The Honor of the Name

by Emile Gaboriau

  CHAPTER LI

  Beset by a thousand fears and anxieties, Blanche had failed to noticethat Aunt Medea was no longer the same.

  The change, it is true, had been gradual; it had not struck theservants, but it was none the less positive and real, and it betrayeditself in numberless trifles.

  For example, though the poor dependent still retained her humble,resigned manner; she had lost, little by little, the servile fear thathad showed itself in her every movement. She no longer trembled whenanyone addressed her, and there was occasionally a ring of independencein her voice.

  If visitors were present, she no longer kept herself modestly inthe background, but drew forward her chair and took part in theconversation. At table, she allowed her preferences and her dislikes toappear. On two or three occasions she had ventured to differ from herniece in opinion, and had even been so bold as to question the proprietyof some of her orders.

  Once Mme. Blanche, on going out, asked Aunt Medea to accompany her; butthe latter declared she had a cold, and remained at home.

  And, on the following Sunday, although Blanche did not wish to attendvespers, Aunt Medea declared her intention of going; and as it rained,she requested the coachman to harness the horses to the carriage, whichwas done.

  All this was nothing, in appearance; in reality, it was monstrous,amazing. It was quite plain that the humble relative was becoming bold,even audacious, in her demands.

  As this departure, which her niece had just announced so gayly, hadnever been discussed before her, she was greatly surprised.

  "What! you are going away," she repeated; "you are leaving Courtornieu?"

  "And without regret."

  "To go where, pray?"

  "To Paris. We shall reside there; that is decided. That is the place formy husband. His name, his fortune, his talents, the favor of the King,assure him a high position there. He will repurchase the Hotel deSairmeuse, and furnish it magnificently. We shall have a princelyestablishment."

  All the torments of envy were visible upon Aunt Medea's countenance.

  "'And what is to become of me?" she asked, in plaintive tones.

  "You, aunt! You will remain here; you will be mistress of the chateau. Atrustworthy person must remain to watch over my poor father. You will behappy and contented here, I hope."

  But no; Aunt Medea did not seem satisfied.

  "I shall never have courage to stay all alone in this great chateau,"she whined.

  "You foolish woman! will you not have the servants, the gardeners, andthe concierge to protect you?"

  "That makes no difference. I am afraid of insane people. When themarquis began to rave and howl this evening, I felt as if I should gomad myself."

  Blanche shrugged her shoulders.

  "What _do_ you wish, then?" she asked, in a still more sarcastic manner.

  "I thought--I wondered--if you would not take me with you."

  "To Paris! You are crazy, I do believe. What would you do there?"

  "Blanche, I entreat you, I beseech you, to do so!"

  "Impossible, aunt; impossible!"

  Aunt Medea seemed to be in despair.

  "And what if I should tell you that I cannot remain here--that I darenot--that I should die!"

  A flush of impatience dyed the cheek of Mme. Blanche.

  "You weary me beyond endurance," she said, rudely.

  And with a gesture that increased the harshness of her words, she added:

  "If Courtornieu displeases you so much, there is nothing to prevent youfrom seeking a home more to your taste. You are free and of age."

  Aunt Medea turned very pale, and she bit her lips until the blood came.

  "That is to say," she said, at last, "you permit me to take my choicebetween dying of fear at Courtornieu and ending my days in a hospital.Thanks, my niece, thanks. That is like you. I expected nothing less ofyou. Thanks!"

  She raised her head, and a dangerous light gleamed in her eyes. Therewas the hiss of a serpent in the voice in which she continued:

  "Very well! this decides me. I entreated you, and you brutally refusedto heed my prayer, now I command and I say: 'I will go!' Yes, I intendto go with you to Paris--and I shall go. Ah! it surprises you to hearpoor, meek, much-abused Aunt Medea speak in this way. I have endured insilence for a long time, but I have rebelled at last. My life in thishouse has been a hell. It is true that you have given me shelter--thatyou have fed and lodged me; but you have taken my entire life inexchange. What servant ever endured what I have endured? Have you evertreated one of your maids as you have treated me, your own flesh andblood? And I have had no wages; on the contrary, I was expected tobe grateful since I lived by your tolerance. Ah! you have made me paydearly for the crime of being poor. How you have insulted me--humiliatedme--trampled me under foot!"

  She paused.

