XVIII.
"O God! send Pascal to my aid," prayed Mademoiselle Marguerite, as sheleft M. Fortunat's house. Now she understood the intrigue she had beenthe victim of; but, instead of reassuring her the agent had frightenedher, by revealing the Marquis de Valorsay's desperate plight. Sherealized what frenzied rage must fill this man's heart as he felthimself gradually slipping from the heights of opulence, down intothe depths of poverty and crime. What might he not dare, in order topreserve even the semblance of grandeur for a year, or a month, or aday longer! Had they measured the extent of his villainy? Would he evenhesitate at murder? And the poor girl asked herself with a shudder ifPascal were still living; and a vision of his bleeding corpse, lyinglifeless in some deserted street, rose before her. And who could tellwhat dangers threatened her personally? For, though she knew the past,she could not read the future. What did M. de Valorsay's letter mean?and what was the fate that he held in reserve for her, and that madehim so sanguine of success? The impression produced upon her mind was soterrible that for a moment she thought of hastening to the old justiceof the peace to ask for his protection and a refuge. But this weaknessdid not last long. Should she lose her energy? Should her will fail herat the decisive moment? "No, a thousand times no!" she said to herselfagain and again. "I will die if needs be, but I will die fighting!" Andthe nearer she approached the Rue Pigalle, the more energetically shedrove away her apprehension, and sought for an excuse calculated tosatisfy any one who might have noticed her long absence.
An unnecessary precaution. She found the house as when she left it,abandoned to the mercy of the servants--the strangers sent the eveningbefore from the employment office. Important matters still kept theGeneral and his wife from home. The husband had to show his horses; andthe wife was intent upon shopping. As for Madame Leon, most of her timeseemed to be taken up by the family of relatives she had so suddenlydiscovered. Alone, free from all espionage, and wishing to ward offdespondency by occupation, Mademoiselle Marguerite was just beginninga letter to her friend the old magistrate, when a servant entered andannounced that her dressmaker was there and wished to speak with her."Let her come in," replied Marguerite, with unusual vivacity. "Let hercome in at once."
A lady who looked some forty years of age, plainly dressed, but ofdistinguished appearance, was thereupon ushered into the room. Like anywell-bred modiste, she bowed respectfully while the servant waspresent, but as soon as he had left the room she approached MademoiselleMarguerite and took hold of her hands: "My dear young lady," said she,"I am the sister-in-law of your old friend, the magistrate. Having animportant message to send to you, he was trying to find a person whomhe could trust to play the part of a dressmaker, as had been agreed uponbetween you, when I offered my services, thinking he could find no onemore trusty than myself."
Tears glittered in Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes. The slightest tokenof sympathy is so sweet to the heart of the lonely and unfortunate! "Howcan I ever thank you, madame?" she faltered.
"By not attempting to thank me at all, and by reading this letter assoon as possible."
The note she now produced ran as follows:
"MY DEAR CHILD--At last I am on the track of the thieves. By conferringwith the people from whom M. de Chalusse received the money a couple ofdays before his death, I have been fortunate enough to obtain from themsome minute details respecting the missing bonds, as well as the numbersof the bank-notes which were deposited in the escritoire. With thisinformation, we cannot fail to prove the guilt of the culprits sooner orlater. You write me word that the Fondeges are spending money lavishly;try and find out the names of the people they deal with, and communicatethem to me. Once more, I tell you that I am sure of success. Courage!"
"Well!" said the spurious dressmaker, when she saw that Margueritehad finished reading the letter. "What answer shall I take mybrother-in-law?"
"Tell him that he shall certainly have the information he requiresto-morrow. To-day, I can only give him the name of the carriage builder,from whom M. de Fondege has purchased his new carriages."
"Give it to me in writing, it is much the safest way."
Mademoiselle Marguerite did so, and her visitor who, as a woman,was delighted to find herself mixed up in an intrigue, then went offrepeating the old magistrate's advice: "Courage!"
