by Eugène Sue
“Then, instead of making your son adore you by consenting to a thing you cannot prevent, Gerald will know exactly what your affection is worth, and dispense with your consent entirely.”
“But you cannot expect me to come to such an important decision in a moment, as it were.”
“So be it, madame. I will give you until to-morrow noon. I will call then to hear your decision, and, if it conforms alike to the dictates of common sense and maternal love, I will precede you by a few moments to Herminie’s home, in order that I may be there when you arrive. If you do not agree to this, I declare to you that your son will be married in less than six weeks.”
Having said this, the marquis bowed low to Madame de Senneterre, and walked straight out of the room.
“I am satisfied that the egregious simpleton will do what I ask,” he said to himself, “for her ambition and her avarice will both be so thoroughly gratified by this marriage that she will forget that objectionable feature, — the adoption. Besides, by one of those strange contradictions we so often see in poor, frail human nature, this woman, who in her obstinacy would drive her son to suicide, is as jealous of his affection as if she were the tenderest and most devoted of mothers; and, understanding how Gerald will adore her if she pretends to give a free consent to his marriage, she will go to Herminie, I am sure of it.
“But, alas! the game is only half won so far as I am concerned,” mused the hunchback. “Will Herminie, who is so proud, consent to become my adopted child, when she knows the advantages which this adoption will give her, and which alone decided Madame de Senneterre to take the initiative? I am very much afraid that she will not. Did I not see how uncomfortable she felt when Ernestine insisted, not that she should share her wealth, but merely give up her lessons and remain with her? And yet, she perhaps knows that Ernestine is her sister, for I can doubt it no longer, — Herminie is, and knows she is, the daughter of Madame de Beaumesnil.
“Under these circumstances will Herminie, proud and sensitive as she is, accept my offer? I am by no means certain of it, though I told Gerald’s mother so in order to frighten her. That, too, is the reason I desired that the marriage should be definitely arranged before I broached the subject of adoption at all. But I found that could not be managed. Madame de Senneterre would have seen her son kill himself in her presence rather than consent to a mésalliance with a poor girl without name or fortune. All I have been able to do is, perhaps, to induce Madame de Senneterre to make the desired advances to Herminie, — the poor orphan and music teacher. Afterwards we will see.”
“I shall now go straight to M. de la Rochaiguë. Having done all I can for Herminie, I must now see what I can do for Ernestine. I shall have to take the baron unawares, for, in his exasperation against me as the fell destroyer of his hopes of a seat in the Senate, he will refuse to see me, but, with Ernestine’s aid, I shall be able to surprise him, I think, and, fortunately for my plans, he is much more stupid than wicked.”
And M. de Maillefort, reëntering his carriage, was driven to M. de la Rochaiguë’s house.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A TEMPTING BAIT.
M. DE MAILLEFORT, having asked to see Mlle. de Beaumesnil, was conducted straight to Ernestine’s apartments.
“Have you some good news for Herminie?” cried Ernestine, hastening forward to meet him.
“A little, I think.”
“How glad I am! Can I tell Herminie when I see her what you have just told me?”
“Yes; tell her to hope, and yet not to expect too much. And now, as you seem to have forgotten all about yourself, I will add that the result of my inquiries concerning M. Olivier has been eminently satisfactory.”
“I was sure it would be.”
“I even discovered one rather strange fact. It is that, while he was working during his leave so he might be able to assist his uncle, he went down to Beaumesnil, your estate near Luzarches, to help a contractor with his estimates there.”
“M. Olivier? That was, indeed, strange.”
“And this circumstance suggested a plan which I think may prove a good one, for now I think, with you, that you could not have made a wiser choice, but—”
“But what?”
“It is such an important matter that I have thought one more test might be advisable. What is your opinion on the subject?”
“Try it; I have no fears.”
