"Yes."
"Positively refuse?"
"Yes."
"Very well, I shall take back my gold," he rejoined, slowly picking up the louis and jingling them together. "I shall refill my pockets with the glittering yellow coins."
"The devil take you and your gold!" cried the exasperated woman. "Take it, and go! I have not sheltered Mariette all these years to sell her, body and soul. Rather than eat such bread, I would build a charcoal fire and make on end to us both."
At these words Mariette entered, pale and indignant, her cheeks bathed in tears and her eyes flashing with anger and scorn.
"Ah! god-mother," she cried, throwing her arms around the woman's neck, "I knew that you loved me as a daughter!" Then turning toward Commander de La Miraudière, whom she recognized as the man whose persistent gaze had so frequently annoyed her at Madame Jourdan's establishment, she added with withering scorn: "Go, this moment, monsieur!"
"But, my dear little dove—" he began.
"I was there at the door, monsieur, and heard all," she interrupted quickly.
"So much the better then, my dear. You know my offer; you are still at liberty to accept it."
"Once more, monsieur, I beg you to go out."
"There, there, I am going my little Lucretia! But I give you a week for reflection," said the visitor, as he moved toward the door, Pausing on the threshold, however, he added:
"Don't forget my name, my dear—Commander de La Miraudière. Madame
Jourdan has my address," and he vanished with these words.
"Ah! godmother," cried the girl, kissing the sick woman with new effusion, "how warmly you defended me! how your heart spoke for me!"
"Yes, yes," muttered the invalid, roughly disengaging herself from the girl's embrace, "and with those fine principles we starve instead of rolling in luxury."
"But, my dear godmother—" Mariette tried to protest.
"There, there, it's all said and done now," cried the woman impatiently. "I have done my duty, and you have done yours—and it's small good it will do either of us, you may count on that!"
"But godmother, listen to me—"
"And if some fine morning we are both found dead with a charcoal fire between us, we shall only have done our duty once more. Ha! ha! ha!—" and with this grim laugh, this unhappy creature, so pursued and exasperated by wretchedness and misfortune, cut short the conversation by turning her face to the wall.
Mariette silently brought in the basket containing her purchases, arranged the supper on the table near the bed, and quietly withdrew to the narrow window through which filtered the deepening twilight. Then drawing the torn fragments of Louis' letter from her bosom, she gazed at them sadly, and sank back into grim despair.
* * * * * *
In the meantime, Commander de La Miraudière had reached the street and was rolling away rapidly in his dashing cabriolet.
"Bah! this is only a first rebuff," he was saying complacently to himself; "the girl will reflect, and that old schemer will think better of it. Her round eyes fairly blinked at the sight of my gold; it dazzled her like the noonday sun. Besides, their abject misery will plead in my favor, and I have no reason to despair. Two months of fat living will suffice to make the girl the prettiest woman in Paris; and she will do me credit at very small cost. But I must think of business now; I have made a precious discovery."
Having reached the Rue Grenelle-Saint-Honoré, he stopped his horse before a house of modest appearance and alighted.
"Does M. Richard reside here?" he inquired of the concierge.
"Yes, monsieur, both the father and son live here," replied the man.
"I want to speak to the son, M. Louis Richard; is he at home?"
"He has just arrived in Paris; you will find him with his father."
"I must see him alone."
"That's rather difficult, as they have but one room between them."
The commander drew a card from his pocket, and wrote the following words above his own name: "Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home, between nine and ten o'clock tomorrow morning, to communicate something of grave importance, which admits of no delay."
"My dear fellow," he said, addressing the concierge, when he had replaced his pencil, "here are forty sous for a pourboire."
"Thank you, monsieur," rejoined the man, pocketing the money; "but what do you expect me to do for it?"
"Remit this card to M. Louis Richard."
"Nothing difficult about that."
"It must be given him to-morrow morning as he goes out, and without his father's knowledge; do you understand?"
"Perfectly. It can be easily done, as M. Louis goes to his studies at seven o'clock, while old Richard leaves only at nine for his writing office."
"I may count on you then?" said the commander, leaping into the cabriolet.
"Consider it done, monsieur," was the reassuring reply.
The carriage had scarcely vanished when the postman appeared with a letter addressed to M. Louis Richard. It was Mariette's missive, which the old scribe had addressed Rue de Grenelle, Paris, instead of Dreux, according to the girl's request.
CHAPTER V.
Old Richard and his son jointly occupied a dreary room on the fifth floor of a dilapidated house, which might have made a fit adjunct to the home of Mariette and her god-mother. The same wretchedness, the same destitution was visible everywhere. A thin mattress in one corner for the father, a straw bed in the other for the son, a mouldy table, a few chairs and an old wardrobe, composed the entire furniture of the dingy apartment.
