CHAPTER XLIII
THE EAGLE VISITS THE DOVES IN THEIR NEST
Alphonsina--only living property of Aurora and Clotilde--was called uponto light a fire in the little parlor. Elsewhere, although the day wasdeclining, few persons felt such a need; but in No. 19 rue Bienvillethere were two chilling influences combined requiring an artificialoffset. One was the ground under the floor, which was only three inchesdistant, and permanently saturated with water; the other was despair.
Before this fire the two ladies sat down together like watchers, in thatsilence and vacuity of mind which come after an exhaustive struggleending in the recognition of the inevitable; a torpor of thought, astupefaction of feeling, a purely negative state of joylessness sequentto the positive state of anguish. They were now both hungry, but in wantof some present friend acquainted with the motions of mental distresswho could guess this fact and press them to eat. By their eyes it wasplain they had been weeping much; by the subdued tone, too, of theirshort and infrequent speeches.
Alphonsina, having made the fire, went out with a bundle. It wasAurora's last good dress. She was going to try to sell it.
"It ought not to be so hard," began Clotilde, in a quiet manner ofcontemplating some one else's difficulty, but paused with the sayinguncompleted, and sighed under her breath.
"But it _is_ so hard," responded Aurora.
"No, it ought not to be so hard--"
"How, not so hard?"
"It is not so hard to live," said Clotilde; "but it is hard to beladies. You understand--" she knit her fingers, dropped them into herlap and turned her eyes toward Aurora, who responded with the samemotions, adding the crossing of her silk-stockinged ankles beforethe fire.
"No," said Aurora, with a scintillation of irrepressible mischief in hereyes.
"After all," pursued Clotilde, "what troubles us is not how to make aliving, but how to get a living without making it."
"Ah! that would be magnificent!" said Aurora, and then added, moresoberly; "but we are compelled to make a living."
"No."
"No-o? Ah! what do you mean with your 'no'?"
"I mean it is just the contrary; we are compelled not to make a living.Look at me: I can cook, but I must not cook; I am skillful with theneedle, but I must not take in sewing; I could keep accounts; I couldnurse the sick; but I must not. I could be a confectioner, a milliner,a dressmaker, a vest-maker, a cleaner of gloves and laces, a dyer, abird-seller, a mattress-maker, an upholsterer, a dancing-teacher, aflorist--"
"Oh!" softly exclaimed Aurora, in English, "you could be--you knoww'ad?--an egcellen' drug-cl'--ah, ha, ha!"
"Now--"
But the threatened irruption was averted by a look of tender apologyfrom Aurora, in reply to one of martyrdom from Clotilde.
"My angel daughter," said Aurora, "if society has decreed that ladiesmust be ladies, then that is our first duty; our second is to live. Doyou not see why it is that this practical world does not permit ladiesto make a living? Because if they could, none of them would ever consentto be married. Ha! women talk about marrying for love; but society istoo sharp to trust them, yet! It makes it _necessary_ to marry. I willtell you the honest truth; some days when I get very, very hungry, andwe have nothing but rice--all because we are ladies without maleprotectors--I think society could drive even me to marriage!--for yoursake, though, darling; of course, only for your sake!"
"Never!" replied Clotilde; "for my sake, never; for your own sake if youchoose. I should not care. I should be glad to see you do so if it wouldmake you happy; but never for my sake and never for hunger's sake; butfor love's sake, yes; and God bless thee, pretty maman."
"Clotilde, dear," said the unconscionable widow, "let me assure you,once for all,--starvation is preferable. I mean for me, you understand,simply for me; that is my feeling on the subject."
Clotilde turned her saddened eyes with a steady scrutiny upon herdeceiver, who gazed upward in apparently unconscious reverie, and sighedsoftly as she laid her head upon the high chair-back and stretchedout her feet.
"I wish Alphonsina would come back," she said. "Ah!" she added, hearinga footfall on the step outside the street door, "there she is."
She arose and drew the bolt. Unseen to her, the person whose footstepsshe had heard stood upon the doorstep with a hand lifted to knock, butpausing to "makeup his mind." He heard the bolt shoot back, recognizedthe nature of the mistake, and, feeling that here again he was robbed ofvolition, rapped.
"That is not Alphonsina!"
The two ladies looked at each other and turned pale.
"But you must open it," whispered Clotilde, half rising.
Aurora opened the door, and changed from white to crimson. Clotilde roseup quickly. The gentleman lifted his hat.
"Madame Nancanou."
"M. Grandissime?"
"Oui, Madame."
For once, Aurora was in an uncontrollable flutter. She stammered, losther breath, and even spoke worse French than she needed to have done.
"Be pl--pleased, sir--to enter. Clotilde, my daughter--MonsieurGrandissime. P-please be seated, sir. Monsieur Grandissime,"--shedropped into a chair with an air of vivacity pitiful to behold,--"Isuppose you have come for the rent." She blushed even more violentlythan before, and her hand stole upward upon her heart to stay itsviolent beating. "Clotilde, dear, I should be glad if you would put thefire before the screen; it is so much too warm." She pushed her chairback and shaded her face with her hand. "I think the warmer is growingweather outside, is it--is it not?"