“Besides, you shall witness it yourself, my dear child. If M. Olivier withstands it, you will be the proudest and happiest of women, and there can be no further doubt of your future happiness. If, on the contrary, he succumbs, it will, alas! only be a fresh proof that the noblest natures sometimes yield to certain temptations. This test, too, will have another and very important result.”
“And what is that?”
“After this test M. Olivier can not feel the slightest scruples about marrying the richest heiress in France, and you know, my dear child, that you have some very grave apprehensions on that score.”
“Ah, monsieur, you are, indeed, our good angel!”
“Wait a little, my child. Don’t praise me too soon. Now, one thing more. Didn’t you tell me that there was a back stairway that led up to your guardian’s rooms?”
“Yes, monsieur, several of his intimate friends, who are never formally announced, always make use of it mornings.”
“Very well; I propose to play the part of an intimate friend myself, then, and give the baron a surprise. Show me the way, my child.”
As they were passing through Madame Laîné’s room, Ernestine paused and said to the hunchback:
“I have always forgotten to tell you how I managed to leave the house unobserved the night I went to Madame Herbaut’s party, M. de Maillefort. That door you see over there opens upon another back stairway that leads down to the street. The door at the foot of it was nailed up a long time ago, but my governess succeeded in opening it, and it was through that door we left the house and entered it.”
“Has this door been securely nailed up again?” inquired the hunchback, thoughtfully.
“My governess told me that she had fastened it securely on the inside.”
“My dear child, your governess is an unprincipled woman. She assisted you in making your escape from the house and also favoured your long visits to Herminie. No matter how reprehensible your motives had been, she would have obeyed you just the same, so she is not to be trusted.”
“I have no confidence in her, of course, M. de Maillefort, and, as soon as I can, I intend to pay her liberally, as I promised, and send her away.”
“This door, which affords such easy access to your apartments and which is so entirely at this woman’s disposal, seems to me a very bad thing,” remarked the hunchback. “You had better tell your guardian to-day that you have discovered this door, and ask him to have it walled up as soon as possible, or else give you some other room.”
“I will do as you say, monsieur, but what fears can you have on the subject?”
“I have no well-founded fears at all, my dear child. I consider the walling up of this door as, first, a matter of propriety, and subsequently as a matter of prudence. There is nothing in this to alarm you in the least. Now, au revoir. I am going to have a bout with your guardian, and hope to have some good news for you on my return.”
A moment afterwards M. de Maillefort had reached the floor above. Seeing a key in the lock of the door in front of him, he opened this door, and, finding himself in a narrow passage, he followed this passage until he came to a second door, which he opened like the first and found himself in M. de la Rochaiguë’s study.
That gentleman was seated with his back to the door, reading, in the morning paper, an account of the proceedings during the session of the Chamber of Peers the day before. Hearing the door open, he turned his head and saw the hunchback, who came briskly, even gaily, forward, and, giving him a friendly nod of the head, exclaimed, blithely:
“Good morning, my dear baron, good morning!”
M. de la Rochaigu�
� was too much astounded to utter a word.
Leaning back in his armchair, his hands still clutching the paper, he sat like one petrified, though his eyes were full of surprise and anger.
“You see, my dear baron, I am assuming all the privileges of an intimate friend and making myself quite at home,” continued the hunchback, in the same jovial, almost affectionate tone, as he seated himself in an armchair near the fireplace.
M. de la Rochaiguë was fairly purple with rage by this time, but, having a wholesome fear of the marquis, he controlled his wrath as best he could, and said, rising abruptly:
“It seems incredible, unheard of, outrageous, that — that I should have your presence thus forced upon me, monsieur, after that scene the other evening, and — and—”
“My dear baron, excuse me, but if I had requested the honour of an interview, you would have refused it, would you not?”
“Most assuredly I should, monsieur, for—”
“So I very wisely decided to take you by surprise. Now do me the favour to sit down, and let us talk this matter over like a couple of friends.”