But it was no longer necessary to encourage Mademoiselle Marguerite.The assurance of being so effectually helped, had already increasedher courage an hundredfold. The future that had seemed so gloomy only amoment before, had now suddenly brightened. By means of the negative inthe keeping of the photographer, Carjat, she had the Marquis deValorsay in her power, and the magistrate, thanks to the numbers of thebank-notes, could soon prove the guilt of the Fondeges. The protectionof Providence was made evident in an unmistakable manner. Thus it waswith a placid and almost smiling face that she successively greetedMadame Leon, who returned home quite played out, then Madame de Fondege,who made her appearance attended by two shop-boys overladen withpackages, and finally the General, who brought his son, LieutenantGustave, with him to dinner.
The lieutenant was a good-looking fellow of twenty-seven, orthereabouts, with laughing eyes and a heavy mustache. He made a greatclanking with his spurs, and wore the somewhat theatrical uniform of the13th Hussars rather ostentatiously. He bowed to Mademoiselle Margueritewith a smile that was too becoming to be displeasing; and he offered herhis arm with an air of triumph to lead her to the dining-room, as soonas the servant came to announce that "Madame la Comtesse was served."
Seated opposite to him at table, the young girl could not refrain fromfurtively watching the man whom they wished to compel her to marry.Never had she seen such intense self-complacency coupled with suchutter mediocrity. It was evident that he was doing his best to producea favorable impression; but as the dinner progressed, his conversationbecame rather venturesome. He gradually grew extremely animated; andthree or four adventures of garrison life which he persisted in relatingdespite his mother's frowns, were calculated to convince his hearersthat he was a great favorite with the fair sex. It was the good cheerthat loosened his tongue. There could be no possible doubt on thatscore; and, indeed, while drinking a glass of the Chateau Laroze, towhich Madame Leon had taken such a liking, he was indiscreet enough todeclare that if his mother had always kept house in this fashion, heshould have been inclined to ask for more frequent leaves of absence.
However, strange to say, after the coffee was served, the conversationlanguished till at last it died out almost entirely. Madame de Fondegewas the first to disappear on the pretext that some domestic affairsrequired her attention. The General was the next to rise and go out, inorder to smoke a cigar; and finally Madame Leon made her escape withoutsaying a word. So Mademoiselle Marguerite was left quite alone withLieutenant Gustave. It was evident enough to the young girl that thishad been preconcerted; and she asked herself what kind of an opinion M.and Madame de Fondege could have of her delicacy. The proceeding madeher so indignant that she was on the point of rising from the table andof retiring like the others, when reason restrained her. She said toherself that perhaps she might gain some useful information from thisyoung man, and so she remained.
His face was crimson, and he seemed by far the more embarrassed ofthe two. He sat with one elbow resting on the table, and with his gazepersistently fixed upon a tiny glass half full of brandy which he heldin his hand, as if he hoped to gain some sublime inspiration from it.At last, after an interval of irksome silence, he ventured to exclaim:"Mademoiselle, should you like to be an officer's wife?"
"I don't know," answered Marguerite.
"Really! But at least you understand my motive in asking this question?"
"No."
Any one but the complacent lieutenant would have been disconcerted byMademoiselle Marguerite's dry tone; but he did not even notice it.The effort that he was making in his intense desire to be eloquent andpersuasive absorbed the attention of all his faculties. "Then permitme to explain, mademoiselle," he resumed. "W
e meet this evening for thefirst time, but our acquaintance is not the affair of a day. For I knownot how long my father and mother have continually been chanting yourpraises. 'Mademoiselle Marguerite does this; Mademoiselle Margueritedoes that.' They never cease talking of you, declaring that heart, wit,talent, beauty, all womanly charms are united in your person. And theyhave never wearied of telling me that the man whom you honored with yourpreference would be the happiest of mortals. However, so far I had nodesire to marry, and I distrusted them. In fact, I had conceived a mostviolent prejudice against you. Yes, upon my honor! I felt sure that Ishould dislike you; but I have seen you and all is changed. As soon asmy eyes fell upon you, I experienced a powerful revulsion of feeling. Iwas never so smitten in my life--and I said to myself, 'Lieutenant, itis all over--you are caught at last!'"
