Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “You still have some very remarkable things to learn in relation to Mlle. Herminie, my dear baron,” said the marquis.

  “Indeed? And what are they, may I ask?”

  “In the conversation which you and I must have, presently, I will answer your question fully; but now I am sure it will suffice you to know that your ward has placed her friendship as wisely as her love; for I can truly say that the person who would select M. Olivier Raymond for a husband would be certain to select Mlle. Herminie for a friend.”

  “M. de Maillefort is right,” said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, twining her arm affectionately about her friend’s waist; “both these greatest blessings came to me the same evening at Madame Herbaut’s little party.”

  “Madame Herbaut’s little party!” repeated the baron, opening his eyes wide, in astonishment, “What Madame Herbaut?”

  “My dear child, you should be generous, and not give M. de la Rochaiguë any more enigmas to solve this evening,” said the hunchback.

  “I declare myself utterly incapable of solving them,” exclaimed the baron. “My poor brain feels as confused and bewildered as if I had just made a balloon ascension.”

  “Don’t be alarmed, baron,” said M. de Maillefort, laughing. “I shall spare your imagination any further flights by soon telling you all there is to tell.”

  “In that case we will leave you,” said Ernestine, smiling. Then she added:

  “But I feel it my duty to warn you before I go that Herminie and I have entered into a conspiracy, M. de la Rochaiguë.”

  “And what is this conspiracy, young ladies?”

  “As it is so late, and as I should certainly become quite crazed with joy if I were left entirely alone with my happiness, Herminie has consented to remain with me until to-morrow morning. We shall dine tête-à-tête, and in the happiest of moods, as you may imagine.”

  “An admirable arrangement, young ladies, for Madame de la Rochaiguë and I have an engagement to dine out this evening,” said the baron; “so a pleasant evening to you.”

  “I shall see you both again to-morrow,” said M. de Maillefort. “There are some details which I am sure you will enjoy, that we must discuss together.”

  The two girls, radiant with delight, returned to Ernestine’s apartments, and, after a daintily served dinner, — which they scarcely touched, so absorbed were they in their new-found joy and happiness, — they retired to Ernestine’s chamber, to again talk over the strange vicissitudes of their love affairs and of their friendship.

  In about a quarter of an hour they were, to their great regret, interrupted by Madame Laîné, who entered the room after having rapped in a deprecating manner.

  “What do you want, my dear Laîné?” asked Ernestine, a trifle impatiently.

  “I have a favour to ask of mademoiselle.”

  “What is it?”

  “Mademoiselle is perhaps aware that M. le baron and madame are dining out this evening, and that they will not return home until late.”

  “Yes, what of it?”

  “Mlle. Helena, wishing the servants to profit by the leisure evening monsieur’s and madame’s absence affords them, secured three loges at the Gaîté Theatre this morning, where they are playing ‘The Maccabees,’ a drama founded on an episode in Bible history.”

  “And you, too, wish to go, I suppose, my dear Laîné?”

  “If mademoiselle will not need me until it is time for her to retire.”

  “You can have the entire evening, my dear Laîné, and take Thérèse with you, if you choose.”

  “But what if mademoiselle should need something before our return?”

  “Oh, I shall not need anything. Mlle. Herminie and I will wait on each other. Go, and enjoy yourself, by all means, my dear Laîné, and be sure to take Thérèse with you.”

  “Mademoiselle is very kind. I thank her a thousand times. If mademoiselle should need anything, she has only to ring, however, for Mlle. Helena told Placide to come down so as to be ready to answer mademoiselle’s bell if she rang.”

  “Very well, I will ring for her if I want anything. Good night, my dear Laîné.”

  The governess bowed and retired, and the two young girls were left almost alone in the big house, all the other inmates of the dwelling having gone out, with the exception of Mlle. Helena de la Rochaiguë and Placide, that lady’s personal attendant, who had been instructed to respond to the summons should Mlle. de Beaumesnil ring.

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  FOILED!

  THE CLOCK HAD just struck ten.

  It was a dark and stormy night, and the howling of the wind was the only sound that broke the profound silence which pervaded the spacious mansion.

