by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XXXVII. SOOTHING WORDS.
During the interview of Adrienne with Rose-Pompon a touching scene tookplace between Agricola and Mother Bunch, who had been much surprisedat Mdlle. de Cardoville's condescension with regard to the grisette.Immediately after the departure of Adrienne, Agricola had knelt downbeside Mother Bunch, and said to her, with profound emotion: "We arealone, and I can at length tell you what weighs upon my heart. This actis too cruel--to die of misery and despair, and not to send to me forassistance."
"Listen to me, Agricola--"
"No, there is no excuse for this. What! we called each other by thenames of brother and sister, and for fifteen years gave every proof ofsincere affection--and, when the day of misfortune comes, you quit lifewithout caring for those you must leave behind--without considering thatto kill yourself is to tell them they are indifferent to you!"
"Forgive me, Agricola! it is true. I had never thought of that," saidthe workgirl, casting down her eyes; "but poverty--want of work--"
"Misery! want of work! and was I not here?"
"And despair!"
"But why despair? This generous young lady had received you in herhouse; she knew your worth, and treated you as her friend--and just atthe moment when you had every chance of happiness, you leave the houseabruptly, and we remain in the most horrible anxiety on your account."
"I feared--to be--to be a burden to my benefactress," stammered she.
"You a burden to Mdlle. de Cardoville, that is so rich and good!"
"I feared to be indiscreet," said the sewing-girl, more and moreembarrassed.
Instead of answering his adopted sister, Agricola remained silent, andcontemplated her for some moments with an undefinable expression; thenhe exclaimed suddenly, as if replying to a question put by himself: "Shewill forgive me for disobeying her.--I am sure of it."
He next turned towards Mother Bunch, who was looking at him inastonishment, and said to her in a voice of emotion: "I am too frankto keep up this deception. I am reproaching you--blaming you--and mythoughts are quite different."
"How so, Agricola?"
"My heart aches, when I think of the evil I have done you."
"I do not understand you, my friend; you have never done me any evil."
"What! never? even in little things? when, for instance, yielding to adetestable habit, I, who loved and respected you as my sister, insultedyou a hundred times a day?"
"Insulted me!"
"Yes--when I gave you an odious and ridiculous nickname, instead ofcalling you properly."
At these words, Mother Bunch looked at the smith in the utmost alarm,trembling lest he had discovered her painful secret, notwithstandingthe assurance she had received from Mdlle. de Cardoville. Yet she calmedherself a little when she reflected, that Agricola might of himself havethought of the humiliation inflicted on her by calling her Mother Bunch,and she answered him with a forced smile. "Can you be grieved at sosmall a thing? It was a habit, Agricola, from childhood. When did yourgood and affectionate mother, who nevertheless loved me as her daughter,ever call me anything else?"
"And did my mother consult you about my marriage, speak to you of therare beauty of my bride, beg you to come and see her, and study hercharacter, in the hope that the instinct of your affection for me wouldwarn you--if I made a bad choice? Did my mother have this cruelty?--No;it was I, who thus pierced your heart!"
The fears of the hearer were again aroused; there could be but littledoubt that Agricola knew her secret. She felt herself sinking withconfusion; yet, making a last effort not to believe the discovery, shemurmured in a feeble voice: "True, Agricola! It was not your mother, butyourself, who made me that request--and I was grateful to you for such amark of confidence."
"Grateful, my poor girl!" cried the smith, whilst his eyes filledwith tears; "no, it is not true. I pained you fearfully--I wasmerciless--heaven knows, without being aware of it!"
"But," said the other, in a voice now almost unintelligible, "what makesyou think so?"
"Your love for me!" cried the smith, trembling with emotion, as heclasped Mother Bunch in a brotherly embrace.
"Oh heaven!" murmured the unfortunate creature, as she covered her facewith her hands, "he knows all."
"Yes, I know all," resumed Agricola, with an expression of ineffabletenderness and respect: "yes, I know all, and I will not have you blushfor a sentiment, which honors me, and of which I feel so justly proud.Yes, I know all; and I say to myself with joy and pride, that the best,the most noble heart in the world is mine--will be mine always. Come,Magdalen; let us leave shame to evil passions. Raise your eyes, and lookat me! You know, if my countenance was ever false--if it ever reflecteda feigned emotion. Then look and tell me, if you cannot read in myfeatures, how proud I am, Magdalen, how justly proud of your love!"
Overwhelmed with grief and confusion, Mother Bunch had not dared to lookon Agricola; but his words expressed so deep a conviction, the tones ofhis voice revealed so tender an emotion, that the poor creature felt hershame gradually diminish, particularly when Agricola added, with risinganimation: "Be satisfied, my sweet, my noble Magdalen; I will be worthyof this love. Believe me, it shall yet cause you as much happiness as ithas occasioned tears. Why should this love be a motive for estrangement,confusion, fear? For what is love, in the sense in which it is heldby your generous heart? Is it not a continual exchange of devotion,tenderness, esteem, of mutual and blind confidence?--Why, Magdalen!we may have all this for one another--devotion, tenderness,confidence--even more than in times past; for, on a thousand occasions,your secret inspired you with fear and suspicion--while, for the future,on the contrary, you will see me take such delight in the place I fillin your good and valiant heart, that you will be happy in the happinessyou bestow. What I have just said may seem very selfish and conceited;so much the worse! I do not know how to lie."
The longer the smith spoke, the less troubled became Mother Bunch. Whatshe had above all feared in the discovery of her secret was to see itreceived with raillery, contempt, or humiliating compassion; far fromthis, joy and happiness were distinctly visible on the manly andhonest face of Agricola. The hunchback knew him incapable of deception;therefore she exclaimed, this time without shame or confusion, butrather with a sort of pride.
"Every sincere and pure passion is so far good and con soling as to endby deserving interest and sympathy, when it has triumphed over its firstexcess! It is alike honorable to the heart which feels and that whichinspires it!--Thanks to you, Agricola--thanks to the kind words, whichhave raised me in my own esteem--I feel that, instead of blushing, Iought to be proud of this love. My benefactress is right--you are right:why should I be ashamed of it? Is it not a true and sacred love? To benear you, to love you, to tell you so, to prove it by constant devotion,what did I ever desire more? And yet shame and fear, joined with thatdizziness of the brain which extreme misery produces, drove me tosuicide!--But then some allowance must be made for the suspicions of apoor creature, who has been the subject of ridicule from her cradle.So my secret was to die with me, unless some unforeseen accident shouldreveal it to you; and, in that case, you are right--sure of myself, sureof you, I ought to have feared nothing. But I may claim some indulgence;mistrust, cruel mistrust of one's self makes one doubt others also. Letus forget all that. Agricola, my generous brother, I will say to you,as you said to me just now, 'Look at me; you know my countenance cannotlie. Look at me: see if I shun your gaze; see if, ever in my life, Ilooked so happy'--and yet, even now, I was about to die!"
She spoke the truth. Agricola himself could not have hoped so prompt aneffect from his words. In spite of the deep traces which misery, grief,and sickness had imprinted on the girl's features, they now shone withradiant happiness and serenity, whilst her blue eyes, gentle and pure asher soul, were fixed, without embarrassment, on those of Agricola.
"Oh! thanks, thanks!" cried the smith, in a rapture of delight: "when Isee you so calm, and so happy, Magdalen, I am indeed grateful."
"Yes, I a
m calm, I am happy," replied she; "and happy I shall be, forI can now tell you my most secret thoughts. Yes, happy; for this day,which began so fatally, ends like a divine dream. Far from being afraid,I now look at you with hope and joy. I have again found my generousbenefactress, and I am tranquil as to the fate of my poor sister.Oh! shall we not soon see her? I should like her to take part in thishappiness."
She seemed so happy, that the smith did not dare to inform her of thedeath of Cephyse, and reserved himself to communicate the same at amore fitting opportunity. Therefore he answered: "Cephyse, being thestronger, has been the more shaken; it will not be prudent, I am told,to see her to-day."
"I will wait then. I can repress my impatience, I have so much to say toyou."
"Dear, gentle Magdalen!"
"Oh, my friend!" cried the girl, interrupting Agricola, with tears ofjoy: "I cannot tell you what I feel, when I hear you call me Magdalen.It is so sweet, so soothing, that my heart expands with delight."
"Poor girl! how dreadfully she must have suffered!" cried the smith,with inexpressible emotion, "when she displays so much happiness, somuch gratitude, at being called by her own poor name!"
"But consider, my friend; that word in your mouth contains a new lifefor me. If you only knew what hopes, what pleasures I can now seegleaming in the future! If you knew all the cherished longings of mytenderness! Your wife, the charming Angela, with her angel face andangel-soul--oh! in my turn, I can say to, you, 'Look at me, and see howsweet that name is to my lips and heart!' Yes, your charming, yourgood Angela will call me Magdalen--and your children, Agricola,your children!--dear little creatures!--to them also I shall beMagdalen--their good Magdalen--and the love I shall bear them will makethem mine, as well as their mother's--and I shall have my part inevery maternal care--and they will belong to us three; will they not,Agricola?--Oh! let me, let me weep! These tears without bitterness do meso much good; they are tears that need not be concealed. Thank heaven!thank you, my friend! those other tears are I trust dried forever."
For some seconds, this affecting scene had been overlooked by aninvisible witness. The smith and Mother Bunch had not perceived Mdlle.de Cardoville standing on the threshold of the door. As Mother Bunchhad said, this day, which dawned with all under such fatal auspices, hadbecome for all a day of ineffable felicity. Adrienne, too, was full ofjoy, for Djalma had been faithful to her, Djalma loved her with passion.The odious appearances, of which she had been the dupe and victim,evidently formed part of a new plot of Rodin, and it only remained forMdlle. de Cardoville to discover the end of these machinations.
Another joy was reserved for her. The happy are quick in detectinghappiness in others, and Adrienne guessed, by the hunchback's lastwords, that there was no longer any secret between the smith and thesempstress. She could not therefore help exclaiming, as she entered:"Oh! this will be the brightest day of my life, for I shall not be happyalone!"
Agricola and Mother Bunch turned round hastily. "Lady," said the smith,"in spite of the promise I made you, I could not conceal from Magdalenthat I knew she loved me!"
"Now that I no longer blush for this love before Agricola, why should Iblush for it before you, lady, that told me to be proud of it, becauseit is noble and pure?" said Mother Bunch, to whom her happiness gavestrength enough to rise, and to lean upon Agricola's arm.
"It is well, my friend," said Adrienne, as she threw her arms round herto support her; "only one word, to excuse the indiscretion with whichyou will perhaps reproach me. If I told your secret to M. Agricola--"
"Do you know why it was, Magdalen?" cried the smith, interruptingAdrienne. "It was only another proof of the lady's delicate generosity.'I long hesitate to confide to you this secret,' said she to me thismorning, 'but I have at length made up my mind to it. We shall probablyfind your adopted sister; you have been to her the best of brothers:but many times, without knowing it, you have wounded her feelingscruelly--and now that you know her secret, I trust in your kind heart tokeep it faithfully, and so spare the poor child a thousand pangs--pangsthe more bitter, because they come from you, and are suffered insilence. Hence, when you speak to her of your wife, your domestichappiness, take care not to gall that noble and tender heart.'--Yes,Magdalen, these were the reasons that led the lady to commit what shecalled an indiscretion."
"I want words to thank you now and ever," said Mother Bunch.
"See, my friend," replied Adrienne, "how often the designs of the wickedturn against themselves. They feared your devotion to me, and thereforeemployed that unhappy Florine to steal your journal--"
"So as to drive me from your house with shame, lady, When I supposed mymost secret thoughts an object of ridicule to all. There can be no doubtsuch was their plan," said Mother Bunch.
"None, my child. Well! this horrible wickedness, which nearly causedyour death, now turns to the confusion of the criminals. Their plot isdiscovered--and, luckily, many other of their designs," said Adrienne,as she thought of Rose-Pompon.
Then she resumed, with heartfelt joy: "At last, we are again united,happier than ever, and in our very happiness we shall find new resourcesto combat our enemies. I say our enemies--for all that love me areodious to these wretches. But courage, the hour is come, and the goodpeople will have their turn."
"Thank heaven, lady," said the smith; "or my part, I shall not bewanting in zeal. What delight to strip them of their mask!"
"Let me remind you, M. Baudoin, that you have an appointment for tomorrow with M. Hardy."
"I have not forgotten it, lady, any more than the generous offers I amto convey to him."
"That is nothing. He belongs to my family. Tell him (what indeed Ishall write to him this evening), that the funds necessary to reopen hisfactory are at his disposal; I do not say so for his sake only, but forthat of a hundred families reduced to want. Beg him to quit immediatelythe fatal abode to which they have taken him: for a thousand reasons heshould be on his guard against all that surround him."
"Be satisfied, lady. The letter he wrote to me in reply to the one I gotsecretly delivered to him, was short, affectionate, sad--but he grantsme the interview I had asked for, and I am sure I shall be able topersuade him to leave that melancholy dwelling, and perhaps to departwith me, he has always had so much confidence in my attachment."
"Well, M. Baudoin, courage!" said Adrienne, as she threw her cloak overthe workgirl's shoulders, and wrapped her round with care. "Let us begone, for it is late. As soon as we get home, I will give you a letterfor M. Hardy, and to-morrow you will come and tell me the result of yourvisit. No, not to-morrow," she added, blushing slightly. "Write to meto-morrow, and the day after, about twelve, come to me."
Some minutes later, the young sempstress, supported by Agricola andAdrienne, had descended the stairs of that gloomy house, and, beingplaced in the carriage by the side of Mdlle. de Cardoville, sheearnestly entreated to be allowed to see Cephyse; it was in vain thatAgricola assured her it was impossible, and that she should see her thenext day. Thanks to the information derived from Rose-Pompon, Mdlle. deCardoville was reasonably suspicious of all those who surrounded Djalma,and she therefore took measures, that, very evening, to have a letterdelivered to the prince by what she considered a sure hand.