Pale with anger, astonished and humiliated beyond measure, the younggirl listened with her head lowered, vainly trying to find wordsto express the feelings which disturbed her; but M. Gustave,misunderstanding her silence, and congratulating himself upon theeffect he had produced, grew bolder, and with the tenderest and mostimpassioned inflection he could impart to his voice, continued: "Whocould fail to be impressed as I have been? How could one behold, withoutrapturous admiration, such beautiful eyes, such glorious black hair,such smiling lips, such a graceful mien, such wonderful charms of personand of mind? How would it be possible to listen, unmoved, to a voicewhich is clearer and purer than crystal? Ah! my mother's descriptionsfell far short of the truth. But how can one describe the perfections ofan angel? To any one who has the happiness or the misfortune of knowingyou, there can only be one woman in the world!"
He had gradually approached her chair, and now extended his hand to takehold of Marguerite's, and probably raise it to his lips. But she shrankfrom the contact as from red-hot iron, and rising hurriedly, with hereyes flashing, and her voice quivering with indignation: "Monsieur!" sheexclaimed, "Monsieur!"
He was so surprised that he stood as if petrified, with his eyes wideopen and his hand still extended. "Permit me--allow me to explain," hestammered. But she declined to listen. "Who has told you that you couldaddress such words to me with impunity?" she continued. "Your parents,I suppose; I daresay they told you to be bold. And that is why they haveleft us, and why no servant has appeared. Ah! they make me pay dearlyfor the hospitality they have given me!" As she spoke the tears startedfrom her eyes and glistened on her long lashes. "Whom did you fancy youwere speaking to?" she added. "Would you have been so audacious if I hada father or a brother to resent your insults?"
The lieutenant started as if he had been lashed with a whip. "Ah! youare severe!" he exclaimed.
And a happy inspiration entering his mind, he continued: "A man does notinsult a woman, mademoiselle, when, while telling her that he loves herand thinks her beautiful, he offers her his name and life."
Mademoiselle Marguerite shrugged her shoulders ironically, and remainedfor a moment silent. She was very proud, and her pride had been cruellywounded; but reason told her that a continuation of this scene wouldrender a prolonged sojourn in the General's house impossible; and wherecould she go, without exciting malevolent remarks? Whom could she askan asylum of? Still this consideration alone would not have sufficed tosilence her. But she remembered that a quarrel and a rupture with theFondeges would certainly imperil the success of her plans. "So I willswallow even this affront," she said to herself; and then in a tone ofmelancholy bitterness, she remarked, aloud: "A man cannot set a veryhigh value on his name when he offers it to a woman whom he knowsabsolutely nothing about."
"Excuse me--you forget that my mother----"
"Your mother has only known me for a week."
An expression of intense surprise appeared on the lieutenant's face. "Isit possible?" he murmured.
"Your father has met me five or six times at the table of the Countde Chalusse, who was his friend--but what does he know of me?" resumedMademoiselle Marguerite. "That I came to the Hotel de Chalusse a yearago, and that the count treated me like a daughter--that is all! Who Iam, where I was reared, and how, and what my past life has been, theseare matters that M. de Fondege knows nothing whatever about."
"My parents told me that you were the daughter of the Count de Chalusse,mademoiselle."
"What proof have they of it? They ought to have told you that I was anunfortunate foundling, with no other name than that of Marguerite."
"Oh!"
"They ought to have told you that I am poor, very poor, and that Ishould probably have been reduced to the necessity of toiling for mydaily bread, if it had not been for them."
An incredulous smile curved the lieutenant's lips. He fancied thatMademoiselle Marguerite only wished to prove his disinterestedness, andthis thought restored his assurance. "Perhaps you are exaggerating alittle, mademoiselle," he replied.
"I am not exaggerating--I possess but ten thousand francs in theworld--I swear it by all that I hold sacred."
"That would not even be the dowry required of an officer's wife by law,"muttered the lieutenant.
