XVIII.
At last, then, the truth had come out!
Overcome with horror, her hair standing at an end, and shaken by nervousspasms, poor Henrietta was trying to measure the depth of the abyss intowhich she had thrown herself.
Voluntarily, and with the simplicity of a child, she had walked into thepit which had been dug for her. But who, in her place, would not havetrusted? Who could have conceived such an idea? Who could have suspectedsuch monstrous rascality?
Ah! Now she understood but too well all the mysterious movements thathad so puzzled her in M. de Brevan. She saw how profound had been hiscalculations when he recommended her so urgently not to take her jewelswith her while escaping from her father's house, nor any objectof value; for, if she had had her jewelry, she would have been inpossession of a small fortune; she would have been independent, andabove want, at least for a couple of years.
But M. de Brevan wanted her to have nothing. He knew, the coward! withwhat crushing contempt she would reject his first proposals; but heflattered himself with the hope that isolation, fear, destitution wouldat last reduce her to submission, and enable him--
"It is too horrible," repeated the poor girl,--"too horrible!"
And this man had been Daniel's friend! And it was he to whom Daniel,at the moment of sailing, had intrusted his betrothed! What atrociousdeception! M. Thomas Elgin was no doubt a formidable bandit, faithlessand unscrupulous; but he was known as such: he was known to be capableof any thing, and thus people were on their guard. But this man!--ah, athousand times meaner and viler!--he had watched for a whole year, withsmiling face, for the hour of treachery; he had prepared a hideous crimeunder the veil of the noblest friendship!
Henrietta thought she could divine what was the traitor's final aim.In obtaining possession of her, he no doubt thought he would secure tohimself a large portion of Count Ville-Handry's immense fortune.
And hence, she continued in her meditations, hence the hatred betweenSir Thorn and M. de Brevan. They both coveted the same thing; and eachone trembled lest the other should first get hold of the treasure whichhe wanted to secure. The idea that the new countess was in complicitywith M. de Brevan did not enter Henrietta's mind. On the contrary, shethought they were enemies, and divided from each other by separate andopposite interests.
"Ah!" she said to herself, "they have one feeling, at all events, incommon; and that is hatred against me."
A few months ago, so fearful and so sudden a catastrophe would havecrushed Henrietta, in all probability. But she had endured so many blowsduring the past year, that she bore this also; for it is a fact that thehuman heart learns to bear grief as the body learns to endure fatigue.Moreover, she called in to her assistance a light shining high above allthis terrible darkness,--the remembrance of Daniel.
She had doubted him for an instant; but her faith had, after all,remained intact and perfect. Her reason told her, that, if he had reallyloved Sarah Brandon, her enemies, M. Elgin and M. de Brevan, would nothave taken such pains to make her believe it. She thought, therefore,she was quite certain that he would return to her with his heart devotedto her as when he left her.
But, great God! to think of the grief and the rage of this man, when heshould hear how wickedly and cowardly he had been betrayed by the manwhom he called his friend! He would know how to restore the count'sdaughter to her proper position, and how to avenge her.
"And I shall wait for him," she said, her teeth firmly set,--"I shallwait for him!"
How? She did not ask herself that question; for she was yet in thatfirst stage of enthusiasm, when we are full of heroic resolves which donot allow us to see the obstacles that are to be overcome. But shesoon learned to know the first difficulties in her way, thanks to DameChevassat, who brought her her dinner as the clock struck six, accordingto the agreement they had made.
The estimable lady had assumed a deeply grieved expression; you mighthave sworn she had tears in her eyes. In her sweetest voice, sheasked:--
"Well, well, my beautiful young lady; so you have quarrelled with ourdear M. Maxime?"
Henrietta was so sure of the uselessness of replying, and so fearful ofnew dangers, that she simply replied,--
"Yes, madam."
"I was afraid of it," replied the woman, "just from seeing him come downthe stairs with a face as long as that. You see, he is in love with you,that kind young man; and you may believe me when I tell you so, for Iknow what men are."
