by Eugène Sue
“Well?” exclaimed Ernestine and Herminie, in the same breath.
“Well, the best proof of my satisfaction at the result of these inquiries was the fact that I brought the full force of an influence I rarely exert to bear on M. Olivier’s advancement.”
“Then why should you feel any apprehensions, M. de Maillefort?” urged Ernestine. “How could I have made a better choice? M. Olivier’s birth is honourable, his profession honoured. He is poor, but am I not, alas! only too rich? And then think of my position as an heiress continually exposed to machinations like those you exposed and punished, night before last! Remember, too, that, in order to protect me from such shameless cupidity, you yourself aroused in me a distrust which has become well-nigh incurable. A prey henceforth to the dreadful thought that I am sought only for my wealth, whom can I trust? Is it strange that, under circumstances like these, I should appreciate disinterestedness and unselfishness? And where could I ever find greater disinterestedness than that of which M. Olivier has given convincing proof? For in the offer that he made me, when he believed me to be poor and unprotected, was it not he who had everything to give?”
There was a half smile on the lips of the marquis as he turned to Herminie and said:
“Your friend, the little embroideress, has quick wit and a ready tongue. There is a good deal of sense and justice in what she says, I must admit, and I should find it very difficult to prove that she is wrong.”
“I think so, too,” replied Herminie, “for though I have been trying to discover some objections to her keeping her promise, I can find none.”
“Nor can I, my dear children,” said the hunchback; “but, unfortunately, human reason is not infallible, neither does right always make might; besides, even if this should prove to be a suitable marriage for Ernestine, the consent of her guardian is necessary to this marriage, and with ideas like his, it is not at all likely that he will ever consent to such a union. Ernestine would consequently be obliged to wait several years. Nor is this all. M. Olivier will discover sooner or later that his little embroideress is the richest heiress in France, and from what you have said of him, as well as from what Gerald himself has told me of his friend’s extreme sensitiveness in money matters, there is good reason to fear that M. Olivier will shrink from the possibility of being accused of mercenary motives in wedding so rich an heiress when he himself is poor; so, in spite of his love and gratitude, he may be capable of sacrificing everything to his scruples.”
On hearing these words, which she felt were only too true, mademoiselle shuddered. A pang of real anguish pierced her heart, and she exclaimed, bitterly:
“Ah, my accursed wealth! Shall I never escape the torments it causes me!”
Then, in an entreating voice, and gazing at the hunchback with eyes swimming in tears, she added:
“Ah, M. de Maillefort, you were my mother’s devoted friend, you love Herminie devotedly, — save me and save her! Come to our assistance. Be our guardian angel, for I feel that my life will be blighted for ever by the suspicions and the distrust you have awakened in my heart. The only chance of happiness left for me is to marry M. Olivier, and Herminie will die of grief if she does not marry M. de Senneterre, so once more I beseech you, my dear M. Maillefort, to take pity on us.”
“Oh, Ernestine,” cried the duchess, reproachfully, blushing scarlet in her confusion, “that secret was confided to you alone!”
“Gerald!” exclaimed the marquis, in his turn astounded by this revelation. “Gerald! is it possible that you love Gerald?” he continued, with a searching look at Herminie. “Then it was to this irresistible passion that he alluded when I was praising him yesterday for his generous conduct towards Mlle. de Beaumesnil. He told me, then, that he lived only for a young girl who was worthy of his adoration. Yes, I understand everything now, my poor, dear children, and I tremble for your future.”
“Forgive me, oh, forgive me, Herminie,” pleaded Ernestine, for her friend’s tears were flowing fast. “Do not be angry with me for having betrayed your confidence. But in whom can we have any hope and confidence if not in M. de Maillefort? Who else can guide and comfort and sustain us in these trying hours? Alas! as he himself remarked just now, right does not make might. He admits that, in the trying position in which my accursed wealth places me, I could not have given my affections more wisely, and yet there are great, if not insurmountable, difficulties in the way of my marriage. It is the same with you, Herminie. M. de Maillefort is certainly convinced that there can be no happiness for you and for M. de Senneterre save in your union, which seems even more uncertain than mine.”
