by Eugène Sue
“It was here I met that young girl on the day of Mornand’s duel with the hunchback,” Ravil said to himself. “She spent the night at the Hôtel de Beaumesnil, and the next day I ascertained from the servants that she was a singing teacher, and lived on the Rue de Monceau in the Batignolles. I’ve haunted that locality, but have never been able to catch a glimpse of her. Why the devil that pretty blonde took such a hold on me I can’t imagine! If I had my percentage of the little Beaumesnil’s dowry I would certainly gratify my fancy for that pretty musician, who carries herself like a duchess, in spite of her shabby attire. I am quite sure she wouldn’t decline my offer of a neat little establishment, for she must be nearly starving on her music lessons. Now I must set to work to stir up Mornand. He is stupid, but perseveres when you once get him started. Rochaiguë is all right, so our chances are good.”
And Ravil entered the abode of his intimate friend.
CHAPTER XIX.
IN M. DE MORNAND’S STUDY.
“WELL!” EXCLAIMED M. de Mornand, as soon as he saw Ravil enter his modest study filled with huge piles of printed reports and all sorts of communications from members of the Chamber of Deputies; “well, have you seen M. de Rochaiguë?”
“Yes, I have seen him, and everything looks very promising.”
“You may rest assured that I shall never forget your kindness in the matter. It is evident that it is quite as much a matter of friendship as of money with you, and I am all the more grateful from the fact that your heart is not supposed to be particularly vulnerable.”
“It is vulnerable enough to you, and that is all that is necessary in the present instance.”
“And the governess, have you spoken to her?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because several little matters must be settled between us. I’ll explain what they are presently; besides, there is no hurry. Madame Laîné, the governess, will do whatever I wish, and whenever I wish it done.”
“Whatever did Rochaiguë say? Is he satisfied with the information he has secured in regard to me. Have my colleagues and political supporters spoken a good word for me? Do you think — ?”
“You give me no chance to answer any of your questions.”
“But you see ever since the possibility of this marriage first occurred to me — and I have good reason to remember the date, for that ridiculous duel with that miserable hunchback will always remind me of it,” added M. de Mornand, with a bitter smile— “ever since the possibility first occurred to me, as I said before, this marriage has been a fixed idea with me. Situated as I am, it means more than wealth to me, — power — the highest diplomatic positions — will all be within my reach.”
“Have you finished?”
“Yes, yes, I am listening.”
“That is fortunate. Very well, all the information M. de la Rochaiguë has received corroborates what I had already told him. He is firmly convinced that you will attain the position of minister or ambassador sooner or later, but that the time would be greatly hastened by your marriage with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, for men who are immensely rich are preferred for such positions, their wealth being considered a guarantee against all sorts of villainies. The good man is also certain that, if he brings about your marriage with his ward, you will as soon as you rise to power have him made a peer of France, for if persons who are hung could be restored to life, this man would willingly be hung to secure a seat in the Luxembourg. It is an infirmity, a positive mania with him, and you may rest assured that I have made the most of it.”
“If he brings about the marriage, his elevation to the peerage is assured. He has been president of one of the commissions for years, and I will nominate him at once.”
“He hasn’t the slightest doubt of it, and, being an old-fashioned sort of a man, he relies upon your promise, and is willing to do anything in his power to further your interests with his ward at once.”
“Bravo! and Mlle. de Beaumesnil, what does he say about her? Being so young and so entirely alone in the world, she isn’t likely to offer much opposition, so I should think he would feel pretty confident of success.”
“He never saw her until last evening, you recollect, but, thanks to a few judicious questions, he fancies he has been able to discover that this young woman is strongly inclined to be ambitious, and that her head would be quite turned by the prospect of marrying a future minister or ambassador, so she could have a crowd of other women under her feet.”
“That is truly providential!” cried M. de Mornand, almost beside himself with joy. “And when can I see her?”
“I have an idea about that, but I concluded to say nothing to Rochaiguë on the subject until after I had spoken to you.”
“Well, well, let us hear the idea!” said M. de Mornand, rubbing his hands, jubilantly.
“In the first place, you must understand that you are not handsome, that you are much too fat, that you have entirely too large an abdomen, and anything but a distinguished air. Pardon my sincerity, it is a friend who speaks.”
“That is all right!” responded Mornand, trying hard to conceal the annoyance which his friend’s plain speaking caused. “Between friends one can say and hear anything.”
“That is an excellent maxim. I will therefore add that you are neither attractive, clever, nor good-tempered, but fortunately you have, or seem to have, a very considerable amount of political tact. You have made a careful study of the best means of corrupting consciences; you were born a corrupter as one is born a singer. Moreover, you are endowed with an eloquence of the continuous flow sort, capable of extinguishing and bewildering the best orators — on the other side. In a drawing-room you are heavy, clumsy, and awkward, like all big men; but in the tribune, with the railing concealing your abdomen, and your chest swelling out majestically under your embroidered coat, you are quite imposing, and can even be said to have some pretensions to good looks.”
“Of what earthly use is all this?” retorted Mornand, impatiently; “you know very well that we politicians, we men of mark, care nothing in the world about being considered handsome.”