The struggles of a wounded bird could not have been more piteous.Monsieur Grandissime sought to speak. Clotilde, too, nerved by the sightof her mother's embarrassment, came to her support, and she and thevisitor spoke in one breath.
"Maman, if Monsieur--pardon--"
"Madame Nancanou, the--pardon, Mademoiselle--"
"I have presumed to call upon you," resumed M. Grandissime, addressinghimself now to both ladies at once, "to see if I may enlist you in apurely benevolent undertaking in the interest of one who has beenunfortunate--a common acquaintance--"
"Common acquaint--" interrupted Aurora, with a hostile lighting of hereyes.
"I believe so--Professor Frowenfeld." M. Grandissme saw Clotilde start,and in her turn falsely accuse the fire by shading her face: but it wasno time to stop. "Ladies," he continued, "please allow me, for the sakeof the good it may effect, to speak plainly and to the point."
The ladies expressed acquiescence by settling themselves to hear.
"Professor Frowenfeld had the extraordinary misfortune this morning toincur the suspicion of having entered a house for the purpose of--atleast, for a bad design--"
"He is innocent!" came from Clotilde, against her intention; Auroracovertly put out a hand, and Clotilde clutched it nervously.
"As, for example, robbery," said the self-recovered Aurora, ignoringClotilde's look of protestation.
"Call it so," responded M. Grandissime. "Have you heard at whose housethis was?"
"No, sir."
"It was at the house of Palmyre Philosophe."
"Palmyre Philosophe!" exclaimed Aurora, in low astonishment. Clotildelet slip, in a tone of indignant incredulity, a soft "Ah!" Auroraturned, and with some hope that M. Grandissime would not understand,ventured to say in Spanish, quietly:
"Come, come, this will never do."
And Clotilde replied in the same tongue:
"I know it, but he is innocent."
"Let us understand each other," said their visitor. "There is not thefaintest idea in the mind of one of us that Professor Frowenfeld isguilty of even an intention of wrong; otherwise I should not be here. Heis a man simply incapable of anything ignoble."
Clotilde was silent. Aurora answered promptly, with the air of one notto be excelled in generosity:
"Certainly, he is very incapabl'."
"Still," resumed the visitor, turning especially to Clotilde, "the knownfacts are these, according to his own statement: he was in the house ofPalmy
re on some legitimate business which, unhappily, he considershimself on some account bound not to disclose, and by some mistake ofPalmyre's old Congo woman, was set upon by her and wounded, barelyescaping with a whole skull into the street, an object of publicscandal. Laying aside the consideration of his feelings, his reputationis at stake and likely to be ruined unless the affair can be explainedclearly and satisfactorily, and at once, by his friends."
"And you undertake--" began Aurora.
"Madame Nancanou," said Honore Grandissime, leaning toward herearnestly, "you know--I must beg leave to appeal to your candor andconfidence--you know everything concerning Palmyre that I know. You knowme, and who I am; you know it is not for me to undertake to confer withPalmyre. I know, too, her old affection for you; she lives but a littleway down this street upon which you live; there is still daylightenough at your disposal; if you will, you can go to see her, and getfrom her a full and complete exoneration of this young man. She cannotcome to you; she is not fit to leave her room."
"Cannot leave her room?"
"I am, possibly, violating confidence in this disclosure, but it isunavoidable--you have to know: she is not fully recovered from apistol-shot wound received between two and three weeks ago."
"Pistol-shot wound!"
Both ladies started forward with open lips and exclamations ofamazement.
"Received from a third person--not myself and not ProfessorFrowenfeld--in a desperate attempt made by her to avenge the wrongswhich she has suffered, as you, Madam, as well as I, are aware, at thehands of--"
Aurora rose up with a majestic motion for the speaker to desist.
"If it is to mention the person of whom your allusion reminds me, thatyou have honored us with a call this evening, Monsieur--"
Her eyes were flashing as he had seen them flash in front of the Placed'Armes.
"I beg you not to suspect me of meanness," he answered, gently, and witha remonstrative smile. "I have been trying all day, in a way unnecessaryto explain, to be generous."
"I suppose you are incapabl'," said Aurora, following her doublemeaning with that combination of mischievous eyes and unsmiling face ofwhich she was master. She resumed her seat, adding: "It is generous foryou to admit that Palmyre has suffered wrongs."
"It _would_ be," he replied, "to attempt to repair them, seeing that Iam not responsible for them, but this I cannot claim yet to have done. Ihave asked of you, Madam, a generous act. I might ask another of youboth jointly. It is to permit me to say without offence, that there isone man, at least, of the name of Grandissime who views with regret andmortification the yet deeper wrongs which you are even now suffering."
"Oh!" exclaimed Aurora, inwardly ready for fierce tears, but with nooutward betrayal save a trifle too much grace and an over-bright smile,"Monsieur is much mistaken; we are quite comfortable and happy, wantingnothing, eh, Clotilde?--not even our rights, ha, ha!"