“Ah, my children, if you knew what kind of a woman the Duchesse de Senneterre is! I told you the other day, Herminie, when you asked me about her. I understand your motive now. But I tell you now, as I told you then, that no woman ever lived who was more absurdly vain of her rank.”
“And yet Herminie says she will never marry Gerald unless Madame de Senneterre comes and tells her that she consents to this marriage. This only shows a proper pride in Herminie, though. You think so, too, do you not, M. de Maillefort?”
“She has made that resolve? Ah, what a brave and noble-hearted girl she is!” exclaimed the marquis. “This is still another proof of the laudable pride that makes me love her so much. Most assuredly I approve her decision. I admire it, too, for such a resolve could be born only of a noble soul. I no longer wonder at Gerald’s ardent devotion.”
“You hear what M. de Maillefort says, Herminie,” said Ernestine. “Are you angry with me now for having betrayed your secret?”
“No, Ernestine,” replied the duchess, gently. “I blame you only for one thing, and that is for grieving M. de Maillefort by telling him of misfortunes which he cannot remedy.”
“But why may he not be able to remedy them?” retorted Ernestine. “You do not know him. You do not know the great influence he exerts in the world, — how much noble-hearted people love and admire him, and how abjectly afraid cowards and evil-doers are of him. And, then, he is so good, so kind to all who are in trouble; he loved my mother so dearly!”
And as M. de Maillefort, overwhelmed with emotion, averted his face to conceal his tears, Mlle. de Beaumesnil continued, in even more beseeching tones:
“Oh, is it not true that you feel all a father’s solicitude for us, M. de Maillefort? Are we not sisters in your eyes, and in the tenderness and attachment we feel for you? Oh, do not, I beseech you, in mercy, do not desert us!”
And Ernestine seized one of the hunchback’s hands, while Herminie, involuntarily following her friend’s example, possessed herself of the other, saying, in entreating tones:
“Ah, M. de Maillefort, you are our only hope!”
The hunchback was deeply affected. One of these young girls was the child of a woman he had loved devotedly, though secretly, for years.
The other, too, was, perhaps, her child, for very frequently the conviction that Herminie was Madame de Beaumesnil’s daughter returned.
But however that might be, M. de Maillefort had received from this dying mother the sacred trust of watching over and protecting Ernestine and Herminie. He had sworn to fulfil this trust, and, unable to make even a pretence of concealing his emotion any longer, he clasped both the young girls passionately to his breast, and, in a voice broken with sobs, exclaimed:
“Yes, yes, my poor, dear children. I will do all the most loving of fathers could do for you!”
It is impossible to describe the touching scene and the eloquent silence that followed, which Ernestine, now radiant with hope, was the first to break, by exclaiming:
“Herminie, we are saved! You will marry M. Gerald, and I, M. Olivier!”
CHAPTER XX.
AN ALLIANCE OFFENSIVE AND DEFENSIVE.
ON HEARING ERNESTINE’S joyful exclamation, M. de Maillefort shook his head, and said, with a faint smile:
“One moment, young ladies, don’t go and indulge in all sorts of wild hopes that will worry me almost as much as you
r despair. Let us look at the situation calmly and sensibly. All this excitement is not going to help matters; on the contrary, it unnerves one. One weeps and laments, or exults, as the case may be, and that is all it amounts to.”
“But, M. de Maillefort, these are tears of happiness,” replied Ernestine, wiping her eyes. “I have no reason to regret them.”
“No, but they should not be indulged in again. They impair one’s vision, and it is necessary to see our situation clearly, very clearly.”
“M. de Maillefort is right,” said Herminie. “Let us be calm and sensible.”
“Yes, yes, we will!” cried Ernestine. “Sit down here between us, M. de Maillefort, and let us talk the matter over calmly and sensibly, as you say.”
“Very well,” replied the hunchback, seating himself on the sofa between the two girls, and taking a hand of each in his. “Which one of you shall we consider first?”