She expected an answer; for generally her eloquence was very effectivewith her tenants. But, as no reply came, she went on,--
"We must hope that the trouble will blow over."
"No!"
Looking at Mrs. Chevassat, one would have thought she was stunned.
"How savage you are!" she exclaimed at last. "Well, it is your lookout.Only I should like to know what you mean to do?"
"About what?"
"Why, about your board."
"I shall find the means, madam, you may be sure."
The old woman, however, who knew from experience what that cruel word,"living," sometimes means with poor forsaken girls, shook her headseriously, and answered,--
"So much the better; so much the better! Only I know you owe a good dealof money."
"Owe?"
"Why, yes! The furniture here has never been paid for."
"What? The furniture"--
"Of course, M. Maxime was going to pay for it; he has told me so. But ifyou fall out in this way--you understand, don't you?"
She hardly did understand such fearful infamy. Still Henrietta did notshow her indignation and surprise. She asked,--
"What did the furniture of this room cost? do you know?"
"I don't know. Something like five or six hundred francs, things are sodear now!" The whole was probably not worth a hundred and fifty or twohundred francs.
"Very well. I'll pay," said Henrietta. "The man will give me forty-eight hours' time, I presume?"
"Oh, certainly!"
As the poor girl was now quite sure that this honeyed Megsera wasemployed by M. de Brevan to watch her, she affected a perfectly calmair. When she had finished her dinner, she even insisted upon payingon the spot fifty francs, which she owed for the last few days, and forsome small purchases. But, when the old woman was gone, she sank into achair, and said,--
"I am lost!"
There was, in fact, no refuge for her, no help to be expected.
Should she return to her father, and implore the pity of his wife?Ah! death itself would be more tolerable than such a humiliation. Andbesides, in escaping from M. de Brevan, would she not fall into thehands of M. Elgin?
Should she seek assistance at the hands of some of the old familyfriends? But which?
In greater distress than the shipwrecked man who in vain examines theblank horizon, she looked around for some one to help her. She forcedher mind to recall all the people she had ever known. Alas! she knew,so to say, nobody. Since her mother had died, and she had been livingalone, no one seemed to have remembered her, unless for the purpose ofcalumniating her.
Her only friends, the only ones who had made her cause their own,the Duke and the Duchess of Champdoce, were in Italy, as she had beenassured.
"I can count upon nobody but myself," she repeated,--"myself, myself!"
Then rousing herself, she said, her heart swelling with emotion,--
"But never mind! I shall be saved!"
Her safety depended upon one single point: if she could manage to livetill she came of age, or till Daniel returned, all was right.
"Is it really so hard to live?" she thought. "The daughters of poorpeople, who are as completely forsaken as I am, nevertheless live. Whyshould not I live also?"
Why?
Because the children of poor people have served, so to say, from thecradle, an apprenticeship of poverty,--because they are not afraid of aday without work, or a day without bread,--because cruel experience hasarmed them for the struggle,--because, in fine, they know life, and theyk
now Paris,--because their industry is adapted to their wants, andthey have an innate capacity to obtain some advantage from every thing,thanks to their smartness, their enterprise, and their energy.
But Count Ville-Handry's only daughter--the heiress of many millions,brought up, so to say, in a hothouse, according to the stupid custom ofmodern society--knew nothing at all of life, of its bitter realities,its struggles, and its sufferings. She had nothing but courage.
"That is enough," she said to herself. "What we will do, we can do."
Thus resolved to seek aid from no one, she set to work examining hercondition and her resources.
As to objects of any value, she owned the cashmere which she hadwrapped around her when she fled, the dressing-case in her mother'stravelling-bag, a brooch, a watch, a pair of pretty ear-rings, and,lastly, two rings, which by some lucky accident she had forgotten totake off, one of which was of considerable value. All this, she thought,must have cost, at least, eight or nine thousand francs; but for howmuch would it sell? since she was resolved to sell it. This was thequestion on which her whole future depended.
