Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Really, marquis, I scarcely know whether I am awake or dreaming. You, whom I have hitherto regarded as a bitter enemy—”

  “Only a ‘Woman’s Hatred,’ you know — or, if you like it better, the ‘Hatred of a Political Friend.’”

  “It seems inconceivable.”

  “So even as I ruined your absurd plans for securing a peerage at the same time that I prevented you from marrying your ward to an unprincipled scoundrel, I now propose to make you a deputy, and at the same time secure your consent to her marriage with a worthy young man who loves her, and whom she loves in return.”

  On hearing this announcement, M. de la Rochaiguë moved uneasily in his chair, cast a suspicious look at the marquis, and answered, coldly:

  “I have been your dupe, I see, M. le marquis; I fell into the trap like a fool.”

  “What trap, my dear baron?”

  “Your pretended anger at the course my political aspirations had taken, your flattery, your proposal to make me a deputy in your stead, all conceal an ulterior motive. Fortunately, I divine it — I unmask it — I unveil it.”

  “You are sure to become Minister of Foreign Affairs, baron, if you manifest like perspicuity in political matters.”

  “A truce to pleasantries, monsieur.”

  “So be it, monsieur. You must believe one of two things: I am either mocking you by pretending to take your political aspirations seriously, or else I really see in you the stuff from which statesmen are made. It is for you to decide which of these hypotheses is the correct one. Now, to state the case simply but clearly, your ward has made an admirable choice, as I will prove to you. Consent to this marriage, and I will have you elected deputy. That is the bright side of the medal.”

  “Ah, there are two sides?” sneered the baron.

  “Naturally. I have shown you the good side; this is the bad: You and your wife and sister have grossly abused the trust confided to you—”

  “Monsieur—”

  “Oh, I can prove it. All three of you have either favoured or been personally mixed up in the most abominable intrigues, of which Mlle. de Beaumesnil was to be the victim. I repeat that I have abundant proofs of this fact, and Mlle. de Beaumesnil herself will unite with me in exposing these nefarious schemes.”

  “And to whom do you propose to denounce us, if you please?”

  “To the members of the family council which Mlle. de Beaumesnil will convoke at once. You can guess what the result of such a proceeding will be. Your appointment as guardian will be annulled, forthwith.”

  “We will see about that! We will see about that, monsieur!”

  “You will certainly have an admirable chance to see about it. Now choose. Consent to this marriage and you are a deputy. Refuse your consent, there will be a frightful scandal; you will be deprived of your guardianship, and all your ambitious hopes will be blighted for ever!”

  “Ah, you censure me for having desired to marry my ward in a way that might benefit me personally, and yet you — you propose to do the same thing you censure me for, yourself.”

  “There is not the slightest justice in your comparison, my dear sir. You were trying to marry your ward to a scoundrel; I want to marry her to an honourable man, and I offer you a certain price for your consent, because you have proved to me that it is necessary to give a certain price for your consent.”

  “And why, if the person you have selected for Mlle. de Beaumesnil is a suitable person?”

  “The husband I have suggested, and that Mlle. de Beaumesnil desires, is a perfectly honourable man—”

  “And his fortune, social position, etc., — these are all that can be desired, I suppose.”

  “He is a lieutenant in the army, without either name or fortune, but he is one of the bravest and most honest men I know. He loves Ernestine, and she loves him in return. What objection have you to offer?”

  “What objection have I to offer? A mere nobody, whose only possessions are his cloak and sword, marry the richest heiress in France! Never. Do you hear me? Never will I consent to such an unequal marriage! M. de Mornand at least had a fair prospect of becoming a minister, an ambassador, or president of the Chamber, monsieur.”

  “So you see, baron, I was very wise to offer you a handsome price for your consent.”

  “But according to you, monsieur, in thus allowing myself to be influenced by motives of personal aggrandisement, I should be acting very—”

  “Disgracefully. Still, that does not matter, provided Ernestine’s happiness can be assured.”

