by Eugène Sue
As she returned the letter, Ernestine asked:
“What difference does it make to you, Herminie, if there has been some talk of a marriage between M. de Senneterre and Mlle. de Beaumesnil?”
“I do not know, but I somehow feel that it places me in a false, almost painful position towards that young lady, and if I had not promised M. de Maillefort—”
“What would you do?”
“I would abandon this visit, which now causes me a sort of vague uneasiness.”
“But you have promised, Herminie, and you can not break your word. Besides, is not Mlle. de Beaumesnil the child of the lady whom you loved so much, and who so often talked to you about her dear daughter? Think of it, Herminie; would it not be wrong to give up going to see her? Do you not at least owe that to her mother’s memory?”
“You are right, Ernestine. I shall have to go, and yet—”
“Who knows, Herminie, but your acquaintance with this young girl will prove of benefit to both of you. I scarcely know why, but I prophesy good from this visit, and I certainly prove my disinterestedness by doing so, for devoted friendship is naturally jealous. But it is growing late, my friend, and I must go. I will write to you to-morrow.”
The duchess sat silent and evidently absorbed in thought for a moment.
“Ah, Ernestine,” she exclaimed at last, “I can not tell you all the strange thoughts that are passing through my mind. Gerald’s noble disinterestedness, my approaching interview with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, your disclosures in relation to the character of Madame de Senneterre, who, being proud herself, can, perhaps, better understand the demands of my pride, — all this agitates me deeply. Nevertheless, though I was so full of despair a few minutes ago, I now hope, in spite of myself, and thanks to you, my dear friend, my heart is much less heavy than when you came.”
Consideration for M. de Maillefort’s plans alone prevented Ernestine from putting an end to her friend’s anxiety and increasing her hope by giving her further proofs of Gerald’s love as well as of his nobility of character, but remembering that all this mystery would soon be cleared up, she carried her secret away with her when she parted from Herminie.
The following afternoon, according to promise, M. de Maillefort called for the duchess, and the two immediately started for Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s residence.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A QUESTION OF IDENTITY.
BEFORE GOING TO Herminie’s, Friday morning, Mlle. de Beaumesnil had had no conversation with M. de la Rochaiguë and Mlle. Helena on the subject of M. de Macreuse and M. de Mornand.
On her return from the ball the night before, Ernestine had pleaded fatigue as an excuse for at once retiring to her room, and she had left the house early the next morning, in company with Madame Laîné.
One can easily imagine the bitter reproaches and recriminations that were interchanged between the baron and his wife and sister after returning from the entertainment, where their secret plans had been so ruthlessly unveiled.
Madame de la Rochaiguë, still confident of the speedy marriage of M. de Senneterre and Mlle. de Beaumesnil, was pitiless in her triumph, which she scarcely took the pains to conceal now, and quite overwhelmed the baron and his sister by her reproaches and sarcasms.
The devotee replied, sweetly and patiently, that “the success of the proud and the wicked was fleeting, but that the just, though laid low for a time, would soon rise again, radiant in glory.”
The baron, who was less versed in Biblical diction, declared that his wife did not know him yet, and that, though he could not compel Mlle. de Beaumesnil to marry M. de Mornand, after the deplorable scene of the evening before, he should nevertheless completely, absolutely, and irrevocably refuse his consent to any other marriage until mademoiselle attained her majority.
Ernestine, on her return from Herminie’s, had been tenderly welcomed by Madame de la Rochaiguë, who informed her that the baron had declared his intention of opposing any marriage whatever until his ward became of age, but that all this did not make the slightest difference, as he would change his mind within twenty-four hours if he discovered that there was any possibility of Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s marriage with M. de Senneterre.