On his way homeward, the public scribe had purchased his supper and was now laying the frugal meal on the table; an appetizing slice of ham, placed carefully on a piece of white paper that served as a plate, and a four-pound loaf of bread, the remains of which were to serve as breakfast the next morning. Add to this a bottle of fresh water, standing opposite a thin candle that scarcely dissipated the gloom of the room, and the picture of wretchedness was complete.
Louis Richard was a young man of about twenty-five years, with a frank, open countenance, expressive of gentleness and intelligence, and a natural grace which his shabby, worn-out clothes could not conceal. As he dropped his modest traveling bag to the floor and embraced his father, whom he fairly worshipped, the happiness of being near him once more and the certainty of seeing Mariette the next day, made his face perfectly radiant with joy.
"And so you made a good voyage, my son," observed the old man, his delight over the young man's return somewhat dampened by the uneasiness he felt concerning his cherished projects for the future and the remembrance of the events of the day.
"Excellent, father!" returned Louis.
"I am glad to hear it, my boy, and—but will you have some dinner? We can talk while eating."
"Will I have some dinner? Well, I should say so! I did not share the meals of the other travelers, and for the best of reasons," laughed the young man gaily, slapping his empty wallet.
"Upon my word, you lost but little, my son," rejoined the father, cutting the slice of ham into two unequal pieces and giving the largest to the young man, "those hotel dinners are expensive and not worth much!"
Having offered Louis a formidable piece of bread, the old man helped himself to a crust, and both father and son bravely attacked the meager meal, with robust appetites, sprinkling it plentifully with glorious draughts of clear water.
"Tell me all about your journey now, my boy," resumed the old man, when he had satisfied the first pangs of hunger.
"Really, father, there is not much to tell," remarked Louis. "The notary had given me copies of several deeds, which M. Ramon was to read. Well, he read and studied them most leisurely, taking five whole days! after which the said papers were given back to me, profusely annotated by that wary parsonage, and—thank heaven—here I am at last!"
"Thank heaven?—can it be that you were lonely at Dreux?" queried the old man, looking up anxiously.
"I was bored to death, my dear father."
"What kind of a man must this M. Ramon be, that you were so displeased?"
"The very worst kind in the world—a miser."
"Hum! hum!" coughed the old man, as if swallowing a disagreeable dose.
"So he is a miser? He must be rich then?"
"I don't know, but one may be as avaricious with a small fortune as with a great one; and if we are to measure M. Ramon's wealth by his parsimony, he must be a triple millionaire—such a wretched old miser!" continued Louis, contemptuously, biting into his bread with a sort of frenzy.
"Had you been brought up in luxury and abundance, I might understand your recriminations against this old miser—as you call him," rejoined old Richard, testily, "but we have always lived in such poverty that, however miserly M. Ramon may be, you must have found but little difference between his manner of existence and our own."
"But you don't understand me, father. M. Ramon keeps two servants, and we have none; he occupies a whole house and we live in one attic room; he has three or four dishes for his dinner, while we eat anything we may chance to have. And yet, we live a hundred times better than this greedy personage!"
"I really don't understand you, my child," returned the father, more and more annoyed at his son's opinion of his late host. "There can certainly be no comparison between that gentleman's luxury and our poverty."
"My dear father, we are veritably poor, at least! We cheerfully endure our privations; and if in my days of ambition, I have sometimes dreamed of a more comfortable existence, it was not for myself, you may rest assured, for I am perfectly satisfied with my fate."
"I know your kind heart, my dear boy, as well as your love for me; and my only consolation in our poverty is to know that you do not complain of your condition."
"Complain! do you not share it with me? and then, after all, what more could we want?"
"We might want a little more comfort."
"Upon my word, I don't see it in that light, father. We don't eat stuffed chicken, it is true; but we eat all we want and with appetite—witness this empty paper and the disappearance of the four-pound loaf between us. Our clothes are shabby and worn, but they are warm; our room is up five nights of stairs, but it shelters us; we earn from sixteen to eighteen hundred francs per annum between us—the sum is not enormous, but it suffices; we have no debts! Ah! my dear father, may heaven never send us worse days, and I shall never complain."
"My dear boy, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to hear you speak thus, and to see you accept your fate so bravely. Tell me the truth—have you—have you always been happy?"
"Very happy."
"Truly?"
"Why should I try to deceive you? Now, my dear father, have you ever seen me gloomy or thoughtful? do I look like a discontented person?"
"You are endowed with such an excellent character!"
