by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER VII. ANOTHER SECRET.
The following scene took place a few days after the abduction of RosePompon by Ninny Moulin. Mdlle. de Cardoville was seated in a dreamymood, in her cabinet, which was hung with green silk, and furnishedwith an ebony library, ornamented with large bronze caryatides. By somesignificant signs, one could perceive that Mdlle. de Cardoville hadsought in the fine airs some relief from sad and serious thoughts.Near an open piano, was a harp, placed before a music-stand. A littlefurther, on a table covered with boxes of oil and water-color, wereseveral brilliant sketches. Most of them represented Asiatic scenes,lighted by the fires of an oriental sun. Faithful to her fancy ofdressing herself at home in a picturesque style, Mademoiselle deCardoville resembled that day one of those proud portraits of Velasquez,with stern and noble aspect. Her gown was of black moire, with wideswelling petticoat, long waist, and sleeve slashed with rose-coloredsatin, fastened together with jet bugles. A very stiff, Spanish ruffreached almost to her chin, and was secured round her neck by a broadrose-colored ribbon. This frill, slightly heaving, sloped down as far asthe graceful swell of the rose-colored stomacher, laced with strings ofjet beads, and terminating in a point at the waist. It is impossible toexpress how well this black garment, with its ample and shining folds,relieved with rose-color and brilliant jet, skin, harmonized with theshining whiteness of Adrienne's and the golden flood of her beautifulhair, whose long, silky ringlets descended to her bosom.
The young lady was in a half-recumbent posture, with her elbow restingon a couch covered with green silk. The back of this piece of furniture,which was pretty high towards the fireplace, sloped down insensiblytowards the foot. A sort of light, semicircular trellis-work, in gildedbronze, raised about five feet from the ground, covered with floweringplants (the admirable passiflores quadrangulatoe, planted in a deepebony box, from the centre of which rose the trellis-work), surroundedthis couch with a sort of screen of foliage enamelled with largeflowers, green without, purple within, and as brilliant as those flowersof porcelain, which we receive from Saxony. A sweet, faint perfume,like a faint mixture of jasmine with violet, rose from the cup of theseadmirable passiflores. Strange enough, a large quantity of new books(Adrienne having bought them since the last two or three days) andquite fresh-cut, were scattered around her on the couch, and on a littletable; whilst other larger volumes, amongst which were several atlasesfull of engravings, were piled on the sumptuous fur, which formedthe carpet beneath the divan. Stranger still, these books, though ofdifferent forms, and by different authors, alt treated of the samesubject. The posture of Adrienne revealed a sort of melancholydejection. Her cheeks were pale; a light blue circle surrounded herlarge, black eyes, now half-closed, and gave to them an expression ofprofound grief. Many causes contributed to this sorrow--amongst others,the disappearance of Mother Bunch. Without absolutely believing theperfidious insinuations of Rodin, who gave her to understand that, inthe fear of being unmasked by him, the hunchback had not dared to remainin the house, Adrienne felt a cruel sinking of the heart, when shethought how this young girl, in whom she had had so much confidence, hadfled from her almost sisterly hospitality, without even uttering a wordof gratitude; for care had been taken not to show her the few lineswritten by the poor needlewoman to her benefactress, just before herdeparture.
She had only been told of the note of five hundred francs found on herdesk; and this last inexplicable circumstance had contributed to awakencruel suspicions in the breast of Mdlle. de Cardoville. She already feltthe fatal effects of that mistrust of everything and everybody, whichRodin had recommended to her; and this sentiment of suspicion andreserve had the more tendency to become powerful, that, for the firsttime in her life, Mdlle. de Cardoville, until then a stranger to alldeception, had a secret to conceal--a secret, which was equally herhappiness, her shame, and her torment. Half-recumbent on her divan,pensive and depressed, Adrienne pursued, with a mind often absent, oneof her newly purchased books. Suddenly, she uttered an exclamation ofsurprise; the hand which held the book trembled like a leaf, and fromthat moment she appeared to read with passionate attention and devouringcuriosity. Soon, her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, her smileassumed ineffable sweetness, and she seemed at once proud, happy,delighted--but, as she turned over the last page, her countenanceexpressed disappointment and chagrin. Then she recommenced this reading,which had occasioned her such sweet emotion, and this time she read withthe most deliberate slowness, going over each page twice, and spelling,as it were, every line, every word. From time to time, she paused,and in a pensive mood, with her forehead leaning on her fair hand, sheseemed to reflect, in a deep reverie, on the passages she had read withsuch tender and religious love. Arriving at a passage which so affectedher, that a tear started in her eye, she suddenly turned the volume,to see on the cover the name of the author. For a few seconds, shecontemplated this name with a singular expression of gratitude, andcould not forbear raising to her rosy lips the page on which it wasprinted. After reading many times over the lines with which she hadbeen so much struck, forgetting, no doubt, the letter in the spirit, shebegan to reflect so deeply, that the book glided from her hand, andfell upon the carpet. During the course of this reverie, the eyes of theyoung girl rested, at first mechanically, upon an admirable bas-relief,placed on an ebony stand, near one of the windows. This magnificentbronze, recently cast after a plaster copy from the antique, representedthe triumph of the Indian Bacchus. Never, perhaps, had Grecian artattained such rare perfection. The youthful conqueror, half clad in alion's skin, which displayed his juvenile grace and charming purityof form shone with divine beauty. Standing up in a car, drawn by twotigers, with an air at once gentle and proud, he leaned with one handupon a thyrsus, and with the other guided his savage steeds in tranquilmajesty. By this rare mixture of grace, vigor, and serenity, it was easyto recognize the hero who had waged such desperate combats with men andwith monsters of the forest. Thanks to the brownish tone of the figure,the light, falling from one side of the sculpture, admirably displayedthe form of the youthful god, which, carved in relievo, and thusillumined, shone like a magnificent statue of pale gold upon the darkfretted background of the bronze.