“Herminie,” replied Ernestine, promptly.
“So be it,” responded the marquis. “Very well, Herminie and Gerald love each other devotedly, and are worthy of each other, that is understood; but, with a pride that I both admire and approve, — because there is no possibility of either love or happiness without dignity, — Herminie will not consent to marry Gerald unless the Duchesse de Senneterre calls on her and gives her consent to this marriage. The question is, therefore, to devise a means of compelling this haughtiest of duchesses to make these overtures.”
“But nothing is impossible to you, M. de Maillefort,” said Ernestine, naïvely.
“Just hear this wheedler with her ‘Nothing is impossible to you, M. de Maillefort,’” said the marquis, smiling. Then he added with a sigh: “Ah, my dear child, if you knew what hard things vanity and selfishness are to fight! And those two words describe Madame de Senneterre exactly. But though I am not the great necromancer you say, I shall have to devise some way of taming this two-headed monster, I suppose.”
“Ah, if you can ever accomplish that feat, monsieur,” said Herminie, “my whole life—”
“I count upon that, my child. Yes, I hope and trust that you will love me during your whole life, even if I should fail in what I am about to undertake, for in that case I believe I should be quite as unhappy as you are, and stand in almost equal need of consolation. Now it is your turn, my dear Ernestine!”
“It seems to me that my prospects are even gloomier than Herminie’s,” said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, sadly.
“I don’t know about that, but I must warn you, my poor child, that I can do nothing for you until after I have satisfied myself beyond a doubt of M. Olivier Raymond’s worth.”
“Why, doesn’t what you already know satisfy you, M. de Maillefort?”
“It is perfectly satisfactory so far as his life as a soldier is concerned, but as a man can be a very brave officer and a very bad husband, I shall make some further inquiries concerning him.”
“But M. de Senneterre speaks very highly of M. Olivier, you say.”
“Yes, my dear child, but a man may be an admirable friend and an excellent comrade, and yet make his wife very unhappy.”
“How suspicious you are! You forget that M. Olivier thinks me a poor girl — and that—”
“That his gratitude, generosity, and love impelled him to offer you a more brilliant future than one in your supposed position had a right to expect, perhaps. It was a very generous and noble impulse, I admit, and a little while ago I was so touched by it that I allowed myself to become almost as enthusiastic as you and Herminie.”
“And has your opinion changed, now?” asked Ernestine, anxiously.
“Now, my child, I judge not only with my heart but with my head; and reason tells me that, though M. Olivier’s impulse was highly commendable, it was only an impulse. I do not doubt for an instant that M. Olivier will keep the promise he made you, and that he will act honourably in the matter, but I want to be sure — that is, as sure as one can be of anything in this world — that, in case M. Olivier married you, his whole life would harmonise with the impulse which I admire as much as you do.”
Ernestine could not conceal a sort of sorrowful impatience as she listened to these wise and prudent words, and noting this fact, the marquis continued, in a tone that was both grave and affectionate:
“My poor child, the confidence you have in me, the affection I felt for your mother, the very interest I take in your future, all compel me to say this, though it may disappoint and grieve you. But I promise you that, if I find M. Olivier is worthy of you, I will devote myself body and soul to overcoming the obstacles that stand in the way of your marriage.”
“Ernestine, we must trust M. de Maillefort implicitly, blindly,” Herminie said to her friend. “The responsibility he assumes is so great, we must not hamper him in any way. Besides, instead of opposing the inquiries he intends to make, you should urge him to make them as searching as possible, for, believe me, they will only prove still more conclusively that M. Olivier is worthy of you.”
“That is true, Herminie; and you, M. de Maillefort, will forgive me, I trust,” said Mlle. de Beaumesnil. “I was wrong, but, alas! with my only chance of happiness at stake, you can perhaps understand my terror and my wretchedness at the thought that I may lose it.”