But when the baroness added that it would be advisable for Ernestine to receive Gerald’s mother on the following day, as that lady wished to come to some definite understanding in relation to her son’s marriage with the heiress, the young girl replied that, while she fully appreciated M. de Senneterre’s merits, she would like to have a few days longer for reflection, hoping in this way to secure time to consult with M. de Maillefort and Herminie concerning her plans for the future. The baroness tried in vain to change Ernestine’s decision, but the young girl was obdurate.
Considerably surprised, and not a little irritated by this refusal, the baroness remarked to the orphan, as she was leaving her:
“I forgot to inform you yesterday, my dear child, that after a talk with M. de Maillefort, who is now one of my best friends, and yours as well (you know how highly he speaks of M. de Senneterre), we decided to give you an opportunity to perform a truly charitable act. The idea originated with me, even prior to your arrival in Paris. There is a poor, but honest young girl, who was employed to play and sing to your poor dear mother during her last illness. This young girl is very proud, in spite of her poverty; so we thought you might assist her pecuniarily under the pretext of taking a few music lessons, and if you are willing to do so, the marquis will bring her to you to-morrow.”
The reader can imagine Ernestine’s response, and the impatience with which she awaited the coming of Herminie and her escort.
At last the long-looked-for hour arrived.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil had put on the same dress she had worn on her first visit to her friend’s house, — a simply made gown of inexpensive lawn.
Soon a footman threw open the folding doors that led into the small drawing-room where the heiress usually sat, and announced, in a loud voice:
“M. le Marquis de Maillefort.”
Herminie was with the hunchback, and for some reason or other seemed to be greatly agitated by the prospect of this meeting with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and as the duchess, whose bosom was heaving visibly, kept her eyes fixed upon the floor, the footman had time to close the door and make his escape before Herminie recognised Ernestine.
The marquis, who was enjoying this little scene immensely, gave Mlle. de Beaumesnil a meaning glance just as Herminie, surprised at the long silence, ventured to raise her eyes.
“Ernestine, you here!” she exclaimed, taking a step towards her friend, then, intensely surprised, looked wonderingly at the marquis, as Mlle. de Beaumesnil, throwing herself upon Herminie’s neck, embraced her tenderly, while tears of joy rolled down her cheeks.
“You are weeping, Ernestine!” said Herminie, more and more astonished, but still without the slightest suspicion of the truth, though her heart was throbbing with unwonted violence. “What is the matter with you, Ernestine?” she continued. “How do you happen to be here? You do not answer me. Good Heavens! I cannot imagine why I tremble so!”
And again the duchess turned inquiringly to the hunchback, whose eyes were dim with tears.
“I do not know, but it seems to me something extraordinary is going on here, M. le marquis; tell me what all this means, I beseech you.”
“It means, my dear child, that I was a true prophet when, in talking with you about your approaching interview with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, I told you that I felt sure this meeting would afford you much more pleasure than you anticipated.”
“Then you knew that I would find Ernestine here, monsieur?”
“I was certain of it.”
“You were certain of it?”
“Yes, there could be no doubt of it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“For the simple reason that—”
“That what, monsieur?”
“Is it possible you don’t suspect?”
“No, monsie
ur.”
“That the two Ernestines are one and the same person.”
The duchess was so far from suspecting the truth that she utterly failed to understand the import of the hunchback’s reply at first, and repeated mechanically, gazing at him wonderingly all the while:
“The two Ernestines are one and the same person?”
Then seeing her friend gazing at her with an expression of ineffable joy and happiness, and with arms outstretched as if to embrace her, she exclaimed, overwhelmed with astonishment, and almost terror:
“Mlle. de Beaumesnil! Can it be — my God! can it be that you are Mlle. de Beaumesnil?”
“Yes,” exclaimed the hunchback, “she is Mlle. de Beaumesnil, the daughter of the lady who loved you so much, and to whom you were so deeply attached.”
“Ernestine is my sister,” thought the duchess.
This startling revelation, and the recollection of the strange way in which she had made Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s acquaintance, as well as of the events which had occurred since their first meeting, gave Herminie a sort of vertigo. Her brain seemed to whirl; she turned pale, and trembled so violently, that Ernestine was obliged to assist her to a neighbouring armchair.
