her life, and all herearthly hopes, had thus been staked upon one card. She foresaw clearlywhat the world would say the day after her flight. She would be lost,and could hope for rehabilitation only when Daniel returned.
If she could only have been as sure of the heart of her chosen one asshe had formerly been! But the cunning innuendoes of the countess, andthe impudent asseverations of Sir Thorn, had done their work, and shakenher faith. Daniel had been absent for nearly a year now, and during allthat time she had written to him every month; but she had receivedfrom him only two letters through M. de Brevan,--and what letters! Verypolite, very cold, and almost without a word of hope.
If Daniel upon his return should abandon her!
And still, the more she reflected with all that lucidity with which theapproach of a great crisis inspired her, the more she became impressedwith the absolute necessity of flight. Yes, she must face unknowndangers, but only in order to escape from dangers which she knew but toowell. She was relying upon a man who was almost a stranger to her; butwas not this the only way to escape from the insults of a wretch who hadbecome the boon companion, the friend, and the counsellor of her father?Finally, she sacrificed her reputation, that is, the appearance ofhonor; but she saved the reality, honor itself.
Ah, it was hard! As long as the day lasted on Wednesday, she waswandering about, pale as a ghost, all over the vast palace. She badefarewell to this beloved house, full of souvenirs of eighteen years inwhich she had played as a child, where Daniel's voice had caused herheart to beat loud and fast, and where her sainted mother had died. Andin the evening, at table, big tears were rolling down her cheeks as shewatched the stupidly-triumphant serenity of her father.
The next day, however, Thursday, Henrietta complained, as was agreedupon, of a violent headache; and the doctor was sent for. He found herin a violent fever, and ordered her to keep her bed. He little knew thathe was thus restoring the poor girl to liberty. As soon as he had left,she rose; and, like a dying person who makes all her last dispositions,she hastened to put every thing in order in her drawers, puttingtogether what she meant to keep, and burning what she wished to keepfrom the curiosity of the countess and her accomplices.
M. de Brevan had recommended her not to take her jewels. She left them,therefore, with the exception of such as she wore every day, openlydisplayed on a _chiffonnier_. The manner of her escape forbade hertaking much baggage; and still some linen was indispensable. Uponreflection it did not seem to her inexpedient to take a small carpet-bag, which her mother had given her, and which contained a dressing-case, all the articles in which were of solid gold and of marvellouslyfine workmanship. When her preparations were complete, she wrote to herfather a long letter, in which she explained fully the motives of herdesperate resolution.
Then she waited. Night had fallen long since; and the last preparationsfor a princely entertainment filled the palace with noise and movement.She could hear the hasty steps of busy servants, the loud orders ofbutlers and stewards, the hammer of upholsterers who gave here and therea final touch.
Soon there came the rolling of wheels on the fine gravel in the court-yard, and the arrival of the first guests.
Henceforth it was for Henrietta only a question of minutes; and shecounted them by her watch with a terrible beating of her heart. At lastthe hands marked a quarter before ten. Acting almost automatically, sherose, threw an immense cashmere shawl over her shoulders; and, takingher little bag in her hand, she escaped from her room, and slipped alongthe passages to the servants' stairs.
She went on tiptoe, holding her breath, eye and ear on the watch, readyat the smallest noise to run back, or to rush into the first open room.Thus she got down without difficulty, reached the dark hall at the footof the staircase; and there in the shade, seated on her little bag,she waited, out of breath, her hair moist with a cold perspiration, herteeth clattering in her mouth from fear. At last it struck ten o'clock;and the vibration of the bell could still be heard, when M. de Brevan's_coupe_ stopped at the door.
His coachman was certainly a skilful driver. Pretending to have lostthe control of his horse, he made it turn round, and forced it back withsuch admirable awkwardness, that the carriage came close up to the wall,and the right hand door was precisely in the face of the dark littlehall in which Henrietta was standing. As quick as lightning M. de Brevanjumped out. Henrietta rushed forward. Nobody saw any thing.