But how could she dispose of these things? She wanted to have it allsettled, so as to get rid of this sense of uncertainty; she wanted,especially, to pay for the scanty, wretched furniture in her chamber.Whom could she ask to help her? For nothing in the world would she haveconfided in Mrs. Chevassat; for her instincts told her, that, if sheonce let that terrible woman see what were her necessities, she wouldbe bound hand and foot to her. She was thinking it out, when the ideaof the pawnbroker occurred to her. She had heard such men spoken of; butshe only knew that they kept places where poor people could get moneyupon depositing a pledge.
"That is the place I must go to," Henrietta said to herself.
But how was she to find one?
"Well, I'll find it some way," she said.
So she went down, to Mrs. Chevassat's great astonishment, but withoutanswering her questions, where she was going to in such a hurry.
Having turned at the first corner, she went on at haphazard, walkingquite rapidly, and not minding the passers-by, entirely occupied inlooking at the houses and the sign-boards. But for more than an hour shewandered thus through all the small streets and alleys in those suburbs;she found nothing, and it was getting dark.
"And still I won't go home till I have found it," she said to herselfwrathfully.
This resolution gave her courage to go up to a policeman, and, crimsonlike a poppy, to ask him,--
"Will you be so kind, sir, as to tell me a pawnbroker's shop?"
The man looked with pity at the young girl, whose whole person exhaleda perfume of distinction and of candor, asking himself, perhaps, whatterrible misfortune could have reduced a lady like her to such a step;then he answered with a sigh,--
"There, madam, at the corner of the first street on the right, you willfind a loan office."
"Loan office?" These words suggested to Henrietta no clear idea. But itmattered not. She went on in feverish haste, recognized the house thathad been pointed out to her, went up stairs, and, pushing open a door,found herself in a large room, where some twenty people were standingabout, waiting.
On the right hand three or four clerks, shut off from the public by arailing breast-high, were writing down the names of the depositors, andcounting out money. Far back, a large opening was visible, where anotherclerk appeared from time to time, to take in the articles that werepawned. After waiting for five minutes, and without asking a questionfrom anybody, Henrietta understood the whole process. Trembling as ifshe had committed a crime, she went to the opening behind, and putupon the ledge one of her rings, the most valuable of the two. Then shewaited, not daring to look up; for it seemed to her as if all eyes wereupon her.
"One diamond ring!" cried the clerk. "Nine hundred francs. Whose is it?"
The large amount caused all to look around; and a big woman, but toowell dressed, and with a very impudent expression, said,--
"Oh, oh! The damsel dresses well!"
Crimson with shame, Henrietta had stepped up. She whispered,--
"It is my ring, sir."
The clerk looked at her, and then asked quite gently,--
"You have your papers?"
"Papers? What for?"
"The papers that establish your identity. Your passport, a receipt forrent, or any thing."
The whole company laughed at the ignorance of this girl. She stammeredout,--
"I have no such papers, sir."
"Then we can make no advance."
One more hope, her last, vanished thus. She held out her hand, saying,--
"Please give me back my ring."
But the clerk now laughed, and replied,--
"No, no, my dear! that can't be done. You shall have it back when youbring me the papers, or when you come accompanied by two merchants whoare known to us."
"But, sir"--
"That is so."
And, finding that he had lost time enough, he went on,--
"One velvet cloak! Thirty francs. Whose is it?"
Henrietta was rushing out, and down the stairs, pursued, as it seemed toher, by the cries of the crowd. How that clerk had looked at her! Did hethink she had stolen the ring? And what was to become of it? The policewould inquire; they would trace her out; and she would be carried backto her father's house, and given up to Sir Thorn. She could hardlykeep up until she reached Water Street; and there fatigue, fright,and excitement made her forget her resolutions. She confessed herdiscomfiture to Mrs. Chevassat.
The honest woman tried to look as grave as an attorney whom a greatclient consults, who has unwittingly stirred up a wasps' nest; and, whenher tenant had finished, she said in a voice apparently half drowned intears,--
"Poor little kitten, poor little innocent kitten!"