  The bitter rancor which had been accumulating for years fairly chokedher; but after a moment she resumed, in a tone of intense irony:

  "You ask me what would I do in Paris? I, too, would enjoy myself. Whatwill you do, yourself? You will go to Court, to balls, and to the play,will you not? Very well, I will accompany you. I will attend thesefetes. I will have handsome toilets, I--poor Aunt Medea--who have neverseen myself in anything but shabby black woollen dresses. Have you everthought of giving me the pleasure of possessing a handsome dress? Yes,twice a year, perhaps, you have given me a black silk, recommending meto take good care of it. But it was not for my sake that you went tothis expense. It was for your own sake; and in order that your poorrelation should do honor to your generosity. You dressed me in it, asyou sew gold lace upon the clothing of your lackeys, through vanity.And I endured all this; I made myself insignificant and humble; buffetedupon one cheek, I offered the other. I must live--I must have food. Andyou, Blanche, how often, to make me subservient to your will, haveyou said to me: 'You will do thus-and-so, if you desire to remain atCourtornieu?' And I obeyed--I was forced to obey, since I knew not whereto go. Ah! you have abused me in every way; but now my turn has come!"

  Blanche was so amazed that she could not articulate a syllable. At last,in a scarcely audible voice, she faltered:

  "I do not understand you, aunt; I do not understand you."

  The poor dependent shrugged her shoulders, as her niece had done a fewmoments before.

  "In that case," said she, slowly, "I may as well tell you that since youhave, against my will, made me your accomplice, we must share everythingin common. I share the danger; I will share the pleasure. What if allshould be discovered? Do you ever think of that? Yes; and that is whyyou are seeking diversion. Very well! I also desire diversion. I shallgo to Paris with you."

  By a terrible effort Blanche had succeeded in regaining herself-possession, in some measure at least.

  "And if I should say no?" she responded, coldly.

  "But you will not say no."

  "And why, if you please?"

  "Because----"

  "Will you go to the authorities and denounce me?"

  Aunt Medea shook her head.

  "I am not such a fool," she retorted. "I should only compromise myself.No, I shall not do that; but I might, perhaps, tell your husband whathappened at the Borderie."

  Blanche shuddered. No threat was capable of moving her like that.

  "You shall accompany us, aunt," said she; "I promise it."

  Then she added, gently:

  "But it is unnecessary to threaten me. You have been cruel, aunt, and atthe same time, unjust. If you have been unhappy in our house, you aloneare to blame. Why have you said nothing? I attributed your complaisanceto your affection for me. How was I to know that a woman as quietand modest as yourself longed for fine apparel. Confess that it wasimpossible. Had I known--But rest easy, aunt; I will atone for myneglect."

  And as Aunt Medea, having obtained all she desired, stammered an excuse:

  "Nonsense!" Blanche exclaimed; "let us forget this foolish quarrel. Youforgive me, do you not?"

  And the two ladies embraced e
ach other with the greatest effusion, liketwo friends united after a misunderstanding. But Aunt Medea was as farfrom being deceived by this mock reconciliation as the clearsightedBlanche.

  "It will be best for me to keep on the _qui vive_," thought the humblerelative. "God only knows with what intense joy my dear niece would sendme to join Marie-Anne."

  Perhaps a similar thought flitted through the mind of Mme. Blanche.

  She felt as a convict might feel on seeing his most execrated enemy,perhaps the man who had betrayed him, fastened to the other end of hischain.

  "I am bound now and forever to this dangerous and perfidious creature,"she thought. "I am no longer my own mistress; I belong to her. When shecommands, I must obey. I must be the slave of her every caprice--and shehas forty years of humiliation and servitude to avenge."

  The prospect of such a life made her tremble; and she racked her brainto discover some way of freeing herself from her detested companion.

  Would it be possible to inspire Aunt Medea with a desire to liveindependently in her own house, served by her own servants?

  Might she succeed in persuading this silly old woman, who still longedfor finery and ball-dresses, to marry? A handsome marriage-portion willalways attract a husband.

  But, in either case, Blanche would require money--a large sum of money,for whose use she would be accountable to no one.

  This conviction made her resolve to take possession of about two hundredand fifty thousand francs, in bank-notes and coin, belonging to herfather.