A moment later the carriage slowly drove out of the court-yard of thepalace of Count Ville-Handry, and stopped at some little distance.
It was done. In leaving her father's house, Miss Ville-Handry had brokenwith all the established laws of society. She was at the mercy now ofwhat might follow; and, according as events might turn out favorable orunfavorable, she was saved or lost. But she did not think of that. Asthe danger of being surprised passed away, the feverish excitement thathad kept her up so far, also subsided, and she was lying, undone, on thecushions, when the door suddenly opened, and a man appeared. It was M.de Brevan.
"Well, madam," he cried with a strangely embarrassed voice, "we haveconquered. I have just presented my respects to the Countess Sarah andher worthy companions; I have shaken hands with Count Ville-Handry; andno one has the shadow of a suspicion." And, as Henrietta said nothing,he added,--
"Now I think we ought to lose no time; for I must show myself again atthe ball as soon as possible. Your lodgings are ready for you, madam;and I am going, with your leave, to drive you there."
She raised herself, and said, with a great effort,--
"Do so, sir!"
M. de Brevan had already jumped into the carriage, which started at fullgallop; and, while they were driving along, he explained to Henriettahow she would have to conduct herself in the house in which he hadengaged a lodging for her. He had spoken of her, he said, as of one ofhis relatives from the provinces, who had suffered a reverse of fortune,and who had come to Paris in the hope of finding here some way to earnher living.
"Remember this romance, madam," he begged her, "and let your words andactions be in conformity with it. And especially be careful never toutter my name or your father's. Remember that you are still underage, that you will be searched for anxiously, and that the slightestindiscretion may put them upon your traces."
Then, as she still kept silent, weeping, he wanted to take her hand, andthus noticed the little bag which she had taken.
"What is that?" he asked, in a tone, which, under its affectedgentleness, betrayed no small dissatisfaction.
"Some indispensable articles."
"Ah! you did not after all take your jewels, madam?"
"No, certainly not, sir!"
Still this persistency on the part of M. de Brevan began to strike heras odd; and she would have betrayed her surprise, if the carriage hadnot at that moment stopped suddenly before No. 23 Water Street.
"Here we are, madam," said M. de Brevan.
And, lightly jumping down, he rang the bell at the door, which openedimmediately. The room of the concierge was still light. M. de Brevanwalked straight up to it, and opened the door like a man who is at homein a house.
"It is I," he said.
A man and a woman, the concierge and his wife, who had been dozing, hernose in a paper, started up suddenly.
"Monsieur Maxime!" they said with one voice.
"I bring," said M. de Brevan, "my young kinswoman, of whom I told you,Miss Henrietta."
If Henrietta had had the slightest knowledge of Parisian customs, shewould have guessed from the bows of the concierge, and the courtesies ofhis wife, how liberally they had been rewarded in advance.
"The young lady's room is quite ready," said the man.
"My husband has arranged every thing himself," broke in his wife; "itwas no trifle, after the papering had been done. And I--I made a finef
ire there as early as five o'clock, to take out the dampness."
"Let us go up then," said Brevan.
The concierge and his wife, however, were economical people; and the gason the stairs had long since been put out.
"Give me a candlestick, Chevassat," said the woman to her husband.
And with her lighted candle she went ahead, lighting M. de Brevan andHenrietta, and stopping at every landing to praise the neatness of thehouse. At last, in the fifth story, at the entrance to a dark passage,she opened a door, and said,--
"Here we are! The young lady will see how nice it is."
It might possibly have been nice in her eyes; but Henrietta, accustomedto the splendor of her father's palace, could not conceal a gesture ofdisgust. This more than modest chamber looked to her like a garret suchas she would not have permitted the least of her maids to occupy athome.