  “And it is a person capable of an act you consider so dishonourable that you dare to propose to the electors of your district as their representative!” exclaimed the baron, triumphantly. “You would so abuse their confidence as to give them, as a representative of our party, a man who—”

  “In the first place, the electors in question are a parcel of fools, my dear sir; besides, I do not interfere with their right of suffrage in the least. They imagine, because I am a marquis, that I should be just as fanatical a partisan of church and throne as their late deputy. They even told me that, in case of my refusal, they should consider it a favour if I would designate some other suitable person. I offer them as a candidate a man of their own party, perfectly capable of representing them. (It is not very high praise, my dear baron, to say that you are at least as gifted a man as their deceased deputy.) The rest is for you to decide, for I need not tell you that I was only jesting a few minutes ago when I said that your political sentiments and mine were identical. It was merely a means of paving the way to the offer which I have made, and which I reiterate. And now, you will, perhaps, ask me why, if I feel confident of my ability to compel you to resign your guardianship of Mlle. de Beaumesnil, I do not do it.”

  “I should like to ask you that very plain question, monsieur,” responded the baron.

  “My explanation will be very simple, my dear sir. It is because I do not believe there is, among the other persons to whom this guardianship is likely to be entrusted, any man with sense and heart enough to understand why the richest heiress in France might be permitted to marry a brave and honourable man without either rank or fortune. So, as I should have the same difficulty to contend with in another guardian, but not have the same effectual means of coercing him, perhaps, such a change might injure rather than aid my plans, besides ruining you irretrievably. Now reflect, and make your choice. I shall expect to see you at my house to-morrow morning, not later than ten o’clock.”

  And the marquis departed, leaving M. de la Rochaiguë in a state of painful perplexity.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER.

  THREE DAYS HAD elapsed since M. de Maillefort’s interviews with Madame de Senneterre and M. de la Rochaiguë, and Herminie, alone in her pretty room, seemed a prey to the keenest anxiety; for every now and then she cast an impatient glance at the clock, or started at the slightest sound, or turned hastily towards the door.

  In fact, one could discern in the face of the duchess an anxiety fully equal to that which she had experienced some time before, while in momentary expectation of the much dreaded M. Bouffard’s coming.

  And yet it was not a visit from M. Bouffard, but from M. de Maillefort, that caused the girl’s agitation.

  The flowers in the pretty little room had just been renewed, and the muslin curtains at the windows that overlooked the garden had been freshly laundered. These windows were open, but the green outside shutters were closed to keep out the glare.

  After setting her house in order with scrupulous care, the duchess had evidently made an unusually careful toilet, for she had donned her best dress, a high-necked, black levantine, with chemisette and sleeves of dazzling whiteness. Her sole ornament was her magnificent hair, which gleamed like burnished gold in the sun-light, but never had her beauty seemed more noble and touching in its character, for, for some time past, her face had been paler, though her complexion had lost none of its dazzling clearness.

  The
duchess had just given another quick glance at the door, when she fancied she heard a footstep outside, near the window that overlooked the garden, and she was about to rise and satisfy her doubts, when the door opened, and Madame Moufflon ushered in M. de Maillefort.

  That gentleman was hardly in the room, however, before he turned and said to the portress:

  “A lady will come and ask to see Mlle. Herminie, in a few moments — you will admit her.”

  “Yes, monsieur,” replied Madame Moufflon, deferentially, as she took her departure.

  On hearing the words, “A lady will come and ask to see Mlle. Herminie,” the girl sprang forward hastily, exclaiming:

  “Mon Dieu! M. le marquis, — this lady — whom you expect — ?”

  “Is she!” replied the marquis, radiant with joy and hope. “Yes, she is coming at last!”

  Then, seeing Herminie turn as pale as death and tremble violently in every limb, the hunchback cried:

  “What is the matter, my child? Tell me, what is the matter?”