There, kneeling beside her, and gazing up in her face with all a sister’s tenderness, Mlle. de Beaumesnil took Herminie’s hands in hers, and kissed them almost reverently, while the marquis stood contemplating this touching scene in silence.
“Pardon me,” faltered Herminie, “but the surprise, — the trying position in which I find myself, mademoiselle—”
“Mademoiselle! Oh, do not call me that,” exclaimed Mlle. de Beaumesnil. “Am I no longer your Ernestine, the orphan to whom you promised your friendship because you thought she was so unhappy? Alas! M. de Maillefort, your friend and mine, will tell you that I am indeed very unhappy, and that I am in even greater need of your tender affection than ever. What if I am no longer the poor little embroideress! The rich have their sorrows as well as the poor. In pity remember the words of my dying mother, who so often talked to you of me, and continue to love me for her sake.”
“Have no fears on that score. You will always be dear, doubly dear to me,” replied Herminie; “but you see I have scarcely recovered from my bewilderment. It seems like a dream to me, and when I think of the way in which I became acquainted with you, Ernestine, and of a thousand other things, I have to see you here close beside me, to believe that it is not really all a dream.”
“Your surprise is very natural, my dear child,” remarked the marquis, “and I myself, when I met Mlle. de Beaumesnil at your home a few days ago, was so overwhelmed with astonishment that, if something had not diverted your attention for a moment, you would have perceived my amazement; but Ernestine begged me to keep her secret, and I did.”
When Herminie had recovered from the shock sufficiently for her mind to become clear again, the first words she uttered were:
“But, Ernestine, how did you happen to come to Madame Herbaut’s? What is the meaning of all this mystery? Why did you wish to attend that reunion?”
Ernestine, smiling sadly, took from a table the journal she had been writing, the journal dedicated to the memory of her mother, and, handing it to Herminie open at the page where were enumerated the divers reasons which had forced the richest heiress in France to resort to the painful test she had endured so heroically, the young girl said to the duchess:
“I anticipated these questions, Herminie, and, as I am anxious that you should deem me worthy of your affection, I beg you to read these pages. They speak the truth, for it is to the memory of my mother that they are dedicated. M. de Maillefort, I would like you to peruse their contents at the same time, so you can see that, though I unfortunately believed, for a time, the base slanders told me concerning you, your wise, though severe, lesson was not lost upon me, but gave me the courage to resort to a test that may, perhaps, seem strange to you, my dear Herminie.”
The duchess took the book from Ernestine’s hands. It was an interesting scene to see Herminie holding the open journal, while the marquis, leaning over the back of the armchair in which she was seated, read with her and like her, in silence, Mlle. de Beaumesnil’s artless story.
That young girl watched both Herminie and the hunchback intently during the reading, evidently anxious to know if they would approve her motives.
All doubts on this subject were soon allayed, however, for touching and sympathetic exclamations speedily testified to the approval of both.
When the perusal was ended, the duchess, her eyes filled with tears of love and compassion, exclaimed:
“Ah, it is not friendship alone that I feel for you now, Ernestine, but respect and admiration. Great Heavens! how these frightful doubts must have tortured you! What an immense amount of courage it must have required to take such an important step alone — to face an ordeal from which even the bravest heart would have shrunk! Ah, I can at least offer you an affection which has been proved as disinterested as it is sincere. Thank God, I have been able to convince you beyond a doubt that you can and should be loved for yourself alone.”
“Ah, yes, and it is this fact that makes your affection so precious to me,” replied Ernestine, with effusion.
“Herminie is right. Your conduct has been worthy of all praise,” said the marquis, who seemed deeply moved. “The few words you let drop on this subject night before last, at the ball, only partially enlightened me in regard to the real facts of the case. You are a noble girl.”