But never mind! She went in bravely, putting her travelling-bag ona bureau, and taking off her shawl, as if to take possession of thelodging. But her first impression had not escaped M. de Brevan. He drewher into the passage while the woman was stirring the fire, and said ina low voice,--
"It is a terrible room; but prudence induced me to choose it."
"I like it as it is, sir."
"You will want a great many things, no doubt; but we will see to thatto-morrow. To-night I must leave you: you know it is all important thatI should be seen again at your father's house."
"You are quite right; sir, go, make haste!"
Still he did not wish to go without having once more recommended his"young kinswoman" to Mrs. Chevassat. He only left when she had over andover again assured him that there was nothing more to be done; and thenthe woman also went down.
The terrible emotions which had shaken and undermined Henrietta duringthe last forty-eight hours were followed now by a feeling of intenseastonishment at what she had done, at the irrevocable step she hadtaken. Her quiet life had been interrupted by an event which to herappeared more stupendous than if a mountain had been moved. Standingby the mantle-piece, she looked at her pale face in the littlelooking-glass, and said to herself,--
"Is that myself, my own self?"
Yes, it was she herself, the only daughter of the great Count Ville-Handry, here in a strange house, in a wretched garret-room, which shecalled her own. It was she, yesterday still surrounded by princelysplendor, waited on by an army of servants, now in want of almost everything, and having for her only servant the old woman to whom M. deBrevan had recommended her.
Was this possible? She could hardly believe it herself. Still she feltno repentance at what she had done. She could not remain any longerin her father's house where she was exposed to the vilest insults fromeverybody. Could she have stayed any longer?
"But what is the use," she said to herself, "of thinking of what ispast? I must not allow myself to think of it; I must shake off thisheaviness."
And, to occupy her mind, she rose and went about to explore her newhome, and to examine all it contained. It was one of those lodgingsabout which the owners of houses rarely trouble themselves, and wherethey never make the smallest repairs, because they are always sure ofrenting them out just as they are. The floor, laid in bricks, was goingto pieces; and a number of bricks were loose, and shaking in theirlayers of cement. The ceiling was cracked, and fell off in scales; whileall along the walls it was blackened by flaring tallow-candles. Thepapering, a greasy, dirty gray paper, preserved the fingermarks of allthe previous occupants of the room from the time it had first been hung.The furniture, also, was in keeping with the room,--a walnut bedsteadwith faded calico curtains, a chest of drawers, a table, two chairs, anda miserable arm-chair; that was all.
A short curtain hung before the window. By the side of the bed was alittle strip of carpeting; and on the mantlepiece a zinc clock betweentwo blue glass vases. Nothing else!
How could M. de Brevan ever have selected such a room, such a hole?Henrietta could not comprehend it. He had told her, and she had believedhim, that they must use extreme caution. But would she have been anymore compromised, or in greater danger of being discovered by theCountess Sarah, if they had papared the room anew, put a simple feltcarpet on the floor, and furnished the room a little more decently?
Still she did not conceive any suspicion even yet. She thought itmattered very little where and how she was lodged. She hoped it was,after all, only for a short time, and consoled herself with the thoughtthat a cell in a convent would have been worse still. And any thing wasbetter than her father's house.
"At least," she said, "I shall be quiet and undisturbed here."
Perhaps she was to be morally quiet; for as to any other peace, she wassoon to be taught differently. Accustomed to the profound stillnessof the immense rooms in her father's palace, Henrietta had no idea, ofcourse, of the incessant movement that goes on in the upper storiesof these Paris lodging-houses, which contain the population of a wholevillage, and where the tenants, separated from each other by thinpartition-walls, live, so to say, all in public.
Sleep, under such circumstances, becomes possible only afterlong experience; and the poor girl had to pay very dear for herapprenticeship. It was past four o'clock before she could fall asleep,overcome by fatigue; and then it was so heavy a sleep, that she wasnot aroused by the stir in the whole house as day broke. It was broaddaylight, hence, when she awoke; and a pale sun-ray was gliding into theroom through the torn curtain. The zinc clock pointed at twelve o'clock.She rose and dressed hastily.