Was his incredulity sincere or affected? What had his parents reallytold him? Had they confided everything to him, and was he theiraccomplice? or had they told him nothing? All these questions flashedrapidly through Marguerite's mind. "You suppose that I am rich,monsieur," she resumed at last. "I understand that only too well. If Iwas, you ought to shun me as you would shun a criminal, for I could onlybe wealthy through a crime."
"Mademoiselle----"
"Yes, through a crime. After M. de Chalusse's death, two million francsthat had been placed in his escritoire for safe keeping, could not befound. Who stole the money? I myself have been accused of the theft.Your father must have told you of this, as well as of the cloud ofsuspicion that is still hanging over me."
She paused, for the lieutenant had become whiter than his shirt. "GoodGod!" he exclaimed in a tone of horror, as if a terrible light hadsuddenly broken upon his mind. He made a movement as if to leave theroom, but suddenly changing his mind, he bowed low before MademoiselleMarguerite, and said, in a husky voice: "Forgive me, mademoiselle, I didnot know what I was doing. I have been misinformed. I have been beguiledby false hopes. I entreat you to say that you forgive me."
"I forgive you, monsieur."
But still he lingered. "I am only a poor devil of a lieutenant," heresumed, "with no other fortune than my epaulettes, no other prospectsthan an uncertain advancement. I have been foolish and thoughtless. Ihave committed many acts of folly; but there is nothing in my past lifefor which I have cause to blush." He looked fixedly at MademoiselleMarguerite, as if he were striving to read her inmost soul; and in asolemn tone, that contrasted strangely with his usual levity of manner,he added: "If the name I bear should ever be compromised, my prospectswould be blighted forever! The only course left for me would be totender my resignation. I will leave nothing undone to preserve my honorin the eyes of the world, and to right those who have been wronged.Promise me not to interfere with my plans."
Mademoiselle Marguerite trembled like a leaf. She now realized herterrible imprudence. He had divined everything. As she remained silent,he continued wildly: "I entreat you. Do you wish me to beg you at yourfeet?"
Ah! it was a terrible sacrifice that he demanded of her. But how couldshe remain obdurate in the presence of such intense anguish? "I willremain neutral," she replied, "that is all I can promise. Providenceshall decide."
"Thank you," he said, sadly, suspecting that perhaps it was already toolate--"thank you." Then he turned to go, and, in fact, he had alreadyopened the door, when a forlorn hope brought him back to MademoiselleMarguerite, whose hand he took, timidly faltering, "We are friends, arewe not?"
She did not withdraw her icy hand, and in a scarcely audible voice, sherepeated: "We are friends?"
Convinced that he could obtain nothing more from her than her promisedneutrality, the lieutenant thereupon hastily left the room, and she sankback in her chair more dead than alive. "Great God! what is com
ing now?"she murmured.
She thought she could understand the unfortunate young man's intentions,and she listened with a throbbing heart, expecting to hear a stormyexplanation between his parents and himself. In point of fact, shealmost immediately afterward heard the lieutenant inquire in a stern,imperious voice: "Where is my father?"
"The General has just gone to his club."
"And my mother?"
"A friend of hers called a few moments ago to take her to the opera."
"What madness!"
That was all. The outer door opened and closed again with extremeviolence, and then Marguerite heard nothing save the sneering remarks ofthe servants.
It was, indeed, madness on the part of M. and Madame de Fondege notto have waited to learn the result of this interview, planned bythemselves, and upon which their very lives depended. But deliriumseemed to have seized them since, thanks to a still inexplicable crime,they had suddenly found themselves in possession of an immense fortune.Perhaps in this wild pursuit of pleasure, in the haste they displayedto satisfy their covetous longings, they hoped to forget or silencethe threatening voice of conscience. Such was Mademoiselle Marguerite'sconclusion; but she was not long left to undisturbed meditation. By thelieutenant's departure the restrictions which had been placed upon theservants' movements had evidently been removed, for they came in toclear the table.