But suddenly the duchess, remembering the promise Ernestine had made Olivier, exclaimed anxiously:
“But, Ernestine, — the promise you made M. Olivier yesterday, in my presence!”
“That promise I shall keep,” replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, quietly.
CHAPTER XIX.
ERNESTINE’S APPEAL.
ON HEARING MLLE. de Beaumesnil speak of a promise which she had made to M. Olivier, and which she intended to keep, M. de Maillefort seemed both surprised and uneasy, especially when the duchess repeated:
“What! the promise made to M. Olivier—”
“Yes, this promise, I repeat, I intend to keep, my dear Herminie. Did you not approve my acceptance of M. Olivier’s offer? Did you not regard it as a sure guarantee of happiness to come? Did you not appreciate the great generosity of his offer as much as I did?”
“Yes, Ernestine, but it was to the little embroideress that this offer was made.”
“Ah, well, why should M. Olivier’s generosity seem less great and less noble now, my dear Herminie? Why should not the guarantee of happiness to come be just as certain?”
“I do not know how to answer you, Ernestine. I feel that you are right, and yet I am conscious of a vague uneasiness in spite of myself. But you must have no secrets from M. de Maillefort. You must tell him all.”
“I will, and I am sure that M. de Maillefort will approve my decision.”
The marquis had been listening silently but thoughtfully.
“Is this M. Olivier the young man who invited you to dance out of charity, and to whom frequent allusion is made in your journal?”
“Yes, M. de Maillefort.”
“And it was M. Olivier’s uncle that Ernestine saved from almost certain death the other day,” added Herminie.
“His uncle?” exclaimed the hunchback, quickly.
Then, after a moment’s reflection, he added:
“I understand. Gratitude, combined with another and more tender sentiment which had its birth at her first meeting with this young man at Madame Herbaut’s house, led him to propose to Ernestine when he believed her to be poor and unprotected.”
“And a brilliant match it seemed for one of my supposed position,” remarked Mlle. de Beaumesnil, “for M. Olivier had just been made an officer, so it was an enviable social position as well as comparative affluence that he offered a penniless and obscure girl who laboured for her daily bread.”
“Is his name Olivier Raymond?” exclaimed the hunchback, as if
a new idea had suddenly occurred to him.
“That is his name. Do you know him, monsieur?” asked Ernestine.
“Olivier Raymond, formerly a non-commissioned officer of hussars, decorated in Africa, is it not?” continued the marquis.
“The same.”
“Then it was for him, though not at his request, nor even with his knowledge, that I requested his promotion the other day in company with my dear young friend, Gerald de Senneterre, who loves the young man like a brother,” added the hunchback, thoughtfully.
Then, turning to Ernestine, he continued:
“My child, it is your mother’s devoted friend, almost a father, that speaks. All this seems very serious to me, and I tremble lest the natural generosity of your character should cause you to go too far. Have you engaged yourself to Olivier Raymond?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“And do you love him?”
“As profoundly as I esteem him, my dear M. de Maillefort.”
“I can very well understand, my dear child, why, after the shocking revelations at the ball, night before last, you should have felt the need of sincere and disinterested affection more than ever. I can understand, too, why you should find a wonderful charm, and even see a certain guarantee of future happiness, in M. Olivier Raymond’s generous offer, but this should not have prevented you from exercising more prudence. Remember how short your acquaintance with M. Olivier has been!”
“That is true, monsieur, but it did not take me long, when my eyes had once been opened, to realise the fact that your heart was full of the tenderest solicitude for me, and that Herminie was the noblest creature that ever lived, so you may be sure that I am no more deceived in M. Olivier.”
“I hope you are right, my child, Heaven knows! This young man is Gerald de Senneterre’s most intimate friend, which is a very strong recommendation, I must admit. Besides, before interesting myself in Gerald’s protégé, as I feared his affection for a former comrade might have blinded him somewhat, I made numerous inquiries about M. Olivier.”