"Oh, that depends on circumstances! If, for instance, I were obliged to live with M. Ramon, that abominable griping miser, I should certainly become unbearable, unmanageable and frantic!"
"What can you have against that poor man?"
"All the ferocious resentment and rancour gathered during five days of torture!"
"Torture?"
"What else can it be, to inhabit a large dilapidated house, so empty, so cold and gloomy, that a tomb would be a cheerful dwelling in comparison? And then, to see the two wan, emaciated servants coming and going like shadows in this sepulchre; to assist at those meals—and what meals, great heavens!—where the master of the house seems to count the bites you swallow! And such a daughter!—for the wretch has a daughter, alas! and, his race may perhaps be perpetuated. It is she who lays aside the servants' insufficient shares and puts the remains of the meager meal under lock and key! All I can say is that, notwithstanding my usual good appetite, five minutes at that table sufficed to disgust me. For one is either one thing or the other; if rich, avarice is contemptible; if poor, it is stupid to attempt any display."
"My dear Louis, I find you strangely hostile to this poor man and his daughter—you who are always so kind and benevolent!"
"His daughter! do you call that a daughter?"
"What in the devil do you mean! do you take her for a monster?"
"I don't take her for a woman."
"My dear boy, you must have taken leave of your senses!"
"But, my dear father, what would, you call a tall, dry creature, growling and snarling, with hands and feet like a man, a face like a nut-cracker, and a nose—great heavens, what a nose!—as long as this knife, and red as a brick! But to be just, I must admit that this incomparable creature has yellow hair and black teeth."
"The portrait is not flattering; but all women cannot be equally beautiful. A kind heart is often better than a pretty face; and as for me, ugliness has always inspired me with pity."
"I will say that I was much inclined to pity her when I saw her disagreeable face at first, especially as she was condemned to live with a man as greedy as her father; but when I saw that red-nosed creature eternally nagging and growling at those two unhappy servants, measure their food, and rival with her father in avarice, my first impulse of compassion was immediately turned to aversion for that wicked red-nose. Notwithstanding my good nature, I felt a strong temptation to contradict and annoy this red-nose; but, fearing to compromise my employer's interests, I kept my peace and swallowed my rancour."
"And you are relieving your mind with a vengeance.
"Ah! what a relief, after five long days of that red-nose!"
"You are painfully prejudiced, my son; I would wager that this lady, who appears so miserly and detestable in your eyes, is merely a woman of firm character and economical habits."
"Well, it matters little to me what she is! Only, I must say, there seems to exist singular contrasts in certain families."
"What do you mean?"
"Imagine my surprise in discovering in one of the rooms of this dull house, the portrait of a woman so beautiful, charming and distingué, that it seemed placed there expressly to continually mock and scoff at that wicked red nose. The portrait so closely resembled one of my old class-mates, that I could not refrain from questioning the old miser about it. He then gruffly informed me that the original was his sister, Madame de Saint-Herem, who died some years since. But you would have died laughing had you seen them when I asked if she had left a son."
"Well, what did they do?"
"At the name of young Saint-Herem you would have thought I had evoked the devil. Red-nose grew fiery and fairly glowed; while her worthy father admitted, with a withering glance at me, that he had the misfortune, in fact, to be the uncle of an infernal young bandit known as Saint-Herem."
"This young man must bear a very bad reputation."
"Florestan?—why, he is the noblest and most charming fellow in the world!"
"But his uncle tells you—"
"My dear father, Saint-Herem and myself were close friends at college, and you must judge of him by what I shall relate. I had lost sight of him for years, when, as I was passing along the boulevard six months ago, I saw everybody turn to look at something on the road, and I did likewise. I then perceived two magnificent horses harnessed to a phaeton, with two tiny domestics behind. This equipage was so elegant and rich that it attracted general attention—and who do you suppose was seated in that carriage? My old classmate Saint-Herem, more brilliant and handsome than ever!"
"It seems to me he must be a reckless spendthrift."
"Wait till I have finished my story, father. The equipage stopped abruptly, and while the two little pages alighted from their seats to hold the horses by the bridles, Saint-Herem leaped from the carriage, ran toward me, and fairly embraced me in his joy to find me again after so long a separation. I was dressed like a poor devil of a notary student, as I am; with my maroon redingote, my black trousers and laced shoes. You must admit that many lions of society would have shrunk from the public recognition of a fellow as shabbily dressed as your humble servant. Florestan was so delighted to see me, however, that he paid no heed to my clothes. As for me, I was very happy and almost ashamed of this proof of friendship; for we presented such a contrast that everybody stared at us. Noticing the attention we attracted, my friend asked me where I was going and proposed to take me to my office, saying it would give us more time to talk. 'What,' I protested, 'enter your beautiful carriage with my umbrella, my shabby coat and coarse shoes!' Florestan shrugged his shoulders, took me by the arm, and led me to the carriage in spite of my remonstrances; and when he left me at the office he made me promise to call on him at his apartments."