Yesterday, when she rose, she rang her bell, and her maid came inpromptly, made a fire, brought her her slippers, and threw over hershoulders a warm, wadded dressing-wrapper. But to-day!
This thought carried her back to her father's house. What were theydoing there at this hour? Her escape was certainly known by this time.No doubt they had sent the servants out in all directions. Her father,most probably, had gone to call in the aid of the police. She feltalmost happy at the idea of being so safely concealed; and lookingaround her chamber, which appeared even more wretched by daylight thanlast night, she said,--
"No, they will never think of looking for me here!"
In the meantime she had discovered a small supply of wood near thefireplace; and, as it was cold, she was busy making a fire, whensomebody knocked at her door. She opened; and Mrs. Chevassat, the wifeof the concierge appeared.
"It is I, my pretty young lady," she said as she entered. "Not seeingyou come down, I said to myself, 'I must go up to look after her.' Andhave you slept well?"
"Very well, madam, thank you!"
"Now, that's right. And how is your appetite? For that was what I cameup for. Don't you think you might eat a little something?"
Henrietta not only thought of it; but she was very hungry. For thereare no events and no adventures, no excitements and no sorrows, whichprevent us from getting hungry; the tyranny of our physical wants isstronger than any thing else.
"I would be obliged to you, madam," she said, "if you would bring me upsome breakfast."
"If I would! As often as you desire, my pretty young lady. Just give methe time to boil an egg, and to roast a cutlet, and I'll be up again."
Ordinarily sour-tempered, and as bitter as wormwood, Mrs. Chevassat haddisplayed all the amiability of which she was capable, hiding undera veil of tender sympathy the annoying eagerness of her eyes. Herhypocrisy was all wasted. The efforts she made were too manifest not toarouse the very worst suspicions.
"I am sure," thought Henrietta, "she is a bad woman."
Her suspicions were only increased when the worthy woman reappeared,bringing her breakfast, and setting it out on a little table before thefire, with all kinds of hideous compliments.
"You'll see how very well every thing is cooked, miss," she said.
Then, while Henrietta was eating, she sat down on a chair near thedoor, and commenced talking, without ever stopping. To hear her, thenew tenant ought to thank her guardian angel who had brought her to thischarming house, No. 23 Water St
reet, where there was such a conciergewith such a wife!--he, the best of men; she, a real treasure ofkindness, gentleness, and, above all, discretion.
"Quite an exceptional house," she added, "as far as the tenants areconcerned. They are all people of notoriously high standing, from thewealthy old ladies in the best story to Papa Ravinet in the fourthstory, and not excepting the young ladies who live in the small rooms inthe back building."
Then, having passed them all in review, she began praising M. de Brevan,whom she always called M. Maxime. She declared that he had won her heartfrom the beginning, when he had first come to the house, day beforeyesterday, to engage the room. She had never seen a more perfectgentleman, so kind, so polite, and so liberal! With her greatexperience, she had at once recognized in him one of those men whoseem to be born expressly for the purpose of inspiring the most violentpassions, and of securing the most lasting attachments.
Besides, she added with a hideous smile, she was sure of his deepinterest in her pretty new tenant; and she was so well convinced ofthis, that she would be happy to devote herself to her service, evenwithout any prospect of payment.
This did not prevent her from saying to Henrietta, as soon as she hadfinished her breakfast,--
"You owe me two francs, miss; and, if you would like it, I can board youfor five francs a day."
Thereupon she went into a lively discussion to show that this would beon her part a mere act of kindness, because, considering how dear everything was, she would most assuredly lose.
But Henrietta stopped her. Drawing from her purse a twenty-franc piece,she said,--
"Make yourself paid, madam."