When Adrienne's look first rested on this rare assemblage of divineperfections, her countenance was calm and thoughtful. But thiscontemplation, at first mechanical, became gradually more and moreattentive and conscious, and the young lady, rising suddenly from herseat, slowly approached the bas-relief, as if yielding to the invincibleattraction of an extraordinary resemblance. Then a slight blush appearedon the cheeks of Mdlle. de Cardoville, stole across her face, and spreadrapidly to her neck and forehead. She approached still closer, threwround a hasty glance, as if half-ashamed, or as if she had feared tobe surprised in a blamable action, and twice stretched forth her hand,trembling with emotion, to touch with the tips of her charming fingersthe bronze forehead of the Indian Bacchus. And twice she stopped short,with a kind of modest hesitation. At last, the temptation became toostrong for her. She yielded to it; and her alabaster finger, afterdelicately caressing the features of pale gold, was pressed more boldlyfor an instant on the pure and noble brow of the youthful god. At thispressure, though so slight, Adrienne seemed to feel a sort of electricshock; she trembled in every limb, her eyes languished, and, afterswimming for an instant in their humid and brilliant crystal, wereraised, half-closed, to heaven. Then her head was thrown a little wayback, her knees bent insensibly, her rosy lips were half opened, as ifto give a passage to her heated breath, for her bosom heaved violently,as thought youth and life had accelerated the pulsations of her heart,and made her blood boil in her veins. Finally, the burning cheeks ofAdrienne betrayed a species of ecstasy, timid and passionate, chaste andsensual, the expression of which was ineffably touching.
An affecting spectacle indeed is that of a young maiden, whose modestbrow flushes with the first fires of a secret passion. Does not theCreator of all things animate the body as well as the soul, with aspark of divine energy? Should He not be re
ligiously glorified in theintellect as in the senses, with which He has so paternally endowed Hiscreatures? They are impious blasphemers who seek to stifle the celestialsenses, instead of guiding and harmonizing them in their divine flight.Suddenly, Mdlle. de Cardoville started, raised her head, opened her eyesas if awakening from a dream, withdrew abruptly from the sculptures,and walked several times up and down the room in an agitated manner,pressing her burning hands to her forehead. Then, falling, as it were,exhausted on her seat, her tears flowed in abundance. The most bittergrief was visible in her features, which revealed the fatal strugglethat was passing within her. By degrees, her tears ceased. To thiscrisis of painful dejection succeeded a species of violent scorn andindignation against herself, which were expressed by these words thatescaped her: "For the first time in my life, I feel weak and cowardly.Oh yes! cowardly--very cowardly!"
The sound of a door opening and closing, roused Mdlle. de Cardovillefrom her bitter reflections. Georgette entered the room, and said to hermistress: "Madame, can you receive the Count de Montbron?"
Adrienne, too well-bred to exhibit before her women the sort ofimpatience occasioned by this unseasonable visit, said to Georgette:"You told M. de Montbron that I was at home?"
"Yes, Madame."
"Then beg him to walk in." Though Mdlle. de Cardoville felt at thatmoment much vexed at the arrival of Montbron, let us hasten to say,that she entertained for him an almost filial affection, and a profoundesteem, though, by a not unfrequent contrast, she almost always differedfrom him in opinion. Hence arose, when Mdlle. de Cardoville had nothingto disturb her mind, the most gay and animated discussions, in which M.de Montbron, notwithstanding his mocking and sceptical humor, hislong experience, his rare knowledge of men and things, his fashionabletraining, in a word, had not always the advantage, and even acknowledgedhis defeat gayly enough. Thus, to give an idea of the differences ofthe count and Adrienne, before, as he would say laughingly, he had madehimself her accomplice, he had always opposed (from other motives thanthose alleged by Madame de Saint-Dizier) Adrienne's wish to live aloneand in her own way; whilst Rodin, on the contrary, by investingthe young girl's resolve on this subject with an ideal grandeur ofintention, had acquired a species of influence over her. M. de Montbron,now upwards of sixty years of age, had been a most prominent characterduring the Directory, Consulate, and the Empire. His prodigal style ofliving, his wit, his gayety, his duels, his amours, and his losses atplay, had given him a leading influence in the best society of his day;while his character, his kind-heartedness, and liberality, secured himthe lasting friendship of nearly all his female friends. At the timewe now present him to the reader, he was still a great gambler; and,moreover, a very lucky gambler. He had, as we have stated, a very lordlystyle; his manners were decided, but polished and lively; his habitswere such as belong to the higher classes of society, though he could beexcessively sharp towards people whom he did not like. He was tall andthin, and his slim figure gave him an almost youthful appearance; hisforehead was high, and a little bald; his hair was gray and short, hiscountenance long, his nose aquiline, his eyes blue and piercing, and histeeth white, and still very good.
"The Count de Montbron," said Georgette, opening the door. The countentered, and hastened to kiss Adrienne's hand, with a sort of paternalfamiliarity.
"Come!" said M. de Montbron to himself; "let us try to discover thetruth I am in search of, that we may escape a great misfortune."