Having with some little difficulty obtained a candle from one of thesemodel servants, Mademoiselle Marguerite now retired to her own room. Inher anxiety, she forgot Madame Leon, but the latter had not forgottenher; she was even now listening at the drawing-room door, inconsolableto think that she had not succeeded in hearing at least part of theconversation between the lieutenant and her dear young lady. Margueritehad no wish to reflect over what had occurred. As she was determinedto keep the promise which Lieutenant Gustave had wrung from her, itmattered little whether she had committed a great mistake in allowinghim to discover her knowledge of his parent's guilt, and in listeningto his entreaties. A secret presentiment warned her that the punishmentwhich would overtake the General and his wife would be none the lessterrible, despite her own forbearance, and that they would find theirson more inexorable than the severest judge.
The essential thing was to warn the old magistrate; and so in a coupleof pages she summarized the scene of the evening, feeling sure that shewould find an opportunity to post her letter on the following day. Thisduty accomplished, she took a book and went to bed, hoping to drive awayher gloomy thoughts by reading. But the hope was vain. Her eyes read thewords, followed the lines and crossed the pages, but her mind utterlyrefused to obey her will, and in spite of all her efforts persisted inturning to the shrewd youth who had solemnly sworn to find Pascal forher. A little after midnight Madame de Fondege returned from the opera,and at once proceeded to reprimand her maid for not having lighted afire. The General returned some time afterward, and he was evidently inthe best of spirits.
"They have not seen their son," said Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself,and this anxiety, combined with many others, tortured her so cruelly,that she did not fall asleep until near daybreak. Even then she did notslumber long. It was scarcely half-past seven when she was aroused bya strange commotion and a loud sound of hammering. She was trying toimagine the cause of all this uproar, when Madame de Fondege, alreadyarrayed in a marvellous robe composed of three skirts and an enormouspuff, entered the room. "I have come to take you away, my dear child,"she exclaimed. "The owner of the house has decided to make some repairs,and the workmen have already invaded our apartments. The General hastaken flight, let us follow his example--so make yourself beautiful andwe'll go at once."
Without a word, the young girl hastened to obey, while Madame deFondege expiated on the delightful drive they would take together inthe wonderful brougham which the General had purchased a couple of daysbefore. As for Lieutenant Gustave, she did not even mention his name.
Accustomed to the superb equipages of the Chalusse establishment,Mademoiselle Marguerite did not consider the much-lauded brougham atall remarkable. At the most, it was very showy, having apparently beenselected with a view to attracting as much attention as possible. Madamede Fondege was not in a mood to consider an objection that morning. Shewas evidently in a nervous state of mind, extremely restless and excitedindeed, it seemed impossible for her to keep still. In default ofsomething better to do, she visited at least a dozen shops, asking tosee everything, finding everything frightful, and purchasing withoutregard to price. It might have been fancied that she wished to buyall Paris. About ten o'clock she dragged Marguerite to Van Klopen's.Received as a habituee of the establishment, thanks to the numerousorders she had given within the past few days, she was even allowed toenter the mysterious saloon in which the illustrious ruler of Fashionserved such of his clients as had a predilection for absinthe ormadeira. On leaving the place, and before entering the carriage again,Madame de Fondege turned to Marguerite and inquired: "Where shall we gonow? I have given the servants an 'outing' on account of the workmen,and we cannot breakfast at home. Why can't we go to a restaurant, wetwo? Many of the most distinguished ladies are in the habit of doingso. You will see how people will look at us! I am sure it will amuse youimmensely."
"Ah! madame, you forget that it is not a fortnight since the count'sdeath!"
Madame de Fondege was about to make an impatient reply, but she masteredthe impulse, and in a tone of hypocritical compassion, exclaimed: "Poorchild! poor, dear child! that's true. I had forgotten. Well, such beingthe case, we'll go and ask Baroness Trigault to give us our breakfast.You will see a lovely woman." And addressing the coachman she instructedhim to drive to the Trigault mansion in the Rue de la Ville l'Eveque.