“On the contrary, it is to make your chance of happiness more certain that I speak as I do. But even supposing that M. Olivier should be found to possess all the attributes we desire, it will, first of all, be necessary to persuade your guardian to consent to this marriage; then, what will prove an even more difficult task, I fear, we shall have to convince M. Olivier that he can, with honour, marry the richest heiress in France, inasmuch as he loved her when he thought her penniless and unprotected.”
“In this, alas! I agree with you, M. de Maillefort,” said Ernestine, despondently. “I, too, am afraid that M. Olivier will refuse to marry me. And yet this refusal would show such nobility of soul that, even though it made me miserable, I could not help admiring it. Alas, alas! what are we to do, M. de Maillefort?”
“I do not know, my dear child. I will think the matter over to-night, and try to devise some means of accomplishing our object. I have a vague, shadowy idea of one expedient,” added the hunchback, thoughtfully. “Yes, why not? But I must reduce this chaotic mass of ideas to a little order first, and, above all, don’t let us give way to despair.”
“Do you think Ernestine might see M. Olivier again soon?” inquired Herminie.
“Not for several days.”
“Oh, dear, what will he think of me?” sighed Mlle. de Beaumesnil.
“So far as that is concerned, Ernestine, you remember you told him that the relative with whom you were living was so peculiar that you would need several days to decide whether it had better be M. Olivier or Commander Bernard who should go to her to ask your hand in marriage.”
“That is true.”
“And this pretended relative is your governess, I suppose, my dear child?” said the marquis.
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Can you rely upon her discretion?”
“Self-interest ensures that.”
“That is a very important point, for there can be little or no chance of success in our undertaking without absolute secrecy,” remarked the hunchback; “and I need not say, my dear Herminie, that even Gerald himself must not know that the little embroideress, about whom M. Olivier has often talked to him, is Mlle. de Beaumesnil.”
“Alas! monsieur, it will be an easy matter for me to promise that, for I shall not see Gerald again until his mother comes to me, or, in other words, I shall never see him again.”
“Courage, my child, courage!” said the hunchback. “I am not a very devout man, but I do believe in the God of good people, and that virtue is rewarded, even in this world. Courage, then! But to return to the subject of M. Olivier; my dear Herminie, if you see him, as you probably will, you must tell him that Ernestine is not very well. This will give me time to form my plans, for I only ask that you will give me
one week, my dear children. If I have not brought these matters to a successful termination in one week, I never shall. Then it will be time to think of resignation and consolation, and you, my children, must admit, I think, that if you are obliged to give up all idea of these much desired marriages, your grief and disappointment will be much more endurable if you are together, than alone. Besides, I shall be left to you, and we three, together, can surely make a brave stand against misfortune.”
“Ah, if I had to endure such a sorrow, deprived of Ernestine’s friendship and yours, I believe it would kill me,” murmured Herminie.
“Alas! my dear Herminie, how fraught with fears and anxiety this coming week will be!” exclaimed Ernestine. “But we shall at least see each other every day, shall we not? Or what is far better,” exclaimed Mlle. de Beaumesnil, starting violently as a new idea suddenly occurred to her, “we need not be separated any more.”
“What do you mean, Ernestine?”
“You must stay here with me from now on. Must she not, M. de Maillefort?”
“It would be a great happiness for me,” answered Herminie, blushing, “but I cannot accept it.”
The hunchback understood Herminie’s feelings. She felt that it would be humiliating to accept an idle and luxurious life from the rich heiress; besides, Ernestine’s proposal, even if it were accepted by the duchess, might injure M. de Maillefort’s plans, and he said as much to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, who was as greatly surprised as chagrined by her friend’s refusal.
“I think it might seriously interfere with my plans, my dear child, if your guardian and his family should discover your fondness for Herminie, for they would immediately institute an inquiry into the cause of this sudden intimacy with the young girl you had apparently met to-day for the first time, and the suspicious distrusts thus aroused might give me a great deal of trouble.”
“We shall be obliged to resign ourselves to a separation, then, I suppose,” said Ernestine, sadly; “but it would have been such a comfort to spend this week of anxiety and suspense with Herminie.”