“Friends? You have the audacity to say that, monsieur; you, who ever since I first had the misfortune to know you, have fairly hounded me with sneers and sarcasms which — which I have returned in kind,” added the baron, with true parliamentary aplomb. “A friend? you, monsieur, who have just outdone yourself by—”
“My dear baron,” said the hunchback, interrupting M. de la Rochaiguë afresh, “did you ever see an amusing comedy by Scribe, called ‘A Woman’s Hatred’?”
“I am unable to see any connection—”
“But you will, my dear baron. In this little play, a young and pretty woman seems to pursue with the bitterest animosity a young man, whom in her secret heart she adores.”
“And what of that, may I ask?”
“Well, my dear baron, with this slight difference, viz., that you are not a young man, and I am not a pretty woman who adores you, our relative positions are exactly the same as those of the hero and heroine in Scribe’s little comedy.”
“Once more, monsieur, I—”
“My dear baron, one question, if you please. Have you political aspirations, — yes, or no?”
“Monsieur—”
“Oh, put all false modesty aside and answer me frankly. Do you consider yourself a politician or not?”
On hearing this allusion to his pet hobby, the poor baron, forgetting his resentment, puffed out his cheeks, and, slipping his left hand in the bosom of his dressing-gown while he gesticulated with his right, assumed a parliamentary attitude and majestically responded:
“If a most profound, extended, and conscientious study of the internal and external condition of France, if a certain aptitude for public speaking, and a devoted love of country constitute a politician, I might reasonably aspire to that rôle. Yes, and but for you, monsieur, — but for your outrageous attack upon M. de Mornand, — I might not only aspire to, but assume that rôle at an early day.”
“True, my dear baron, and I must confess that it was with unutterable satisfaction that I killed two birds with one stone by preventing a base and corrupt man like M. de Mornand from marrying your ward, and at the same time preventing you from becoming a peer of France.”
“Yes, from satisfying my ridiculous ambition, as you have told me to my face more than once, monsieur, and I repel the insulting aspersion with scorn and disdain. There is nothing ridiculous about my ambition, monsieur.”
“It is ridiculous in every respect, my dear baron.”
“Have you come here to insult me, monsieur?”
“Do you know why your ambition is ridiculous and out of place, my dear baron? It is because you long for a field of labour in which your political talents will be entirely wasted, completely swallowed up, so to speak.”
“What, monsieur, can it be you that I hear speaking of my political talents when you have never neglected an opportunity to sneer at them?”
“A ‘Woman’s Hatred,’ my dear baron, a ‘Woman’s Hatred’!”
And as M. de la Rochaiguë gazed at the hunchback with a bewildered air, the latter gentleman continued:
“You know, of course, that you and I belong to the same political party, my dear baron.”
“I was not aware of that fact, monsieur; still, it should not surprise me. Persons of exalted rank are inevitably the born, immutable, and unwavering advocates, champions, and representatives of the traditions of the past.”
“And it is for this very reason that I am so bitterly opposed to your holding a seat in the Chamber of Peers, my dear baron.”
“You amaze me greatly, infinitely, prodigiously, monsieur,” said the baron, hanging upon his visitor’s words with breathless eagerness now.
“Can it be that M. de la Rochaiguë is really so blind, or that this mistake is due to bad advisers? I have said to myself again and again. He must, with reason, desire to bring about a return to the traditions of the past, and there cannot be the slightest doubt that he possesses many of the requisites to effect such a consummation: birth, talents, an extended knowledge of political affairs, and antecedents entirely free of any troublesome entanglements—”
When this enumeration of his political qualifications began, M. de la Rochaiguë might have been seen to smile almost imperceptibly, but when the hunchback paused to take breath, the baron’s long teeth were exposed to view.
