Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “You are among the best of men, Papa, and I love you dearly. Decide as you must, but I tell you I have met no man gentler or more honest than the Comte de Marbéville, and none nobler or more honorable than the Chevalier d’Argentolle. Perhaps the grand Madame Dupluie keeps to better society amongst the infallible ducs and princes, but we mortals must make do with more practical fare. I know you have always loved us and wished the best for us, Papa. That is why I now most humbly beg you not to break two hearts for a cause that will profit you neither honor, nor riches, nor esteem,” Julienne said with a final pleading sigh.

  “Forgive me, dear parents, if my words have seemed intemperate. Perhaps they were so, but they were truly heartfelt. Please excuse me. I shall leave you to decide as you must and go to render what comfort I can to my dear cousine,” Julienne said, slipping quietly from the room, leaving her parents together in their lingering unease.

  “What are we to do now, husband?” Madame de Salvagnac said tentatively.

  “I fear Julienne may be right. We may have no other choice but to let things proceed as they may,” the baron said.

  “But he’s a Nègre!” Madame de Salvagnac protested.

  “His mother may or may not be part African. Does that make him a Nègre, just because you and your crowd of salon gossips are fond of repeating the slander?” the baron asked. The baronne stared at him in surprise, but made no further reply.

  “In preparation for our daughter’s marriage, I and my lawyers have also done some checking into the origins of Madame de Blaise and the Montferrauds in general. Her father’s patent of nobility from the court of Norway dates back over five hundred years, and as for the Marquis de Blaise, of course I need not remind you how blue his blood is: Chevalier d’épée, grand, haut et puissant seigneur, comtés of Marbéville, Vignori, Argentolle, and Blécourt not to mention the marquisate of Blaise with an income reported to be worth well over a million livres a year! It’s the reason you were so eager for an alliance in the first place, is it not? And the boy, whatever the particular composition or chemistry of his blood, is also by law and custom, Chevalier d’Argentolle, vicomte and a gentilhomme de nom et d’armes[3][3] in his own right, with all the rights and privileges that entails,” the baron pointed out, pausing to regard his wife.

  “Nothing to say? No refutations to cite from your penurious Gallic informant? Good, for I have some other nouvels that might interest you concerning the chevalier. It seems he’s been accepted two years early into the École Militaire on the signature of no less than the Prince de Montbarrey himself! What does that suggest to you as far as his merit is concerned?” the baron asked.

  “What? But how can that be? You’re sure it’s true?” the baronne asked.

  “Oh yes. I still have my sources, you know, though I’d wager even money that the marquis himself doesn’t even know that Montbarrey has approved it. They say the boy’s marks were so high at Brienne that his teachers didn’t know what more to do with him. They refused to even publish the final list of prizes given out by the Comte de Brienne last year because he won them all; in every subject! I’m told they feared to be accused of cheating if the results became known so they simply suppressed them. Apparently the only matter with regard to his character which concerned them was a penchant he had for dueling,” the baron said.

  “Dueling? But he’s no more than a boy!” Madame de Salvagnac snorted.

  “Be that as it may, Madame, I have it on good authority that he fought several duels in the last year he was in school -- more than a dozen in all since he arrived, the first at age nine! It’s one of the reasons they sought to have him complete his studies early,” the baron declared.

  “But such actions hardly speak favorably of his character. What could he possibly have to fight over at such an age?” Madame de Salvagnac asked.

  “I’m told in almost all cases it was in defense of the honor of his mother. That and his age are why the authorities were inclined to overlook his indiscretions,” the baron said.

  “Did none of those he encountered deign to make an accusatory report?” the baronne asked in surprise.

  “I hardly think anyone is likely to wish it known that they have been beaten in an affair of honor by a schoolboy. Apparently the boy is something of a magician with the blade,” the baron said. The baronne looked at her husband as if to respond, but at length decided that she had, in fact, nothing to say.

  “We must open our eyes to the reality of the times, my dear. Let us not allow ourselves to be dragged down by the antiquated opinions and prejudices of long ago. Need I also remind you that the chevalier saved the lives of our daughter, niece and others at considerable risk to himself? Is your heart so uncharitable as to have forgotten that? Do you think the Vaudreuils have so readily overlooked what he did for Charlotte and her governess? For if you do, you should know that Amiral Vaudreuil’s intervention was one of the principal reasons for the recent astounding social resurrection of Madame de Blaise. I presume that it has also not escaped your notice that the marquise has become the darling of the salons; why even your favorite, the Comtesse de Talonge, now considers her an intimate. If you think her opinions unimportant, go then and ask our Governor, the Comte d’Argout, what he thinks now of the boy and his mother; I’d wager the old letch might even be content to have the chevalier as a son in-law himself; that’s how popular he’s become. Of course if the staggering amount of the chevalier’s yearly income was generally known, I’m sure your friends among the chevalier’s detractors would trample us to death in the rush to ally their daughters to him,” the baron said, reflecting on the enormous size of Nicolas’ yearly income as he began to pace the room in earnest, the movement of his feet lubricating the fluidity of his thoughts.