When Madame de Fondege's brougham drew up before the door, the baron wasstanding in the courtyard with a cigar between his teeth, examining apair of horses which had been sent him on approbation. He did not likehis wife's friend, and he usually avoided her. But precisely because hewas acquainted with the General's crime and Pascal's plans, he thoughtit politic to seem amiable. So, on recognizing Madame de Fondege throughthe carriage window, he hastened forward with outstretched hand toassist her in alighting. "Did you come to take breakfast with us?" heasked. "That would be a most delightful----"
The remainder of the sentence died unuttered upon his lips. His facebecame crimson, and the cigar he was holding slipped from his fingers.He had just perceived Mademoiselle Marguerite, and his consternation wasso apparent that Madame de Fondege could not fail to remark it; however,she attributed it to the girl's remarkable beauty. "This is Mademoisellede Chalusse, my dear baron," said she, "the daughter of the noble andesteemed friend whom we so bitterly lament."
Ah! it was not necessary to tell the baron who this young girl was;he knew it only too well. He was not overcome for long; a thought ofvengeance speedily flashed through his mind. It seemed to him thatProvidence itself offered him the means of putting an end to anintolerable situation. Regaining his self-control by a powerful effort,he preceded Madame de Fondege through the magnificent apartments ofthe mansion, lightly saying: "My wife is in her boudoir. She will bedelighted to see you. But first of all, I have a good secret to confideto you. So let me take this young lady to the baroness, and you andI can join them in a moment!" Thereupon, without waiting for anyrejoinder, he took Marguerite's arm and led her toward the end of thehall. Then opening a door, he exclaimed in a mocking voice: "MadameTrigault, allow me to present to you the daughter of the Count deChalusse." And adding in a whisper: "This is your mother, young girl,"he pushed the astonished Marguerite into the room, closed the door, andreturned to Madame de Fondege.
Paler than her white muslin wrapper, the Baroness Trigault sprang fromher chair. This was the woman who, while her husband was braving deathto win fortune for her, had been dazzled by the Count de Chalusse'swealth, and who, later in life, when she was the richest of the rich,had sunk into the very depths of degradation--had stooped, indeed, toa Coralth! The baroness had once been m
arvellously beautiful, and evennow, many murmurs of admiration greeted her when she dashed throughthe Champs Elysees in her magnificent equipage, attired in one of thoseeccentric costumes which she alone dared to wear. She was a type of thewife created by the customs of fashionable society; the woman who feelselated when her name appears in the newspapers and in the chronicles ofParisian "high life"; who has no thought of her deserted fireside, butis ever tormented by a terrible thirst for bustle and excitement; whosehead is empty, and whose heart is dry--the woman who only exists forthe world; and who is devoured by unappeasable covetousness, and who, attimes, envies an actress's liberty, and the notoriety of the leaders ofthe demi-monde; the woman who is always in quest of fresh excitement,and fails to find it; the woman who is blase, and prematurely old inmind and body, and who yet still clings despairingly to her fleetingyouth.
Inaccessible to any emotion but vanity, the baroness had never shed atear over her husband's sufferings. She was sure of her absolute powerover him. What did the rest matter? She even gloried in her knowledgethat she could make this man--who loved her in spite of everything--atone moment furious with rage or wild with grief, and then an instantafterward plunge him into the rapture of a senseless ecstasy by a word,a smile, or a caress. For such was her power, and she often exercised itmercilessly. Even after the frightful scene that Pascal had witnessed,she had made another appeal to the baron, and he had been weak enoughto give her the thirty thousand francs which M. de Coralth needed topurchase his wife's silence.
However, this time the baroness trembled. Her usual shrewdness hadnot deserted her, and she perfectly understood all that Marguerite'spresence in that house portended. Since her husband brought this younggirl--her daughter--to her he must know everything, and have taken somefatal resolution. Had she, indeed, exhausted the patience which she hadfancied inexhaustible? She was not ignorant of the fact that her husbandhad disposed of his immense fortune in a way that would enable him tosay and prove that he was insolvent whenever occasion required; and ifhe found courage to apply for a legal separation, what could she hope toobtain from the courts? A bare living, almost nothing. In such a case,how could she exist? She would be compelled to spend her last yearsin the same poverty that had made her youth so wretched. She sawherself--ah! what a frightful misfortune--turfed out of her princelyhome, and reduced to furnished apartments rented for five hundred francsa year!