“Oh, that is all nonsense! Don’t interrupt me. I was about to say that so much depends upon a first impression that it is by all means advisable that you should appear before Mlle. de Beaumesnil in your most attractive guise, so you may fascinate and magnetise her, so to speak. Do you understand?”
“That is an excellent idea, but how is it to be managed?”
“You are to make a speech three days hence in the Chamber, are you not?”
“Yes, upon the cod fisheries, — a speech full of dry statistics.”
“Ah, well, you must be flowery, poetical, pathetic, pastoral, anything but statistical, and this is an easy matter if you will only confine yourself to one side of the question. You can talk of the fishermen and their interesting families, the surf that breaks in thunder upon the beach, the pale moonlight on the dunes, our gallant navy, and all that kind of stuff.”
“But I have considered the question from a purely financial point of view.”
“Then tear up that speech and write another, for you must devote all the powers of your eloquence to dazzling the little Beaumesnil.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Listen to me, innocent! Rochaiguë shall be notified, and day after to-morrow the young lady will hear everybody around her saying: ‘On Thursday the eloquent M. Mornand, the future minister, is to speak in the House of Peers. All Paris will be there. They are issuing tickets of admission, for when M. de Mornand speaks it is an event!’”
“I understand. You are certainly nothing more or less than a genius, Ravil!” exclaimed M. de Mornand.
“M. de la Rochaiguë will naturally inquire if Mlle. de Beaumesnil would not like to attend the session, and we will arrange it so that Rochaiguë will amuse the girl with things outside until the time comes for you to ascend the tribune and unloose the fountains of your eloquence. I will then run out and warn th
e guardian, who will come in with his ward to witness your triumph.”
“Admirably planned!”
“And if you can organise a claque from among your colleagues to interlard your speech with exclamations of ‘Good! Bravo! Admirable!’ our success is assured.”
“The plan is admirable, as I said before. There is but one thing that worries me.”
“And what is that?”
“Why, as soon as my speech is ended that fool Montdidier will begin to contradict all I said. He isn’t much of a politician, and he is not at all practical, but he’s as witty and sarcastic as the devil, and doesn’t hesitate to say aloud what other people scarcely dare to think in their most secret hearts. If he should begin that before Mlle. de Beaumesnil—”
“Oh, you need have no fears on that score. As soon as you have finished your speech, and while you are receiving the congratulations of your colleagues, we will exclaim: ‘A magnificent effort, truly! He is a Mirabeau, a Fox, a Sheridan, a Canning! It is not worth while to remain any longer. There will be nothing worth listening to after that!’ So we will hurry out with the girl, after which Montdidier can ascend the tribune and tear you to pieces and ridicule you as much as he likes. But there is another means which I have not mentioned before, — an effectual means which I have reserved until the last, but which will not only win you the prize, but make it possible for you to retire from political life if you like, and also to tell Rochaiguë in so many words that you cannot make him a peer of France, for, thanks to a brilliant idea that has occurred to me, the baron will not only do everything in his power to further your marriage, but you will also have Madame de la Rochaiguë and her sister-in-law on your side, though the most we can hope for now is that they will remain neutral.”
“Then why do you not employ this means, and at once?”
“I have hazarded a few words, thrown out a few hints, but I have ventured nothing decisive.”
“And why not?”
“You see I am not positive that — that you will like it. You might have scruples — and yet the most honest and highly respected men, even kings themselves—”
“Kings themselves? May I be hanged if I have the slightest idea what you are driving at.”
“But men are sometimes so absurdly sensitive on the subject.”
“Sensitive?”
“Still, one is not responsible for it. Can one fight against nature?”
“Against nature? Really, Ravil, you must be losing your wits. What do you mean by all this?”
“You are fortunate, too, inasmuch as appearances are in your favour. You are stout, you have rather a shrill voice, and scarcely any beard—”
“And what of that?”
“You don’t understand me?”
“No.”
“And he calls himself a politician?”
“What the devil do you mean by prating about my shrill voice, my sparse beard, and my political astuteness?”
“Mornand, you make me doubt your sagacity. Think, what did you say to me only day before yesterday concerning the marriage of the young Queen of Spain?”
“Day before yesterday?”
“Yes, that state secret, you know.”
“Hush, hush!”
“Oh, you needn’t be afraid, — I shall be as silent as the grave. Do you recollect now?”
“Yes, I told you that if we could only marry a French prince to the sister of the Queen of Spain, it would be one of the most brilliant of diplomatic triumphs to give the aforesaid queen, for a husband, a prince who offered sufficient guarantees — through his antecedents — that the queen would never have any children. The throne would then pass eventually into the possession of her sister’s children, that is to say, into the possession of French princes. A magnificent combination,” added the future minister, enthusiastically. “It would be a continuation of the policy of the Great Monarch!”
“Well, the illustration is apt. Profit by it,” retorted Ravil, shrugging his shoulders.
“What do you mean?”
“Answer me this: Who are Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s only remaining relatives?”
“M. de la Rochaiguë, his sister, and, after them, M. de la Rochaiguë’s daughter, who is married and resides in the provinces.”