This was evidently not what the estimable woman expected; for she drewback with an air of offended dignity, and protested,--
"What do you take me to be, miss? Do you think me capable of asking forpayment?"
And, shrugging her shoulders, she added,--
"Besides, does not all that regards your expenses concern M. Maxime?"
Thereupon she quickly folded the napkin, took the plates, anddisappeared. Henrietta did not know what to think of it. She could notdoubt that this Megsera pursued some mysterious aim with all her foolishtalk; but she could not possibly guess what that aim could be. And stillthat was not all that kept her thoughts busy. What frightened hermost of all was the feeling that she was evidently altogether at M.de Brevan's mercy. All her possessions amounted to about two hundredfrancs. She was in want of every thing, of the most indispensablearticles: she had not another dress, nor another petticoat. Why had notM. de Brevan thought of that beforehand? Was he waiting for her to tellhim of her distress, and to ask him for money? She could not think so,and she attributed his neglect to his excitement, thinking that he wouldno doubt come soon to ask how she was, and place himself at her service.
But the day passed away slowly, and night came; but he did not appear.What did this mean? What unforeseen event could have happened?what misfortune could have befallen him? Torn by a thousand wildapprehensions, Henrietta was more than once on the point of going to hishouse.
It was not before two o'clock on the next day that he appeared at last,affecting an easy air, but evidently very much embarrassed. If he didnot come the night before, he said, it was because he was sure theCountess Sarah had him watched. The flight of the daughter of CountVille-Handry was known all over Paris, and he was suspected of havingaided and abetted her: so they had told him, he said, at his club. Healso added that it would be imprudent in him to stay longer; and heleft again, without having said a word to Henrietta, and without havingapparently noticed her destitution.
And thus, for three days, he only came, to disappear almost instantly.
He always came painfully embarrassed, as if he had something veryimportant to tell her; then his brow clouded over; and he went awaysuddenly, without having said any thing.
Henrietta, tortured by terrible doubts, felt unable to endure thisatrocious uncertainty any longer. She determined to force an explanationwhen, on the fourth day, M. de Brevan came in, evidently under theinfluence of some terrible determination. As soon as he had entered, helocked the door, and said in a hoarse voice,--
"I must speak to you, madam, yes, I must!"
He was deadly pale; his white lips trembled; and his eyes shone witha fearful light, like those of a man who might have sought courage instrong drink.
"I am ready to listen," replied the poor girl, all trembling.
He hesitated again for a moment; then overcoming his reluctance,apparently by a great effort, he said,--
"Well, I wish to ask you if you have ever suspected what my real reasonswere for assisting you to escape?"
"I think, sir, you have acted from kind pity for me, and also fromfriendship for M. Daniel Champcey."
"No! You are entirely mistaken."
She drew back instinctively, uttering only a low, "Ah!"
Pale as he had been, M. de Brevan had become crimson.
"Have you really noticed nothing? Are you really not aware that I loveyou?"
She could understand any thing but this, the unfortunate girl; any thingbut such infamy, such an incredible insult! M. de Brevan must be eitherdrunk or mad.
"Leave me, sir!" she said peremptorily, but with a voice trembling withindignation.
But he advanced towards her with open arms, and went on,--
"Yes, I love you madly, and for a long time,--ever since the first day Isaw you."
Henrietta, however, had swiftly moved aside, and opened the window.
"If you advance another step, I shall cry for help."
He stopped, and, changing his tone, said to her,--
"Ah! You refuse? Well, what are you hoping for? For Daniel's return?Don't you know that he loves Sarah?"
"Ah! you abuse my forlorn condition infamously!" broke in the younggirl. And, as he still insisted, she added,--
"Why don't you go, coward? Why don't you go, wretched man? Must I call?"
He was frightened, backed to the door, and half opened it; then hesaid,--
"You refuse me to-day; but, before the month is over, you will beg me tocome to you. You are ruined; and I alone can rescue you."
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