  The young girls had been talking for two hours of their sad past and their radiant future, though it seemed to them that the interchange of confidence had scarcely begun.

  But suddenly Ernestine paused in the middle of a sentence, and, turning her head in the direction of Madame Laîné’s room, seemed to listen attentively.

  “What is the matter, Ernestine?” inquired Herminie.

  “Nothing, my dear, nothing,” replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, “I was mistaken, of course.”

  “But what was it?”

  “It seemed to me I heard a sound in Madame Laîné’s room.”

  “What a timid little thing you are!” said Herminie. “It was probably some outside shutter rattling in the wind you heard and—”

  But Herminie, making a sudden movement of surprise in her turn, quickly turned her head towards the door that separated Ernestine’s bedroom from the adjoining parlour, and said:

  “How strange, Ernestine! Did you notice — ?”

  “That some one turned the key in that door.”

  Without replying, Herminie ran to the door and turned the knob.

  Further doubt was impossible. Some one had, indeed, locked the door on the outside.

  “Great Heavens! what does this mean?” whispered Ernestine, really frightened now. “And all the servants are out. Ah, fortunately, Placide, one of Mlle. Helena’s maids remained at home.”

  And rushing to the bell-rope, Mlle. de Beaumesnil pulled it violently several times.

  Meanwhile Herminie had recalled the vague uneasiness the marquis had shown that afternoon when he alluded to the intimacy between Ravil and Macreuse, but though she was considerably alarmed herself she did not wish to increase Ernestine’s terror, so she said:

  “Don’t be frightened, my dear; the person you rang for can explain what surprises you so much, probably.”

  “But she doesn’t come, and this is the third time I have rung for her!” exclaimed Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

  Then, trembling like a leaf, she added, in a whisper, pointing this time to the door which separated her chamber from Madame Laîné’s’:

  “Listen. Oh, my God! don’t you hear somebody walking about in there?”

  Herminie made her a reassuring gesture, but Mlle. de Beaumesnil, after listening again for an instant, exclaimed with even greater terror:

  “Herminie, I tell you I hear some one moving about! They are coming towards the door. Listen!”

  “We’ll push the bolt and fasten ourselves in,” said Herminie, promptly, hastening towards the door.

  But just as the young girl was about to place her hand on the bolt, the door suddenly opened, and M. de Macreuse entered the room.

  On seeing him, Herminie uttered a cry and sprang back, while this model young man, turning towards some one who had remained in the next room, exclaimed, in accents of amazement and baffled rage:

  “Hell! she is not alone! All is lost!”

  On hearing these words, a second intruder appeared.

  It was Ravil.

  And at the sight of Herminie, he cried, in a no less surprised and angry tone:

  “Damnation! that girl here!”

  Herminie and Ernestine had retreated to the farther end of the room, and there, clasped in each other’s arms as if to afford each other mutual supp
ort, they stood, paralysed with fright, and unable to utter a word.

  Macreuse and Ravil, at first astounded, and then infuriated by the unexpected presence of Herminie, which seemed likely to ruin their plans, also stood silent and motionless for a moment, gazing inquiringly at each other as if to read in each other’s faces what they had better do under such unforeseen circumstances.

  The two girls, in spite of their terror, had noted the exclamations of astonishment and dismay which had escaped both Macreuse and his accomplice on finding that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was not alone, as they had anticipated.

  The two girls had also noticed the state of consternation in which the founder of the St. Polycarpe mission and his accomplice had been momentarily plunged.

  Both these observations served to restore a little courage to the sisters, and, reason coming to their aid, they finally came to the conclusion that together they were as strong as they would have been helpless had either of them found herself at the mercy of these wretches, alone.

  So Mlle. de Beaumesnil, realising how great was the danger from which Herminie’s presence had saved her, exclaimed, with a tenderness and gratitude which proved the intensity of her anxiety and dread:

  “See, Herminie, Heaven has again sent you to act as my protector! But for you I should be lost.”

  “Courage, my dear, courage!” whispered the duchess. “See how disconcerted the scoundrels look!”