Noting this sure sign of internal satisfaction, the marquis continued:
“And where does the baron propose to bury all these talents? In the Upper Chamber, which is already filled to overflowing with members of the aristocracy. What will be the result? Why, in spite of his talents, this unfortunate baron will be completely swallowed up in this overwhelming majority. He will necessarily, too, be regarded as a mere dummy or tool, as he will owe his political position to party favour, and his energetic plainness of speech as well as the — the — pray give me the word, baron — the ardour of his impassioned oratory will be hampered by personal obligations.”
“But why do you tell me all this at this late day, monsieur?” exclaimed the baron, in tones of heartfelt reproach.
But the marquis, without giving any sign of having heard the baron’s question, continued:
“How different it would be if this unfortunate baron began his political career in the Chamber of Deputies! He would not enter that body by favour, but by a public election — by the will of the people. Under these circumstances, how forcible the words of this energetic and faithful representative of the traditions of the past would become! It could not be said of him: ‘Your opinion is that of the favoured class to which you belong.’ Far from it, for the baron could reply, and justly: ‘No, my views are the views of the nation, as it is the nation that sent me here.’”
“What you say is true, perfectly true, monsieur, but why did you defer telling me so long?”
“Why, baron? Why, because you manifested such a deep distrust and such an intense antipathy to me.”
“On the contrary, it was you, marquis, who seemed to pursue me with relentless cruelty.”
“Very possibly, for I was continually saying to myself: ‘Ah, if the baron is so blind as to neglect the opportunity to play such a magnificent rôle, he shall bear the penalty of it. I will give him no peace.’ Nor have I; but when the time came to prevent you from committing such a fatal blunder — I did it.”
“But marquis, permit me to say—”
“You do not belong to yourself, monsieur, you belong to your party, and the injury you do yourself will reflect upon the other members of your party. You are consequently an egotist, a heartless—”
“One word, monsieur, one word.”
“Ambitious man who prefers to owe his position to political favour rather than to a public election.”
“You talk very lightly of a public election, monsieur. Do you believe that a seat in either political body can be secured so easily, no matter how well fitted the person may be
to fill such a position? (In speaking in this way of myself, I am only repeating your words, remember.) You may not be aware that I have been trying to secure a seat in the Chamber of Peers ten years, monsieur.”
“Nonsense! You could be a deputy in less than a month if you chose.”
“I?”
“Yes, you, Baron de la Rochaiguë.”
“I, a deputy! That would be magnificent, marquis, for you have opened my eyes to the vast, immense, infinite field of labour that would lie before me. But how could I secure an election?”
“It so happens that the electors of the district where my estates are situated desire to confer the honour of representing them upon me.”
“You, M. le marquis?”
“Yes, I! Just imagine what an idea people will form of those worthy fellows down there from their representative. People will fancy when they see me that I am the envoy of a colony founded by Punchinello.”
This lively sally excited considerable hilarity on the part of the baron, who manifested it as usual by displaying his long teeth several times.
“If my district was located in a mountainous country, there might be some sense in my election,” continued the marquis, indicating his hump by a laughing gesture, to keep the baron in good humour, doubtless.
“Really, marquis,” exclaimed M. de la Rochaiguë, much amused, “you certainly do the honours of yourself with wonderful grace and wit.”
“Then shout, ‘Long live my hump!’ my dear baron, for you little know what you — no, our party — will perhaps owe to it!”
“I — our party — owe anything to your—” the baron hesitated— “to your — to your gibbosity.”
“Gibbosity is a remarkably well chosen word, baron. You were evidently born for the tribune, and, as I said before, you can be a deputy in less than a month if you choose.”
“Once more may I beg you to explain, marquis.”
“Nothing could be simpler. Be a deputy in my stead.”
“You are jesting.”
“Not at all. I should only make the Chamber laugh. You will hold it captive by your eloquence, and our party will consequently be much the gainer by the change. I will introduce you to three or four delegates who have been chosen by my constituents, and who really control the elections down there, and I am sure I shall have little or no difficulty in persuading them to accept you in my stead. I will write to them this afternoon; day after to-morrow they will be here, and by the following day everything will be settled.”