But, if she succeeded in giving to her face an expression of sinceresympathy, the greedy look in her eyes betrayed but too clearly herimmense satisfaction at seeing Henrietta at last at her feet.
"After all," she said, "you are prodigiously lucky in your misfortunes;for you are too imprudent in all conscience."
And, as the poor girl was not a little astonished at this, she wenton,--
"Yes, you ran a great risk; and I can easily prove it to you. Who areyou? Well, you need not turn pale that way: I don't ask any questions.But after all, if you carry your jewels yourself to the 'Uncle,' you go,so to say, and rush right into the lion's mouth. If they had arrestedyou when they saw you had no papers; if they had carried you before amagistrate--eh? Ah! my beautiful friend, you would have fared prettybadly, I dare say."
And then, changing her tone, she began scolding her beautiful young ladyfor having concealed her troubles from her. That was wrong; that hurther feelings. Why had she given her money last night? Did she ask formoney? Did she look like such a terrible creditor? She knew, God bethanked! what life was here below, and that we are bound to help oneanother. To be sure, there was that furniture dealer, who must be paid;but she would have been quite willing to make him wait; and why shouldhe not? She had got very different people to wait! Why, only last week,she had sent one of those men away, and a dressmaker into the bargain,who came to levy upon one of her tenants in the back building,--the verynicest, and prettiest, and best of them all.
Thus she discoursed and discoursed with amazing volubility, till atlast, when she thought she had made a sufficiently strong impression onher "poor little pussy-cat," she said,--
"But one can easily see, my dear young lady, that you are a mere child.Sell your poor little jewels! Why, that is murder, as long as there issome one at hand quite ready to do any thing for you."
At this sudden, but not altogether unexpected attack, Henriettatrembled.
"For I am sure," continued Mrs. Chevassat, "if it were only to beagreeable to you, he would give one of his arms, this poor M. Maxime."
Henrietta looked so peremptorily at her, that the worthy lady seemed tobe quite disconcerted.
"I forbid you," crie
d the young lady, with a voice trembling withindignation,--"I forbid you positively ever to mention his name!"
The woman shrugged her shoulders.
"As you like it," she answered.
And then, ready to change the conversation, she added,--
"Well, then, let us return to your ring. What _do_ you propose to do?"
"That is exactly why I came to you," replied Henrietta. "I do not knowwhat is to be done in such a case."
Mrs. Chevassat smiled, very much pleased.
"And you did very well to come to us," she said.
"Chevassat will go, take the charcoal-dealer and the grocer next doorwith him; and before going to bed you will have your money, I promiseyou! You see he understands pretty well how to make the clerks do theirduty, my Chevassat."
That evening the excellent man really condescended to go up stairs, andto bring Henrietta himself eight hundred and ninety-five francs.
He did not bring the whole nine hundred francs, he said; for, havingput his two neighbors to some inconvenience, he was bound, accordingto established usage, to invite them to take something. For himself,he had, of course, kept nothing,--oh, nothing at all! He could take hisoath upon that; for he preferred by far leaving that little matter tothe beautiful young lady's liberality.
"Here are ten francs," said Henrietta curtly, in order to make an end tohis endless talk.
Thus, with the few gold-pieces which she had found in her purse, thepoor girl had a capital of about a thousand francs in hand. How manydays, how many months, this sum would have secured to her, if thefurniture-dealer had not been there with his bill! He did not fail topresent himself next day, accompanied by Mrs. Chevassat. He asked forfive hundred and seventy-nine francs. Such a sum for a few second-handpieces of furniture which adorned that wretched garret! It was a clearswindle, and the impudence so great, that Henrietta was overwhelmed. Butstill she paid.
When he was gone, she sadly counted from one hand into the otherthe twenty-three gold-pieces that were left, when suddenly a thoughtoccurred to her, that might have saved her, if she had followed it out.
It was the thought of leaving the house by stealth, of going to thestation of the Orleans Railway, and of taking the first train for thehome of Daniel's aunt. Alas! she was content with writing to her, andremained.
La clique dorée. English Page 18