  “You are right, Herminie! Such a blissful day as this has been to us can not be spoiled! I have a blind confidence in our star now.”

  Cheered by this brief interchange of whispered words, the orphans, strengthened, too, by the thought of the radiant future before them, gradually recovered their composure, and at last Ernestine, addressing Macreuse and his accomplice, said, bravely:

  “You will not succeed in terrifying us. The first shock is over and your audacity arouses only disdain. In a short time the servants will return, and you will be put out of the house as disgracefully as you entered it.”

  “It is true we may be compelled to endure your presence for awhile,” added Herminie, with bitter scorn; “but in spite of our contempt and aversion, Mlle. de Beaumesnil and I have both been subjected to more severe ordeals.”

  “What a courageous man you are, M. de Macreuse, to steal at night, with an accomplice, into the room of a young girl you believe to be alone, in order to secure a cowardly revenge for the humiliation that M. de Maillefort, who knows you, inflicted upon you in public!” added Ernestine.

  Macreuse and Ravil listened to these sarcasms in silence, interchanging wrathful looks the while.

  “My dear Herminie,” resumed Mlle. de Beaumesnil, whose countenance was gradually regaining its accustomed serenity, “I may seem very silly to you, and it may be that the great happiness we have experienced to-day has upset me a little, but really all this seems so utterly absurd and ridiculous to me that I can scarcely help laughing.”

  “I, too, must admit that it seems ridiculous, and even grotesque, to me.”

  “The discomfiture of these scoundrels is really pitiable,” remarked Mlle. de Beaumesnil, bursting into a hearty laugh this time.

  “The impotent rage of these conspirators, who excite mirth rather than fear, is extremely amusing,” chimed in Herminie, no less gaily.

  In fact, the bewilderment of these two scoundrels, who did not consider themselves in the least subjects for mirth, was so ludicrous that the orphans, either because their happiness had, indeed, made them bold, or because they were really brave enough to face this danger unflinchingly, gave way to another burst of feverish, vindictive gaiety, — feverish, because the two girls were naturally excited by the very strangeness of the situation, vindictive, because they were fully conscious of the disappointment and exasperation they were causing Macreuse and Ravil.

  The intruders, momentarily disconcerted by the unexpected presence of Herminie, and by the strange hilarity of the young girls, soon began to recover their assurance.

  Macreuse, whose drawn features were assuming a more and more threatening expression, whispered a few words in Ravil’s ear, whereupon that worthy hastily stepped to the only window in the room, and slipped a small steel chain around the fastening, thus effectually closing the window as well as the inside shutters, and then united the two ends of the chain with a padlock.

  This done, it was impossible, of course, to open either the window or shutters from the inside and call for help.

  The two girls thus found themselves at the mercy of Macreuse and De Ravil.

  The door leading into the sitting-room had been locked on the other side by Mlle. Helena’s maid, for it is needless to say that this saintly creature and her attendant were Macreuse’s accomplices, but both were ignorant that Herminie was still with Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

  While Ravil was thus engaged, Macreuse, whose countenance expressed the most execrable sentiments, folded his arms upon his breast, and said, with portentous calmness:

  “My first plan has failed by reason of the presence of this accursed creature (indicating Herminie by a gesture). I am frank, you see. But I have ingenuity in plenty, and a devoted friend. You are both in our power. We have two hours at our disposal, and I will convince you that I am not a person to be laughed at long.”

  These threats, as well as the tone and expression of the man that made them, were rendered even more terrifying by the solitude and entirely defenceless position in which the two girls found themselves; but if tragical things are once viewed in a ridiculous light, anything that increases the horror of them likewise seems to increase the laughter of the beholder, which soon becomes irrepressible.

  Macreuse’s threats produced this very effect upon the two young girls, for, unfortunately, as he spoke he made an involuntary movement that caused his hat to slip far back on his head, and this, in spite of his threatening, almost ferocious expression, gave such an odd appearance to his rather broad face that the two girls burst into a fresh fit of merriment.

  Then came the accomplice’s turn.