  This sum represented the savings of the Marquis de Courtornieu duringthe past three years. No one knew he had laid it aside, except hisdaughter; and now that he had lost his reason, Blanche, who knew wherethe hoard was concealed, could take it for her own use without theslightest danger.

  "With this," she thought, "I can at any moment enrich Aunt Medea withouthaving recourse to Martial."

  After this little scene there was a constant interchange of delicateattentions and touching devotion between the two ladies. It was "mydearest little aunt," and "my dearly beloved niece," from morning untilnight; and the gossips of the neighborhood, who had often commented uponthe haughty disdain which Mme. Blanche displayed in her treatment of herrelative, would have found abundant food for comment had they known thatAunt Medea was protected from the possibility of cold by a mantle linedwith costly fur, exactly like the marquise's own, and that she madethe journey, not in the large Berlin, with the servants, but in thepost-chaise with the Marquis and Marquise de Sairmeuse.

  The change was so marked that even Martial remarked it, and as soonas he found himself alone with his wife, he exclaimed, in a tone ofgood-natured raillery:

  "What is the meaning of all this devotion? We shall finish by encasingthis precious aunt in cotton, shall we not?"

  Blanche trembled, and flushed a little.

  "I love good Aunt Medea so much!" said she. "I never can forget all theaffection and devotion she lavished upon me when I was so unhappy."

  It was such a plausible explanation that Martial took no further noticeof the matter, for his mind just then was fully occupied.

  The agent, whom he had sent to Paris in advance, to purchase, ifpossible, the Hotel de Sairmeuse, had written him to make all possiblehaste, as there was some difficulty about concluding the bargain.

  "Plague take the fellow!" said the marquis, angrily, on receiving thisnews. "He is quite stupid enough to let this opportunity, for which wehave been waiting ten years, slip through his fingers. I shall find nopleasure in Paris if I cannot own our old residence."

  He was so impatient to reach Paris that, on the second day of theirjourney, he declared if he were alone he would travel all night.

  "Do so now," said Blanche, graciously; "I do not feel fatigued in theleast, and a night of travel does not appall me."

  They did travel all night, and the next day, about nine o'clock, theyalighted at the Hotel Meurice.

  Martial scarcely took time to eat his breakfast.

  "I must go and see my agent at once," he said, as he hurried off. "Iwill soon be back."

  He reappeared in about two hours, pleased and radiant.

  "My agent was a simpleton," he exclaimed. "He was afraid to write methat a man, upon whom the conclusion of the sale depends, demands abonus of fifty thousand francs. He shall have it in welcome."

  Then, in a tone of gallantry, which he always used in addressing hiswife, he said:

  "It only remains for me to sign the paper; but I will not do so unlessthe house suits you. If you are not too tired, I would like you to visitit at once. Time presses, and we have many competitors."

  This visit was, of course, one of pure form; but Mme. Blanche would havebeen hard to please if she had not been satisfied with this mansion,one of the most magnificent in Paris, with an entrance on the Rue deGrenelle, and large gardens shaded with superb trees, and extending tothe Rue de Varennes.

  Unfortunately, this superb dwelling had not been occupied for severalyears, and required many repairs.

  "It will take at least six months to restore it," said Martial; "perhapsmore. It is true that they might in three months, perhaps, render aportion of it very comfortable."

  "It would be living in one's own house, at least," approved Blanche,divining her husband's wishes.

  "Ah! then you agree with me! In that case, you may rest assured that Iwill expedite matters as much as possible."

  In spite, or rather by reason of his immense fortune, the Marquis deSairmeuse knew that a person is never so well, nor so quickly served, aswhen he serves himself, so he resolved to take the matter into hisown hands. He conferred with architects, interviewed contractors, andhurried on the workmen.

  As soon as he was up in the morning he started out without waiting forbreakfast, and seldom returned until dinner.

  Although Blanche was compelled to pass most of her time within doors,on account of the bad weather, she was not inclined to complain. Herjourney, the unaccustomed sights and sounds of Paris, the novelty oflife in a hotel, all combined to distract her thoughts from herself.She forgot her fears; a sort of haze enveloped the terrible scene at theBorderie; the clamors of conscience sank into faint whispers.

  The past seemed fading away, and she was beginning to entertain hopes ofa new and better life, when one day a servant entered, and said:

  "There is a man below who wishes to speak with Madame."