Mademoiselle Marguerite was no less startled and horror-stricken thanMadame Trigault, and she stood rooted to the spot, exactly where thebaron had left her. Silent and motionless, they confronted eachother for a moment which seemed a century to both of them. Theresemblance--which had astonished Pascal could not fail to strike them,for it was still more noticeable now that they stood face to face. Butanything was preferable to this torturing suspense, and so, summoningall her courage, the baroness broke the silence by saying: "You are thedaughter of the Count de Chalusse?"
"I think so, but I have no proofs of it."
"And--your mother?"
"I don't know her; madame, and I have no desire to know her."
Disconcerted by this brief but implacable reply, Madame Trigault hungher head.
"What could I have to say to my mother?" continued Marguerite. "That Ihate her? My courage would fail me to do so. And yet, how can I thinkwithout bitterness of the woman who, after abandoning me herself,endeavored to deprive me of my father's love and protection? I couldhave forgiven anything but that. Ah! I have not always been so patientand resigned! The laws of our country do not forbid illigitimatechildren to search for their parents, and more than once I have said tomyself that I would discover my mother, and have my revenge."
"But you have no means of discovering her?"
"In this you are greatly mistaken, madame. After the Count de Chalusse'sdeath, a package of letters, a glove and some withered flowers werefound in one of the drawers of his escritoire."
The baroness started back as if a yawning chasm had suddenly opened ather feet. "My letters!" she exclaimed. "Ah! wretched woman that I am,he kept them. It is all over! I am lost, for of course, they have beenread?"
"The ribbon securing them together has never been untied."
"Is that true? Don't deceive me! Where are they, then--where are they?"
"Under the protection of the seals affixed by the justice of the peace."
Madame Trigault tottered, as if she were about to fall. "Then it is onlya reprieve," she moaned, "and I am none the less ruined. Those cursedletters will necessarily be read, and all will be discovered. They willsee----" The thought of what they would see endowed her with the energyof despair, and clutching hold of Marguerite's wrists: "Listen!" saidshe, approaching so near that her hot breath scorched the girl's cheeks,"no one must be allowed to see those letters!--it must not be! I willtell you what they contain. I hated my husband; I loved the Count deChalusse madly, and he had sworn that he would marry me if ever I becamea widow. Do you understand now? The name of the poison I obtained--howI proposed to administer it, and what its effects would be--all this isplainly written in my own handwriting and signed--yes, signed--withmy own name. The plot failed, but it was none the less real, positive,palpable--and those letters are a proof of it. But they shall never beread--no--not if I am obliged to set fire to the Hotel de Chalusse withmy own hand."
Now the count's constant terror, the fear with which this woman hadinspired him, were explained. He was an accomplice--he also had writtenno doubt, and she had preserved his letters as he had preserved hers.Crime had bound them indissolubly together.
Horrified beyond expression, Marguerite freed herself from MadameTrigault's grasp. "I swear to you, madame, that everything any humanbeing can do to save your letters shall be done by me," she exclaimed.
"And have you any hope of success?"
"Yes," replied the girl, remembering her friend, the magistrate.
Moved by a far more powerful emotion than any she had ever known before,the baroness uttered an exclamation of joy. "Ah! how good you are!" sheexclaimed--"how generous! how noble! You take your revenge in giving meback life, honor, everything--for you are my daughter; do you not knowit? Did they not tell you, before bringing you here, that I was thehated and unnatural mother who abandoned you?"
She advanced with tearful eyes and outstretched arms, but Margueritesternly waved her back. "Spare yourself, madame, and spare me, thehumiliation of an unnecessary explanation."
"Marguerite! Good God! you repulse me. After all you have promised to dofor me, will you not forgive me?"
"I will try to forget, madame," replied the girl and she was alreadystepping toward the door when the baroness threw herself at her feet,crying, in a heart-rending tone: "Have pity, Marguerite, I am yourmother. One has no right to deny one's own mother."
But the young girl passed on. "My mother is dead, madame; I do not knowyou!" And she left the room without even turning her head, without evenglancing at the baroness, who had fallen upon the floor in a deep swoon.
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