  The girls had watched Ravil’s manœuvre with even more curiosity than alarm, but when the time came to pass the hasp of the padlock through the last links of the chain, Ravil, who was a little near-sighted, did not succeed at first, and stamped his foot violently in his anger and impatience.

  This elicited another such paroxysm of nervous laughter from the two girls that Macreuse and his accomplice, amazed, then as deeply exasperated as if they had been slapped in the face, in the presence of a hundred witnesses, lost their heads, and, quite carried away with ferocious rage, sprang towards the young girls, and seized them savagely by the arm.

  As they did so, Macreuse, his face livid, his eyes haggard, and positively foaming at the mouth with rage, but with his unfortunate hat still on the back of his head, exclaimed:

  “Have we got to kill you to frighten you?”

  “Alas! it is not our fault,” said Ernestine, bursting into another fit of laughter at the sight of this alike terrible and grotesque figure. “You can only kill us — with laughter.”

  And Herminie chimed in.

  Infuriated beyond expression, there is no knowing to what violence the two villains might have resorted, but at that very instant the door leading into the sitting-room — the door which had been locked on the outside — was suddenly opened, and M. de Maillefort, accompanied by Gerald, burst into the room, exclaiming, in a voice full of anxiety and alarm:

  “Have no fears, my children; here we are!”

  But judge of the newcomers’ astonishment. Both had rushed in, pale and terrified, like persons who had come to rescue a friend from some great danger. And what did they behold?

  Two young girls with brilliant colour, sparkling eyes, and bosoms heaving with laughter, while Macreuse and Ravil stood pale with rage and motionless with terror at this unexpected interference.

  For an instant the marquis attributed this strange hilarity on the part of the two girls to hysteria, caused by intense fright, but he
was speedily reassured by Ernestine, who said:

  “Forgive this extraordinary gaiety, my dear M. de Maillefort, but such a strange thing has happened. These two men entered the house by that back stairway I told you about—”

  “M. de Maillefort, accompanied by Gerald, burst into the room.”

  Original etching by Adrian Marcel.

  “Yes,” said the marquis, turning to Herminie; “the key — this morning — you remember, my child. My presentiments did not deceive me, it seems.”

  “I must admit that we were terribly frightened at first,” replied Herminie, “but when we saw the rage and disappointment of these men, who had expected to find Ernestine alone—”

  “And their consternation was so ludicrous,” added Mlle. de Beaumesnil, “and we felt so perfectly safe, being together, that what had seemed so terrible at first began—”

  “To appear positively ludicrous,” added Herminie.

  “But just as you came in M. de Macreuse was talking of killing us to cure us of our inclination to laugh,” remarked Ernestine.

  “Did any one ever see the like of them?” the marquis exclaimed, admiringly, turning to Gerald. “Are they not as brave as they are charming?”

  “I admire their courage as much as you do,” replied Gerald, “but when I think of the shameful audacity of these scoundrels, whom I hardly dare to look at for fear I shall not be able to control myself and so trample them under my feet, I—”

  “Nonsense, my dear Gerald, nonsense!” exclaimed the marquis. “Gentlemen do not touch carrion like that even with their feet. The criminal court will attend to them now.”

  And turning to the model young man and to Ravil, who had summoned up all their assurance with the evident intention of braving the storm, the hunchback said:

  “M. de Macreuse, since your sudden intimacy with M. de Ravil began, knowing what you were both capable of, I have had you closely watched.”

  “A system of espionage, eh?” said Macreuse, with a haughty smile. “I am not surprised.”

  “Yes, of espionage,” retorted the hunchback. “This morning I happened to see you in a locksmith’s. You were showing a key to him, and this excited my suspicions. I consequently redoubled my vigilance, and this evening you and your companion were followed here by two of my men. One of those men remained by the door which he had just seen you open with a false key. The other ran to inform me, and I, in turn, sent him to summon the police, who must be waiting for you this very minute at the foot of the stairway by which you effected an entrance here. They will speedily give you and your worthy friend some idea of the annoyance to which persons who enter an occupied house at night by the aid of false keys expose themselves.”