She rose and let Alphonsina in. The bundle was still in the negress'sarms. She passed through the room and disappeared in the direction ofthe kitchen.
"Oh! no, sir, not at all," repeated Aurora, as she once more sat down.
"You ought to want your rights," said M. Grandissime. "You ought to havethem."
"You think so?"
Aurora was really finding it hard to conceal her growing excitement,and turned, with a faint hope of relief, toward Clotilde.
Clotilde, looking only at their visitor, but feeling her mother'sglance, with a tremulous and half-choked voice, said eagerly:
"Then why do you not give them to us?"
"Ah!" interposed Aurora, "we shall get them to-morrow, when the sheriffcomes."
And, thereupon what did Clotilde do but sit bolt upright, with her handsin her lap, and let the tears roll, tear after tear, down her cheeks.
"Yes, Monsieur," said Aurora, smiling still, "those that you see arereally tears. Ha, ha, ha! excuse me, I really have to laugh; for I justhappened to remember our meeting at the masked ball last September. Wehad such a pleasant evening and were so much indebted to you for ourenjoyment,--particularly myself,--little thinking, you know, that youwere one of that great family which believes we ought to have ourrights, you know. There are many people who ought to have their rights.There was Bras-Coupe; indeed, he got them--found them in the swamp.Maybe Clotilde and I shall find ours in the street. When we unmasked inthe theatre, you know, I did not know you were my landlord, and you didnot know that I could not pay a few picayunes of rent. But you mustexcuse those tears; Clotilde is generally a brave little woman, andwould not be so rude as to weep before a stranger; but she is weakto-day--we are both weak to-day, from the fact that we have eatennothing since early morning, although we have abundance of food--forwant of appetite, you understand. You must sometimes be affected thesame way, having the care of so much wealth _of all sorts_."
Honore Grandissime had risen to his feet and was standing with one handon the edge of the lofty mantel, his hat in the other dropped at hisside and his eye fixed upon Aurora's beautiful face, whence her smallnervous hand kept dashing aside the tears through which she defiantlytalked and smiled. Clotilde sat with clenched hands buried in her lap,looking at Aurora and still weeping.
And M. Grandissime was saying to himself:
"If I do this thing now--if I do it here--I do it on an impulse; I do itunder constraint of woman's tears; I do it because I love this woman; Ido it to get out of a corner; I do it in weakness, not in strength; I doit without having made up my mind whether or not it is the best thingto do."
And then, without intention, with scarcely more consciousness ofmovement than belongs to the undermined tree which settles, roots andall, into the swollen stream, he turned and moved toward the door.
Clotilde rose.
"Monsieur Grandissime."
He stopped and looked back.
"We will see Palmyre at once, according to your request."
He turned his eyes toward Aurora.
"Yes," said she, and she buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbedaloud.
She heard his footstep again; it reached the door; the dooropened--closed; she heard his footstep again; was he gone?
He was gone.
The two women threw themselves into each other's arms and wept.Presently Clotilde left the room. She came back in a moment from therear apartment, with a bonnet and veil in her hands.
"No," said Aurora, rising quickly, "I must do it."
"There is no time to lose," said Clotilde. "It will soon be dark."
It was hardly a minute before Aurora was ready to start. A kiss, asorrowful look of love exchanged, the veil dropped over the swolleneyes, and Aurora was gone.
A minute passed, hardly more, and--what was this?--the soft patter ofAurora's knuckles on the door.
"Just here at the corner I saw Palmyre leaving her house and walkingdown the rue Royale. We must wait until morn--"
Again a footfall on the doorstep, and the door, which was standing ajar,was pushed slightly by the force of the masculine knock which followed.
"Allow me," said the voice of Honore Grandissime, as Aurora bowed at thedoor. "I should have handed you this; good-day."
She received a missive. It was long, like an official document; it boreevidence of having been carried for some hours in a coat-pocket, and wasfolded in one of those old, troublesome ways in use before the days ofenvelopes. Aurora pulled it open.
"It is all figures; light a candle."
The candle was lighted by Clotilde and held over Aurora's shoulder; theysaw a heading and footing more conspicuous than the rest of the writing.
The heading read:
"_Aurora and Clotilde Nancanou, owners of Fausse Riviere Plantation, in account with Honore Grandissime_."
The footing read:
_ "Balance at credit, subject to order of Aurora and Clotilde Nancanou, $105,000.00_."
The date followed:
"_March_ 9, 1804."
and the signature:
"_H. G
randissime_."
A small piece of torn white paper slipped from the account to the floor.Clotilde's eye followed it, but Aurora, without acknowledgement ofhaving seen it, covered it with her foot.
In the morning Aurora awoke first. She drew from under her pillow thisslip of paper. She had not dared look at it until now. The writing onit had been roughly scratched down with a pencil. It read:
"_Not for love of woman, but in the name of justice and the fear of God_."
"And I was so cruel," she whispered.
Ah! Honore Grandissime, she was kind to that little writing! She did notput it back under her pillow; she _kept it warm_, Honore Grandissime,from that time forth.
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