“Exactly; so if Mlle. de Beaumesnil should die without issue — ?”
“It is the Rochaiguë family that would inherit the fortune. That is as plain as daylight. But what the devil are you driving at?”
“Wait; now suppose that the Rochaiguë family can persuade Mlle. de Beaumesnil to marry a man who can furnish those same guarantees, — those same reassuring antecedents you spoke of as desirable in the Queen of Spain’s husband? Would not the Rochaiguës find it greatly to their interest to bring about a marriage that would ensure them the possession of their young relative’s wealth at some future day?”
“I understand, Ravil,” said M. de Mornand, thoughtfully, and as if deeply impressed by the grandeur of the scheme.
“Tell me, then, are you willing that I should pose you before the eyes of the Rochaiguës as a man (except for royal lineage) perfectly adapted to be the husband of a Queen of Spain who has a French prince for a brother-in-law? It will ensure you the support of the baron’s wife and sister, remember.”
After a prolonged silence, the Comte de Mornand said, with a both diplomatic and majestic air:
“De Ravil, — I give you carte blanche.”
CHAPTER XX.
ATTENTIONS TO THE HEIRESS.
NEAR THE CLOSE of the day in which Ernestine de Beaumesnil had unconsciously been the object of so much avaricious envy, and of so many more or less perfidious machinations, the young girl was alone in one of her sumptuous apartments, awaiting the dinner hour.
The richest heiress in France was far from being beautiful or even pretty. Her high forehead, prominent cheekbones, and rather long chin imparted considerable irregularity to her features, but this was soon forgotten in the charm of the young girl’s face and expression; for the forehead, fair as alabaster, and surrounded with a wealth of rich chestnut hair, surmounted blue eyes of infinite sweetness, while rich scarlet lips, pearl white teeth, and a smile that was both ingenuous and melancholy seemed to implore forgiveness for the imperfections of the face.
Ernestine de Beaumesnil, who was now only sixteen, had grown very rapidly, so, although her tall figure was perfectly straight and symmetrical, the young girl, who had but just regained her health, still held herself slightly bent, an attitude which made the graceful lines of her remarkably beautiful throat all the more noticeable.
In short, antiquated and common as the comparison is, the expression, a lily bending upon its stem, described Ernestine de Beaumesnil’s appearance exactly.
Poor orphan, crushed by the sorrow which her mother’s death had caused her!
Poor child, overwhelmed by the, to her, crushing weight of her colossal wealth!
Strange contrast, indeed! It was pity, an even tender pity which the face and eyes and attitude of this heiress of almost royal wealth seemed to invoke!
The plain black dress which Ernestine wore enhanced the remarkable brilliancy of her complexion; but as she sat there with her hands folded upon her knees, and her head bowed upon her breast, the young orphan looked very sad and thoughtful.
It was half past five when the girl’s governess stole softly into the room and said:
“Will mademoiselle see Mlle. de la Rochaiguë?”
“Certainly, my good Laîné,” replied the girl, startled out of her reverie. “Why doesn’t Mlle. de la Rochaiguë come in?”
The governess went out and returned almost immediately, followed by Mlle. Helena de la Rochaiguë, who made two profound and very ceremonious bows, which the poor child instantly returned, surprised and pained to see a woman of Mlle. Helena’s age approach her with such obsequiousness.
“I thank Mlle. de Beaumesnil for having kindly granted me a moment’s conversation,” said Mlle. Helena, in a formal but extremely def
erential tone, making another low bow, which Ernestine returned as before, after which she said, with evident embarrassment:
“I, too, have a favour to ask of you, Mlle. Helena.”
“Of me? How glad I am!” exclaimed M. Macreuse’s protectress, quickly.
“I beg you will have the goodness to call me Ernestine instead of Mlle. de Beaumesnil. If you knew how it overawes me, mademoiselle.”
“I feared I should displease you, mademoiselle, by being more familiar.”
“Once more I beseech you to say ‘Ernestine’ and not mademoiselle. Are we not relatives? And after a little, if you find I am deserving of your love, you will say ‘My dear Ernestine,’ will you not?”
“Ah, my affection was won the moment I saw you, my dear Ernestine,” replied Helena, with effusion. “I could see that all the Christian graces, so adorable in one of your years, flourished in your heart. I will not speak of your beauty, though it is so charmingly spirituelle in its type, for you look like one of Raphael’s madonnas. Beauty,” continued the devotee, casting down her eyes, “beauty is a fleeting gift and valueless in the eyes of the Saviour, while the noble qualities with which you are endowed will ensure your eternal salvation.”
Overwhelmed by this avalanche of extravagant praise, the orphan did not know what to say in reply, and could only stammer a feeble protest:
“I do not deserve such praise, mademoiselle,” she said, “and — and—”
Then, well pleased to discover a means of escaping this flattery which made a singularly unpleasant impression upon her in spite of her inexperience, she added:
“But you said you wished to ask me something, did you not, mademoiselle?”
“Yes,” responded Helena, “I came to ask your wishes in regard to service to-morrow.”
“What service, mademoiselle?”
“Why, the holy office we attend every day.”