  “Ah, monsieur,” said the duchess, faintly, “I don’t know why, but now, oh, I feel so afraid!”

  “Afraid! when Madame de Senneterre has pledged herself to make the concession which you were very right to ask, but which you had little hope that she would ever grant!”

  “Alas! monsieur, now, for the first time, I seem to understand the temerity, the impropriety, perhaps, of my demand.”

  “My dear child,” exclaimed the hunchback, anxiously, “no weakness, I beg, or you will lose all. Be your own noble, charming self, the personification of modesty without humility, and of dignity without arrogance, and all will be well, — I trust.”

  “Ah, monsieur, when you told me yesterday that there was a possibility of this visit from Madame de Senneterre, I thought my cup of joy would be filled to overflowing, if this hope should be realised, and now I feel only the most abject terror and alarm.”

  “Here she comes! Summon up all your courage, my child, for God’s sake, and think of Gerald!” exclaimed the hunchback, hearing a carriage stop at the door.

  “Oh, monsieur, have pity on me,” murmured the duchess, clutching M. de Maillefort’s hand convulsively. “Oh, I shall never dare—”

  “Poor child! she is going to ruin her prospects, I fear,” thought the marquis.

  Almost at that very instant the door opened, and Madame de Senneterre entered.

  She was a tall and slender woman, with an exceedingly haughty manner, and she came into the room with head high in the air, an insolent gleam in her eyes, and a disdainful smile upon her lips. She had an unusually high colour, and seemed to find it difficult to control her feelings.

  The fact is, Madame de Senneterre was violently agitated by conflicting emotions. This ridiculously proud and arrogant woman had left her home firmly resolved to make the concession towards Herminie which M. de Maillefort demanded, and in return for which he had promised to adopt the young girl.

  Madame de Senneterre had consequently resolved that during this visit, which cost her pride so much, her demeanour should be scrupulously, though coldly, polite; but as the moment for the interview approached, and as this arrogant woman reflected that she, the Duchesse de Senneterre, was about to present herself as a petitioner at the home of an obscure young girl, who worked for her living, the implacable pride of the grande dame revolted at the thought. Anger filled her heart, she lost her head, and, forgetting the advantages her son would derive from this marriage, forgetting that, after all, it was the adopted daughter of the Prince Duc de Haut-Martel she was about to visit, and not the poor music teacher, Madame de Senneterre reached Herminie’s home with no intention of adopting any conciliatory measures, but resolved to treat this insolent creature, who had been so audacious in her pretensions, as she deserved to be treated.

  On seeing the haughtiness, aggressiveness, and anger so legibly imprinted on Madame de Senneterre’s features, the marquis, no less surprised than alarmed, understood the sudden change which had taken place in the intentions of Gerald’s mother, and said to himself, despairingly:

  “All is lost!”

  As for Herminie, she did not seem to have a drop of blood in her veins. Her beautiful face had become frightfully pale; her lips, which were almost blue, trembled convulsively; it seemed impossible for her to raise her eyes — in fact, she seemed unable to make the slightest movement, or even to utter a word.

  In spite of the high terms in which M. de Maillefort had spoken of this young girl whom he esteemed so highly as to be willing to give her his name, Madame de Senneterre, too insufferably proud as well as opinionated to concede that Herminie’s conduct might have been prompted solely by a sense of dignity, had expected to find herself confronted by a vain, pert, rather coarse, ill-bred girl, proud of her conquest, and resolved to make the most of it; so, as Gerald’s mother, she had armed herself with the most insulting disdain and arrogance of manner.

  She was consequently both astonished and discomfited at the sight of this charming but timid creature, of such rare loveliness and wonderful distinction of manner, who, instead of giving herself any impertinent airs, did not even dare to raise her eyes, and seemed more dead than alive in the presence of the great lady from whom she had exacted this visit.

  “Good Heavens, how beautiful she is!” Madame de Senneterre said to herself, with a strange mixture of spitefulness and involuntary admiration. “What a refined and distinguished looking young woman this poor, obscure music teacher is! It is simply marvellous! My own daughters are not to be compared with her.”