  “Besides, with his pedigree and fortune, she’d be better off with him as a husband if he really loves her than with some old comte who’d abandon her for his lover as soon as the dowry was in his hands,” the baron declared.

  “Then you mean to let them…” the baronne trailed off, finding that she still couldn’t quite bring herself to speak the words that described a circumstance she so abhorred and opposed.

  “I’m not quite sure what I intend to do at this point. But what I won’t do is act rashly. There are many things at stake here -- things that pertain to this matter that you do not know…a legacy from your brother,” the baron explained.

  “What do you mean, Monsieur? I thought the terms of his will were relatively straightforward,” the baronne said.

  “Not in the least, Madame. Your late brother, you see, was most concerned about the future welfare of his only child, both in terms of the financial security she should have and the power of choice that he desired she be granted over her eventual state of marriage. To that end, he left a substantial dowry and a separate fortune to her to ensure that she would be a most welcome catch when she came of age,” the baron explained.

  “How much did he leave her?” the baronne asked with some trepidation.

  “I am not at liberty, Madame, to divulge the exact amount. Suffice to say that it quite dwarfs what we shall provide for Julienne, and you are well aware of how excessive we are to be in that regard,” the baron said. Madame de Salvagnac started to say something, but thought better of it.

  “Quite,” the baron replied, anticipating her thoughts.

  “What you must also know is that the dowry he bequeathed to her is again less than a tenth part of the direct fortune she is to receive as the sole heir to the principal part of his fortune, lands, estates, titles, etc. The reputed fortune of your mother was no myth, Madame. Our niece is rich beyond Croesus -- at least she will be when she turns seventeen; that is when she is to receive the first part of her inheritance. The full inheritance comes into effect only when she marries, and that event must also await her seventeenth birthday,” the baron explained.

  “We always thought it was just a fairy tale, Maman’s lost treasure, but it’s real you say? It’s astounding! And the stipula
tions of the legacy, they’re all enforceable?” the baronne asked.

  “Oh yes my dear. Believe me, I’ve had the best lawyers looking into it for years. Your brother was quite thorough. In addition to the estates that he entailed upon me at his death, it was specifically stipulated that we raise Sérolène as one of our own. What was not made public was that I also received a substantial amount in cash, to ensure she was properly looked after. A sum equal to that amount will be paid to us from the estate when she marries -- so you see that we stand to gain substantially from allowing our niece to follow her heart, provided it meets the terms of the will,” the baron explained. The baronne nodded, beginning to understand her husband’s more studied reaction to the events they now discussed.

  “If our niece dies before she marries, for whatever reason, both the future bequest is forfeit and worse, half of the original cash grant must be returned within one month to the executor. That, Madame, is an amount that I assure you, with your love for copious and conspicuous decorations, has long since been removed from our coffers,” the baron said, gesturing toward the many gilt objects all around the room and the expensive drapes, tapestries, and ornate furniture. The baronne put her hand to her mouth.

  “If she had been killed in town by that runaway team?” the baronne asked in horror.

  “If the chevalier had not been willing to throw his life away in order to save our niece, rich as I am -- and I am very rich -- I would likely be languishing now in the much less comfortable surroundings of debtor’s prison, and you, Madame, in the Salpêtrière,[4]” he said grimly.

  “Bankrupt!” she said, whispering the name as the curse that it was.

  “Yes, bankrupt but for the bravery of that young man. It is not that we are so very poor, Madame, but we are at the moment rather stretched. Speculations have not been favorable to us of late, the expenses to secure the marriage of Julienne have been large and predominantly in cash, and the sum initially granted to us was very large indeed. A hint that I might be vulnerable could prove the single ember needed to ignite the unstoppable conflagration of a run on my bank. That is an event that must be avoided at all costs. Now perhaps you see why I take an altogether different view of this so-called liaison than in other circumstances might be warranted, and why I will do all that I can to ensure that our niece recovers her strength and her health,” the baron said.

  “Dear God, Monsieur, how right you were to send for the chevalier! But do you think he will come? And if he does, is there still time?” the baronne asked, forced by circumstances to come fully to grips with the debt of gratitude they both owed to Nicolas and the corresponding enormity of her mistake in offending Madame de Blaise.

  “It’s in God’s hands now, Madame. We can only pray that the chevalier has a forgiving heart, and a swifter horse,” the baron said somberly.

  ***

  “Monseigneur, an urgent letter has come for you!”

  “All right, Julius, bring it to me. By God, what time is it?” Nicolas asked as his valet approached, his eyes squinting against the flickering lamplight.

  “Just past one in the morning, Monseigneur. Here’s the letter. The man who brought it was sent by Baron de Salvagnac and insisted on delivering it himself, but I told him I’d see that you received it right away. He’s ridden a fine horse to death to bring it, so I imagined it was important,” Julius said urgently. Nicolas tore open the letter, his eyes filled with concern. It was written in an elegant hand that he did not recognize, and as his eyes raced along the page, his blood froze in his veins.

