by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XLVIII. THE DISCOVERY.
A little while before Florine made up her mind to atone for her shamefulbreach of confidence, Mother Bunch had returned from the factory, afteraccomplishing to the end her painful task. After a long interview withAngela, struck, like Agricola, with the ingenuous grace, sense, andgoodness, with which the young girl was endowed, Mother Bunch had thecourageous frankness to advise the smith to enter into this marriage.The following scene took place whilst Florine, still occupied in readingthe journal, had not yet taken the praiseworthy resolution of replacingit. It was ten o'clock at night. The workgirl, returned to CardovilleHouse, had just entered her chamber. Worn out by so many emotions, shehad thrown herself into a chair. The deepest silence reigned in thehouse. It was now and then interrupted by the soughing of a high wind,which raged without and shook the trees in the garden. A single candlelighted the room, which was papered with dark green. That peculiar tint,and the hunchback's black dress, increased her apparent paleness. Seatedin an arm-chair by the side of the fire, with her head resting upon herbosom, her hands crossed upon her knees, the work-girl's countenancewas melancholy and resigned; on it was visible the austere satisfactionwhich is felt by the consciousness of a duty well performed.
Like all those who, brought up in the merciless school of misfortune, nolonger exaggerate the sentiment of sorrow, too familiar and assiduousa guest to be treated as a stranger, Mother Bunch was incapable oflong yielding to idle regrets and vain despair, with regard to whatwas already past. Beyond doubt, the blow had been sudden, dreadful;doubtless it must leave a long and painful remembrance in the sufferer'ssoul; but it was soon to pass, as it were, into that chronic state ofpain-durance, which had become almost an integral part of her life.And then this noble creature, so indulgent to fate, found still someconsolations in the intensity of her bitter pain. She had been deeplytouched by the marks of affection shown her by Angela, Agricola'sintended: and she had felt a species of pride of the heart, inperceiving with what blind confidence, with what ineffable joy, thesmith accepted the favorable presentiments which seemed to consecratehis happiness. Mother Bunch also said to herself: "At least, henceforthI shall not be agitated by hopes, or rather by suppositions asridiculous as they were senseless. Agricola's marriage puts a term toall the miserable reveries of my poor head."
Finally, she found a real and deep consolation in the certainty thatshe had been able to go through this terrible trial, and conceal fromAgricola the love she felt for him. We know how formidable to thisunfortunate being were those ideas of ridicule and shame, which shebelieved would attach to the discovery of her mad passion. After havingremained for some time absorbed in thought, Mother Bunch rose, andadvanced slowly towards the desk.
"My only recompense," said she, as she prepared the materials forwriting, "will be to entrust the mute witness of my pains with this newgrief. I shall at least have kept the promise that I made to myself.Believing, from the bottom of my soul, that this girl is able to makeAgricola happy, I told him so with the utmost sincerity. One day, a longtime hence, when I shall read over these pages, I shall perhaps find inthat a compensation for all that I now suffer."
So saying, she drew the box from the pigeon-hole. Not finding hermanuscript, she uttered a cry of surprise; but, what was her alarm, whenshe perceived a letter to her address in the place of the journal! Shebecame deadly pale; her knees trembled; she almost fainted away. But herincreasing terror gave her a fictitious energy, and she had the strengthto break the seal. A bank-note for five hundred francs fell from theletter on the table, and Mother Bunch read as follows:
"Mademoiselle,--There is something so original and amusing in reading inyour memoirs the story of your love for Agricola, that it is impossibleto resist the pleasure of acquainting him with the extent of it, ofwhich he is doubtless ignorant, but to which he cannot fail to showhimself sensible. Advantage will be taken to forward it to a multitudeof other persons, who might, perhaps, otherwise be unfortunatelydeprived of the amusing contents of your diary. Should copies andextracts not be sufficient, we will have it printed, as one cannottoo much diffuse such things. Some will weep--others will laugh--whatappears superb to one set of people, will seem ridiculous to another,such is life--but your journal will surely make a great sensation. Asyou are capable of wishing to avoid your triumph, and as you were onlycovered with rags when you were received, out of charity into thishouse, where you wish to figure as the great lady, which does not suityour shape for more reasons than one, we enclose in the present fivehundred francs to pay for your day-book, and prevent your being withoutresources, in case you should be modest enough to shrink from thecongratulations which await you, certain to overwhelm you by to-morrow,for, at this hour, your journal is already in circulation.