  Though it has taken some time to describe these conflicting sentiments in the heart of Madame de Senneterre, their coming and going had been well-nigh simultaneous, and only a few seconds had elapsed after her entrance into the room before, blushing for the sort of embarrassment and dismay that she had at first experienced, she broke the silence by demanding in haughty, supercilious tones:

  “Mlle. Herminie, is she here?”

  “I am she, madame la duchesse,” faltered Herminie, while M. de Maillefort stood watching the scene with growing anxiety.

  “Mlle. Herminie — the music teacher?” repeated Madame de Senneterre, with a contemptuous emphasis on the last word. “You are that young person, I suppose.”

  “Yes, madame la duchesse,” replied the poor girl, trembling like a leaf, and without venturing to raise her eyes.

  “Well, mademoiselle, you are satisfied, I trust? You have had the audacity to insist that I should come here, and here I am.”

  “I felt constrained — madame la duchesse — to solicit the honour — that — that—”

  “Indeed! And what right have you to presume to make this insolent demand?”

  “Madame!” exclaimed the hunchback, threateningly.

  But as Madame de Senneterre uttered these last insulting words, Herminie, who had seemed so terrified, so utterly crushed until then, lifted her head proudly, a slight tinge of colour suffused her cheeks, and, raising her large blue eyes for the first time to the face of Gerald’s mother, she replied in firm though gentle tones:

  “I have never felt that I had the right to expect even the slightest mark of deference from you, madame. On the contrary, I only desired to — to testify the respect that I felt for your authority, madame, by declaring to M. de Senneterre that I could not and would not accept his hand without his mother’s consent.”

  “And I — a person of my age and position — must humiliate myself by making the first advances to mademoiselle?”

  “I am an orphan, madame, without a relative in the world. I could designate no one else for you to approach on the subject, and my dignity would not permit me to go to you and solicit—”

  “Your dignity, — this is really very amusing!” exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, infuriated at finding herself obliged to acknowledge the charming reserve and perfect dignity of the girl’s demeanour under such very trying circumstances. “Could anything be more extraordinary?” she continued, with a sarcastic
laugh. “Mademoiselle has her dignity.”

  “I have the dignity of virtue, poverty, and honest toil, madame la duchesse,” replied Herminie, looking Madame de Senneterre full in the face, this time with such an unflinching, noble air that Gerald’s mother became embarrassed and was obliged to avert her eyes.

  For several minutes the marquis had found it very difficult to restrain his desire to punish Madame de Senneterre for her insolence to his protégée, but on hearing Herminie’s simple but noble reply, he thought her sufficiently avenged.

  “So be it, then,” responded Madame de Senneterre, in a rather less bitter tone. “You have your dignity, but you can hardly think that for a person to be able to enter one of the most illustrious families in France it is enough for that person to be honest, virtuous and industrious.”

  “But I do think so, madame.”

  “You are not lacking in pride, I must say,” exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, thoroughly exasperated. “Mademoiselle doubtless supposes that by marrying M. le Duc de Senneterre she will confer a great honour upon him, as well as upon his family.”

  “In responding to M. de Senneterre’s affection with an affection equal to his own, I feel that I do honour him by my preference as much as he has honoured me. As for M. de Senneterre’s family, I know, madame, that they will never be proud of me, but I shall have the consciousness of being worthy of them.”

  “Good!” exclaimed the hunchback, “good, my brave and noble child!”

  Though Madame de Senneterre was making every effort to resist the influence of Herminie’s charms, she found herself gradually yielding to it in spite of herself.

  The beauty, grace, and exquisite tact of this charming creature exerted a sort of fascination over Gerald’s mother, so, fearing she might succumb to it, she resolved to end all temptation to do so by burning her ships behind her, or, in other words, by again resorting to vituperation, so she exclaimed, wrathfully: