Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Yes, and more ungrateful than any one I know,” exclaimed Madame Lacombe, tartly, raising herself up in bed.

  Then, seeing the surprise depicted on the features of her goddaughter and Louis, she added, in sneering tones:

  “Yes, you thought the old woman asleep, and so took advantage of the opportunity to decide all about the wedding, but I heard everything you said, everything—”

  “There was nothing said that we were unwilling for you to hear, madame,” replied Louis, gravely. “Mariette and I have no desire to retract a single word we have uttered.”

  “I am certain of that, for you two think only of yourselves. You seem to have no other idea in your head except this detestable marriage. As for me, one might suppose I was already in my coffin. I tell you once for all that—”

  “Permit me to interrupt you, madame,” said Louis, “and to prove to you that I have not forgotten my promise.”

  As he spoke, he took a small box which he had deposited upon the table at his entrance, and placed it on Madame Lacombe’s bed, saying, as he handed her a key:

  “Will you be kind enough to open this box, madame? The contents belong to you.”

  Madame Lacombe took the key with a suspicious air, opened the box, looked in, and exclaimed, like one both dazzled and stupefied:

  “Good God! Good God!”

  Recovering from her bewilderment at last, the sick woman emptied the contents of the box out upon the bed; but it seemed as if she could not believe her eyes when she saw the big pile of glittering gold coins before her.

  “Oh, what a pile of gold! What a pile of gold!” she exclaimed, ecstatically. “And it is real gold — not a counterfeit piece among it. Great Heavens! What big, handsome coins they are! They must be one hundred sou pieces at least. What an immense amount of money this must be! Enough to make two poor women like Mariette and me comfortable for life,” she added, with a sigh.

  “You have about fifteen thousand francs there, madame,” replied Louis. “They are yours.”

  “Mine?” cried the sick woman, “mine?”

  Then, shaking her head with an incredulous air, she said, sharply, “Why do you want to mock an old woman? How can this gold belong to me?”

  “Because this gold is to purchase you an annuity of twelve hundred francs, so that, after Mariette’s marriage, you can live alone or remain with your goddaughter as you prefer, for to-morrow our marriage contract will be signed, and, at the same time, you will receive papers assuring you a yearly income of twelve hundred francs in exchange for this gold. I brought the money here to convince you of the sincerity of my promises. Now, madame, as you overheard our conversation, you know my reasons for entreating Mariette to hasten our marriage. You are comfortably provided for now. If there is any other obstacle to my union with Mariette, tell us, I beseech you, madame. Anything that either she or I can do to satisfy you, we will do. Our happiness will not be complete if you, too, are not content.”

  The words were uttered in a kind, almost affectionate tone, but Mother Lacombe’s only reply was a heavy sigh, as she turned her back upon the speaker.

  Louis and Mariette gazed at each other in silent astonishment for a moment; then the girl, kneeling by the invalid’s bedside, asked, tenderly:

  “What is the matter, godmother?”

  Receiving no reply, Mariette leaned over the old woman, and, seeing tears trickling through her wasted fingers, exclaimed:

  “Good Heavens, Louis, my godmother is weeping. This is the first time in ten years!”

  “What is the matter, madame? Tell us, in Heaven’s name.”

  “I appear like a beggar. I seem to be thinking only of money, and I am ashamed of it,” responded the poor creature, sobbing bitterly. “Yes, you think I care only for money; you think I am selling Mariette to you exactly as I would have sold her to that villain, if I had been a bad woman.”

  “Do not say that, godmother,” exclaimed Mariette, embracing the invalid tenderly. “Can you suppose for one moment that Louis and I had any intention of humiliating you by bringing you this money? Louis has done what you asked, that is all.”

  “I know that, but it was the fear of dying in the street, and of seeing you after marriage far more miserable than you are now, that made me ask for this money. I knew very well that I had no right to any money, but think what it must be to be afraid of being turned into the street when one is old and infirm. I asked for entirely too much, and I did very wrong. What do I really need? Only a mattress in some corner, and a morsel to eat now and then, and, above all, that Mariette will not desert me. I am so used to seeing her around. If she left me I should feel as lonely as if I were in the grave. Besides, there is nobody else in the world who would be so kind and so patient with a cross old sick woman like me. All I ask is to stay with Mariette. To have all this gold thrown in my face, as it were, humiliates me. One may be a mere worm, and yet have a little pride left. When that scoundrel came and offered me gold if I would sell Mariette to him, it made me mad, that is all; but this time it is very different, it makes me weep, — a thing I haven’t done before for ten years, as you said yourself, child. This cuts me to the heart.”

  “Come, come, my dear Madame Lacombe, you need not give yourself the slightest uneasiness with regard to the future,” said Louis, deeply touched. “Mariette will not leave you; we will all live, not luxuriously, but very comfortably together.”

  “Are you in earnest? Will you let me live with you, really and truly?”

  At this fresh proof of the unfortunate woman’s unconquerable distrust, Louis and Mariette again exchanged compassionate glances, and taking her godmother’s hand, the girl said, tenderly:

  “Yes, godmother, yes; we will keep you with us, and care for you as if you were our own mother. You shall see if we do not make you very, very happy.”

  “It will be no fault of ours if we do not, you may be sure of that,” added Louis, earnestly.

  The tone and expression of the two young people would have convinced the most skeptical, but it was so hard for this unfortunate woman to believe that such happiness could ever be hers, that, though she tried to conceal her doubts for fear of wounding Mariette and her lover, it was with an involuntary sigh that she replied:

  “I believe you, children. Yes, I believe that M. Louis has money, and I believe you both mean well toward me, but after awhile I am afraid you’ll find me very much in the way. Newly married people like to be alone, and—”

  “What, godmother, you still doubt us, after all we have said?”

  “Forgive me, children, I don’t mean to,” sobbed the poor woman; then, with a heart-broken smile, she added: “Perhaps it is all the better for me that I do doubt, for if, after fifty years of trouble and poverty, I should really come to believe that there was such a thing as happiness for me, I might go mad.”

  Then, in accents of inexpressible bitterness, she added:

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if I did. It would be just my luck.”

  CHAPTER XVI.

  A CAPRICIOUS BEAUTY.

  FIVE YEARS HAVE elapsed since the events we have just related, and on the evening of the 12th of May, 18 — the anniversary of the terrible catastrophe on the Versailles railroad, the following scene was taking place.

  It was half-past nine in the evening, and a young woman about twenty-five years of age, a decided brunette, with a perfect figure, and a remarkably spirituelle and high-bred face, was just completing a superb evening toilet with the assistance of two maids, one of whom had just clasped a necklace of diamonds as big as hazelnuts around the neck of her beautiful mistress, while another adjusted a magnificent diadem of the same costly gems upon the lady’s beautiful black hair. The low corsage, too, of pale green satin, trimmed with superb lace and bows of pale pink satin ribbon, also glittered with precious stones.

  The selection of diamonds as ornaments seemed to have been the result of careful reflection, for on a table close by were several cases containing complete and no less costly
garnitures. Two of them, one composed of enormous rubies, the other of magnificent pearls of extraordinary size and lustre, would have excited the admiration of any jeweller.

  One of the attendants, who was much older than her companion, seemed — thanks, probably, to her long service — to be on quite familiar terms with her mistress, who, like herself was a Russian, and the other maid, a young Frenchwoman, not understanding the Russian language, consequently heard without understanding the following conversation between the Comtesse Zomaloff and her trusted maid, Mlle. Katinka:

  “Does madame like the way in which I have adjusted her diadem?”

  “Very well,” replied the countess.

  And with a final glance in the glass, she added, as she rose:

  “Where is my bouquet?”

  “Here, madame.”

  “What, that horrid withered thing!” cried Madame Zomaloff.

  “It is the one M. le duc sent for madame la comtesse.”

  “I recognise his taste,” said Madame Zomaloff, shrugging her shoulders. Then she added, with a mocking air, “It is one he picked up at a bargain, I’ll be bound. Some lover who quarrelled with his sweetheart yesterday morning failed to send last evening for the bouquet he had ordered. It takes M. de Riancourt to discover such bargains.”

  “Ah, madame cannot suppose M. le duc is as stingy as all that. He is so rich.”

  “All the more reason that he should be.”

  Some one rapped at the door of the chamber adjoining the dressing-room, and the French maid who went to answer the summons returned in a moment to say:

  “M. le Duc de Riancourt has come, and is awaiting madame’s pleasure.”

  “Let him wait,” replied Madame Zomaloff. “The princess is in the drawing-room, I suppose.”

  “Yes, madame la comtesse.”

  “Very well. Here, Katinka, fasten this bracelet,” continued the young woman, holding out her beautiful arm. “What time is it?”

  But as Katinka was about to reply, Madame Zomaloff added, with a mocking smile:

  “After all, what is the use of asking that question? The duke has just arrived, consequently it must be exactly half after nine.”

  The clock on the mantel interrupted the countess by striking the half-hour designated, and the lady laughed heartily as she exclaimed:

  “What did I tell you, Katinka? M. de Riancourt is as punctual as the clock itself.”

  “That only proves his ardour and his love.”

  “I should prefer a less well-regulated emotion, I think. Persons who adore you at a stated time always seem to me to have a watch in place of a heart. Hand me a smelling-bottle, — no, not that one. Yes, this one will do. I am almost sorry that I am dressed, so I cannot keep the poor duke waiting longer to punish him for his tiresome punctuality.”

  “Why, madame, how unjust you are to him! Why do you marry him if you feel this way toward him?”

  “Why do I marry M. de Riancourt?” the countess replied, as she took one more look in the mirror. “You have more curiosity than I have, Katinka. Does any woman ever know why she marries a second time?”

  “The reason seems apparent to every one. The duke, though he has no gold mines in the Crimea, and no silver mines in the Ural Mountains—”

  “Spare me this tiresome enumeration of my worldly possessions, Katinka.”

  “Well, madame, though M. le duc cannot boast of such immense possessions as you have, he is one of the wealthiest and most powerful noblemen in France. He is young and good-looking; he has not led a life of dissipation like so many other young men; on the contrary, he is very devout, and—”

  “Oh, yes, he is a paragon of virtue, of course. Bring me a heavy wrap; the nights are still cool.”

  “Has madame any orders to give for the twentieth?”

  “Orders?”

  “Is it possible that madame forgets her marriage is to take place one week from to-morrow?”

  “What! as soon as that?”

  “Certainly, madame. You decided on the twentieth of May, and this is the twelfth.”

  “If I said the twentieth, it will have to be the twentieth. But how strange it is. One is leading a delightful life; one is young and free, and one hates restraint, and yet one cannot give oneself another master too soon.”

  “A master? A man as kind and gentle as M. le duc? Why, you can make whatever you please of him, madame!”

  “I shall never make a charming man of him, and yet I shall marry him. Ah, aunt, aunt, you are responsible for all this. There is one good thing about it, though. One will at least escape the bother of having to ask oneself what one had better do.”

  The countess proceeded in a leisurely fashion to the drawing-room, where she found her aunt and the Duc de Riancourt awaiting her.

  The Princesse Wileska, Madame Zomaloff’s aunt, was a tall, distinguished-looking woman, with gray hair which she wore slightly powdered. The Duc de Riancourt was a small man, about thirty years of age, with a thin, rather crooked neck, long, straight hair parted in the middle, a somewhat sanctimonious air, and eyes set rather obliquely, while his slow, precise movements indicated a remarkable amount of self-control.

  When Madame Zomaloff entered the room, he advanced to meet her, bowed profoundly, and raised nearly to his lips the pretty hand the countess carelessly offered him, then, straightening himself up, he gazed at her a moment as if dazzled, exclaiming:

  “Ah, madame la comtesse, I never saw you arrayed in all your diamonds before! I do not believe there are any other diamonds like them in the world. How beautiful they are! Good Heavens! how beautiful they are!”

  “Really, my dear duke, you quite overpower me by your admiration — for my diamonds; and as my necklace and diadem arouse such tender emotion in your breast and inspire you with such graceful compliments, I will tell you, in strict confidence, the name of my jeweller. It is Ezekiel Rabotautencraff, of Frankfort.”

  While M. de Riancourt was trying to find some suitable response to Madame Zomaloff’s raillery, the aunt of that young lady gave the duke a reproachful look, remarking, with a forced smile:

  “See how this mischievous Fedora delights in teasing you. It is a very common way of concealing the affection one feels for people, I believe.”

  “I humbly admit, my dear princess, that, dazzled by these magnificent jewels, I failed to render due homage to their wearer,” said M. de Riancourt, in the hope of repairing his blunder. “But — but may not a person be so dazzled by the sun as to be unable to see even the most beautiful of flowers?”

  “I am so impressed by this comparison of yours that I am almost tempted to believe that the same glaring sunshine you speak of must have withered these poor blossoms,” retorted the mischievous young woman with a gay laugh, holding up for the duke’s inspection the rather faded bouquet he had sent her.

  That gentleman blushed up to his very ears; the princess frowned with an impatient air, while the countess, perfectly indifferent to these signs of disapproval, coolly remarked, as she walked toward the door:

  “Give your arm to my aunt, M. de Riancourt. I promised my friend, the wife of the Russian ambassador, that I would be at her house very early, as she wishes to present me to one of her relatives, and you know we have first to inspect that wonderful mansion — that enchanted palace everybody is talking about.”

  After waiting a few seconds in the vestibule, the countess and her aunt saw a clumsy landau, drawn by two emaciated horses, lumber up to the door, and the young widow, turning to the duke in evident surprise, said:

  “Why, this is not your carriage! What has become of that dark blue berlin drawn by two handsome gray horses that you placed at our disposal yesterday morning?”

  “Under the circumstances I feel no hesitation about confessing a little detail of domestic economy to you, my dear countess,” replied the duke, with touching naïveté. “To save my grays, for which I was obliged to pay a good round sum, I assure you, I always hire a carriage in the evening. It is very much more
economical than to risk one’s own turnout at night.”

  “And you are perfectly right, my dear duke,” the princess hastened to say, fearing another shaft of ridicule from her niece. M. de Riancourt’s footman was in attendance. He opened the door of the antiquated vehicle. The princess, assisted by the duke, quickly entered it, but as that gentleman offered his hand to the young widow for the same purpose, the petulant beauty paused with the tip of her white satin slipper lightly poised on the carriage step, and said, with an air of the deepest apprehension:

  “Do examine every nook and corner of the carriage carefully, aunt, I beseech you, before I get in.”

  “But why, my dear?” inquired the princess, naïvely. “What is the necessity of this precaution?”

  “I am afraid some red-headed girl or some stout shopkeeper may have been left in a corner, as it is in vehicles of this description that worthy shopkeepers drive about all day with their families when they treat themselves to an outing.”

  Laughing heartily, the young widow sprang into the carriage. As she seated herself, the princess said to her, in a low tone, but with a deeply pained air:

  “Really, Fedora, I do not understand you. You are strangely sarcastic toward M. de Riancourt. What can be your object?”

  “I want to cure him of his shameful stinginess. How could I better manifest my interest in him?”

  Just then the duke took the seat opposite them. He seemed to endure with Christian meekness the ridicule of this young woman who possessed such magnificent diamonds, as well as all sorts of gold and silver mines; but the furtive glance he bestowed on her now and then, and a certain contraction of his thin lips, indicated that a sullen rage was rankling in his heart.

  The footman having asked for orders, M. de Riancourt replied:

  “To the Hôtel Saint-Ramon.”

  “Pardon me, M. le duc,” answered the footman, “but I don’t know where the Hôtel Saint-Ramon is.”

  “At the end of the Cours la Reine,” responded M. de Riancourt.

  “Does M. le duc mean that large house on which they have been working several years?”