"One of your brethren,
"A REAL MOTHER BUNCH."
The vulgar, mocking, and insolent tone of this letter, which waspurposely written in the character of a jealous lackey, dissatisfiedwith the admission of the unfortunate creature into the house, hadbeen calculated with infernal skill and was sure to produce the effectintended.
"Oh, good heaven!" were the only words the unfortunate girl couldpronounce, in her stupor and alarm.
Now, if we remember in what passionate terms she had expressed her lovefor her adopted brother, if we recall many passages of this manuscript,in which she revealed the painful wounds often inflicted on her byAgricola without knowing it, and if we consider how great was herterror of ridicule, we shall understand her mad despair on reading thisinfamous letter. Mother Bunch did not think for a moment of all thenoble words and touching narratives contained in her journal. The onehorrible idea which weighed down the troubled spirit of the unfortunatecreature, was, that on the morrow Agricola, Mdlle. de Cardoville, and aninsolent and mocking crowd, would be informed of this ridiculous love,which would, she imagined, crush her with shame and confusion. This newblow was so stunning, that the recipient staggered a moment beneath theunexpected shock. For some minutes, she remained completely inertand helpless; then, upon reflection, she suddenly felt conscious of aterrible necessity.
This hospitable mansion, where she had found a sure refuge after so manymisfortunes, must be left for ever. The trembling timidity and sensitivedelicacy of the poor creature did not permit her to remain a minute morein this dwelling, where the most secret recesses of her soul had beenlaid open, profaned, and exposed no doubt to sarcasm and contempt.She did not think of demanding justice and revenge from Mdlle. deCardoville. To cause a ferment of trouble and irritation in this house,at the moment of quitting it, would have appeared to her ingratitudetowards her benefactress. She did not seek to discover the author orthe motive of this odious robbery and insulting letter. Why should she,resolved, as she was, to fly from the humiliations with which she wasthreatened? She had a vague notion (as indeed was intended), thatthis infamy might be the work of some of the servants, jealous of theaffectionate deference shown her by Mdlle. de Cardoville--and thisthought filled her with despair. Those pages--so painfully confidential,which she would not have ventured to impart to the most tender andindulgent mother, because, written as it were with her heart's blood,they painted with too cruel a fidelity the thousand secret wounds of hersoul--those pages were to serve, perhaps served even now, for the jestand laughing-stock of the lackeys of the mansion.
The money which accompanied this letter, and the insulting way in whichit was offered, rather tended to confirm her suspicions. It was intendedthat the fear of misery should not be the obstacle of her leaving thehouse. The workgirl's resolution was soon taken, with that calm and firmresignation which was familiar to her. She rose, with somewhat brightand haggard eyes, but without a tear in them. Since the day before, shehad wept too much. With a trembling, icy hand, she wrote these wordson a paper, which she left by the side of the bank-note: "May Mdlle. deCardoville be blessed for all that she has done for me, and forgive mefor having left her house, where I can remain no longer."
Having written this, Mother Bu
nch threw into the fire the infamousletter, which seemed to burn her hands. Then, taking a last look at herchamber, furnished so comfortably, she shuddered involuntarily as shethought of the misery that awaited her--a misery more frightful thanthat of which she had already been the victim, for Agricola's motherhad departed with Gabriel, and the unfortunate girl could no longer, asformerly, be consoled in her distress by the almost maternal affectionof Dagobert's wife. To live alone--quite alone--with the thought thather fatal passion for Agricola was laughed at by everybody, perhaps evenby himself--such were the future prospects of the hunchback. This futureterrified her--a dark desire crossed her mind--she shuddered, and anexpression of bitter joy contracted her features. Resolved to go, shemade some steps towards the door, when, in passing before the fireplace,she saw her own image in the glass, pale as death, and clothed in black;then it struck her that she wore a dress which did not belong to her,and she remembered a passage in the letter, which alluded to the ragsshe had on before she entered that house. "True!" said she, with a heartbreaking smile, as she looked at her black garments; "they would call mea thief."
And, taking her candle, she entered the little dressing room, and put onagain the poor, old clothes, which she had preserved as a sort of piousremembrance of her misfortunes. Only at this instant did her tears flowabundantly. She wept--not in sorrow at resuming the garb of misery, butin gratitude; for all the comforts around her, to which she was aboutto bid an eternal adieu, recalled to her mind at every step the delicacyand goodness of Mdlle. de Cardoville: therefore, yielding to an almostinvoluntary impulse, after she had put on her poor, old clothes, shefell on her knees in the middle of the room, and, addressing herselfin thought to Mdlle. de Cardoville, she exclaimed, in a voice broken byconvulsive sobs: "Adieu! oh, for ever, adieu!--You, that deigned to callme friend--and sister!"
Suddenly, she rose in alarm; she heard steps in the corridor, which ledfrom the garden to one of the doors of her apartment, the other dooropening into the parlor. It was Florine, who (alas! too late) wasbringing back the manuscript. Alarmed at this noise of footsteps, andbelieving herself already the laughing-stock of the house. Mother Bunchrushed from the room, hastened across the parlor, gained the court-yard,and knocked at the window of the porter's lodge. The house-door opened,and immediately closed upon her. And so the workgirl left CardovilleHouse.
Adrienne was thus deprived of a devoted, faithful, and vigilantguardian. Rodin was delivered from an active and sagacious antagonist,whom he had always, with good reason, feared. Having, as we have seen,guessed Mother Bunch's love for Agricola, and knowing her to be apoet, the Jesuit supposed, logically enough that she must have writtensecretly some verses inspired by this fatal and concealed passion. Hencethe order given to Florine, to try and discover some written evidenceof this love; hence this letter, so horribly effective in its coarseribaldry, of which, it must be observed, Florine did not know thecontents, having received it after communicating a summary of thecontents of the manuscript, which, the first time, she had only glancedthrough without taking it away. We have said, that Florine, yieldingtoo late to a generous repentance, had reached Mother Bunch's apartment,just as the latter quitted the house in consternation.
Perceiving a light in the dressing-room, the waiting-maid hastenedthither. She saw upon a chair the black dress that Mother Bunch had justtaken off, and, a few steps further, the shabby little trunk, open andempty, in which she had hitherto preserved her poor garments. Florine'sheart sank within her; she ran to the secretary; the disorder of thecard-board boxes, the note for five hundred francs left by the sideof the two lines written to Mdlle. de Cardoville, all proved that herobedience to Rodin's orders had borne fatal fruit, and that Mother Bunchhad quitted the house for ever. Finding the uselessness of her tardyresolution, Florine resigned herself with a sigh to the necessity ofdelivering the manuscript to Rodin. Then, forced by the fatality of hermiserable position to console herself for evil by evil, she consideredthat the hunchback's departure would at least make her treachery lessdangerous.
Two days after these events, Adrienne received the following note fromRodin, in answer to a letter she had written him, to inform him of thework-girl's inexplicable departure:
"MY DEAR YOUNG LADY;--Obliged to set out this morning for the factory ofthe excellent M. Hardy, whither I am called by an affair of importance,it is impossible for me to pay you my humble respects. You ask me what Ithink of the disappearance of this poor girl? I really do not know. Thefuture will, I doubt not, explain all to her advantage. Only, rememberwhat I told you at Dr. Baleinier's, with regard to a certain society andits secret emissaries, with whom it has the art of surrounding thoseit wishes to keep a watch on. I accuse no one; but let us only recallfacts. This poor girl accused me; and I am, as you know, the mostfaithful of your servants. She possessed nothing; and yet five hundredfrancs were found in her secretary. You loaded her with favors; andshe leaves your house without even explaining the cause of thisextraordinary flight. I draw no conclusion, my dear young lady; I amalways unwilling to condemn without evidence; but reflect upon all this,and be on your guard, for you have perhaps escaped a great danger.Be more circumspect and suspicious than ever; such at least is therespectful advice of your most obedient, humble servant,
"Rodin."