  “Saddle my horse at once. The vicomtesse is taken ill, and I must fly to her side. Wake my brother and show him this letter; he will know what to do. Go now! I will dress myself. In no more than ten minutes I must be on the road to the Salvagnacs’ plantation,” Nicolas thundered.

  The valet ran from the room in haste to carry out his orders as Nicolas rushed hurriedly to don stockings, breeches, boots, riding coat, hat, gloves, and sword. In a matter of minutes he was hurrying through the darkened hallways of the estate on his way to the stables. He encountered his brother Francis as he reached the main vestibule, the comte rushing toward him, still in his dressing gown and cap.

  “Dear God, Nicolas, I just read Julienne’s letter! I came at once to find you,” Francis exclaimed, grasping his brother by the shoulders.

  “I must be off, Francis. You see from the urgency of the letter that they fear the worst. I must go and be with her,” Nicolas said.

  “Of course. I will explain everything. I’ll send some men to follow you as escort and as surety in case of injury to your horse. Go now, brother, go and God be with you!” Francis said. Nicolas nodded, embracing his brother and then running off to the stables where his valet waited, holding the reins of his superb grey mare, which stood saddled and ready.

  “Follow after me as swiftly as you can, Julius; I dare not tarry even a moment longer,” Nicolas said, mounting up and immediately putting spurs and whip to his horse.

  “Fly, my girl; fly like the wind! For tonight we race against death himself!”

  ****

  “Has there been any noticeable change?” the Baron de Salvagnac asked, entering quietly into Sérolène’s chambre, the cloying sweet-sick odor of medicines and perspiration hanging like a cloud about the room, which was lit with several lamps that illuminated the pallid face of the patient. Julienne shook her head, her face a mask of anxiety and concern.

  “I fear she slips further and further away from us, Papa. On occasion she calls out in her delirium; once she even opened her eyes and appeared to recognize me, but her fever continues unabated,” Julienne said.

  “Perhaps we have acted too late. You look exhausted yourself; surely it’s best that you come away and rest?” the baron said kindly.

  “I’m all right, Papa. Please let me stay; I do not wish to abandon her now,” Julienne said, noting the greying light of approaching dawn outside the drawn curtains to the room.

  “Has there been no word from Nicolas?” Julienne asked. The baron shook his head.

  “Perhaps in light of the circumstances of your departure he feels enough wronged not to respond to your plea,” the baron said with disappointment. Julienne nodded, though she felt greatly distressed to think that her father might be right. Taking a cool damp cloth from the basin of water beside the bed, she gently bathed Sérolène’s forehead with it in an effort to ease her cousine’s suffering.

  “Julie…is that you?” Sérolène called out in response, her voice weak and very faint; barely above a whisper.

  “Dear Lena, yes it’s me. I’m here with Papa,” Julienne replied urgently, calling the baron closer to Sérolène’s bedside.

  “Water…if you please…” Sérolène called out weakly. Julienne reached for the pitcher that was on the table near the bed, pouring her cousine a glass, then gently supporting her head as she helped Sérolène to drink.

  “You must try to get better, dear Lena; we’re all so worried for you,” Julienne said.

  “Yes, my dear niece, we have all been very much concerned,” the baron said sincerely.

  “It’s best to let me go now, I beg you. I don’t wish to be a burden to anyone anymore…” Sérolène said weakly.

  “You must not think that way, Lena. There are so many who love you, who need you. Think of your family. Think of me,” Julienne pleaded, her voice breaking with sadness.

  “Do you hear that?” the baron said, looking toward Julienne, who nodded also at the unmistakable sound of a horse riding at the triple gallop. A moment later they heard the sound of its exhausted whinnying, followed by a loud thump.

  “I shall return presently -- you must stay with her and give her hope. Perhaps he is here!” the baron exclaimed as he left hurriedly.

  “No more doctors, Julie… please. I feel so empty inside…perhaps death will bring me peace…” Sérolène pleaded.

  “Please, my dearest Lena, you must hold on…what would I ever do without you?” Julienne said forlo
rnly, kissing Sérolène’s hand tenderly as she waited anxiously for her father to return. The sound of footsteps hurrying down the hallway gave Julienne momentary hope. Oh, please let it be him! she prayed silently, wiping the tears from her eyes as the first rays of daylight began to creep into the room.

  The baron was the first to cross the threshold, taking his place to the left of the entrance as the Chevalier d’Argentolle strode in behind him, the room brightening with light as he entered, as if God himself sanctioned the chevalier’s arrival with His own particular approval. Julienne said a silent prayer of thanks, willingly relinquishing her place at her cousine’s side.

  “Dear Lena, it’s not the doctor who has come. There’s someone special here to see you, someone who I know will bring joy to your heart,” Julienne whispered to Sérolène.

  “Séro…my darling Séro…” Nicolas said softly, his heart both breaking and overjoyed at once as he rushed to the side of his beloved. He knelt by her bedside, taking her hand in his despite the presence of Julienne and the baron, and kissing it tenderly before pressing it gently to his cheek. Sérolène stared at him in disbelief