"Bah!" ejaculated the old man contemptuously; "it was merely the result of a first impulse. I always distrust people who make extravagant displays; and, besides, you are not in a position to mix with society lions."
"And yet I had to keep my word and breakfast with him one Sunday. He received me like a prince and welcomed me like a friend. Shortly afterward, however, he left Paris, and I have not seen him since."
"How strange that you never told me of this breakfast, Louis!"
"I feared that in your tender solicitude for me you might imagine that the sight of Florestan's luxury was capable of turning my head and disgust me with my poor condition. The suspicion I knew would grieve you, and I therefore resolved to conceal the fact that once in my life I had breakfasted in the style of a Sardanapalus or a Lucullus!"
"I understand the delicacy of your conduct, and am deeply touched by it, my boy," said the old man, with emotion; "it is another proof of your goodness and generosity of heart. But listen to me, my son, for it is to your kind heart and affection for me that I address myself."
"What is it?"
"It is something very grave and serious; not only for you, but for me also."
The old man's expression was so solemn as he uttered the last words, that the son looked up in surprise.
There was a knock at the door at that moment, and the concierge entered, saying, "Here is a letter for you, Monsieur Louis."
"Very well," said the young man, taking the letter absent-mindedly, his whole attention centered on the grave subject just announced by his father.
"If you should go out this evening, Monsieur Louis," added the man, as he moved away, "don't forget to stop at my lodge; I have something to say to you."
"Very well," replied Louis carelessly, as the man vanished.
Old Richard had recognized Mariette's letter at a first glance, and for a moment he was tempted to allow Louis to read it at once; but on further reflection he resolved to delay the blow.
"My dear boy," he remarked, "you will have plenty of time to read your letter later, and I want you to listen to me just now, for the subject is of the highest importance to us both."
"I am at your service, father," replied Louis, laying the letter on the table.
CHAPTER VI.
"As I have already said," observed old Richard, after a moment of silence, "I shall appeal to your kind heart and affection for me.
"You have but to speak, then, my father," rejoined the young man dutifully.
"You declared a few moments ago that if you sometimes dreamed of a more luxurious existence, it was not for yourself, being entirely satisfied with your humble condition, but for me."
"And I repeat it!"
"Well, my child, the realization of your wish depends on yourself only."
"What do you mean?"
"Listen to me. Reverses of fortune, which closely followed your mother's death, while you were still a child, robbed me of nearly all I possessed, leaving me barely enough to provide for your education. When this was all spent I was forced to open a bureau as public scribe—"
"True, my good, kind father," said the young man, with emotion; "and seeing with what courage and resignation you endured ill-fortune, my affection and veneration for you augmented to a degree that falls little short of worship."
"This ill-fortune may pursue us, my child; I am growing old, my sight is dimmed, and I foresee the sad day when it shall become impossible for me to earn our daily bread."
"My father, rely on—"
"On you? You will do your best, I know, but your own future is precarious. You shall never be more than first or second clerk, for it requires money to buy out a notary's office, and I am poor."
"Don't be alarmed, I shall always earn enough for both."
"You are counting without illness or the force of events. How many unexpected circumstances may reduce you to idleness for months! And then how should we live?"
"But, my dear father, if we poor people anticipated all the trouble we may be threatened with, we should certainly lose courage. Let us close our eyes to the future, and think of the present only. Thank God! there is nothing to frighten us in that."
"When the future is threatening, it is assuredly wiser to turn the eyes away; but when it may be happy and smiling, it is better to face it!"
"I don't deny that."
"Well, I repeat it, our future lies in your hands; it depends entirely on you to make it happy and assured."
"Then it is done. Only tell me how?"
"I shall astonish you greatly. That poor M. Ramon, with whom you have just spent a few days and whom you judge so harshly, is an old friend of mine."
"He, your friend?"
"Your visit to Dreux was arranged beforehand between us."
"But those deeds—"
"Your employer obligingly consented to aid us in our little ruse, by entrusting you with valueless papers."
"But what was your purpose?"
"Ramon wanted to observe and study your character without your knowledge, and he assures me he is quite enchanted with you. I received a long letter from him this morning, in which he speaks of you is the highest terms."
"I regret my inability to return the compliment; but why should it matter to me whether he thinks well or ill of me?"
"It matters very much, indeed, my boy; for the happy future of which I spoke depends entirely on Ramon's opinion of you."
"This is an enigma to me."
"Although not exactly rich, Ramon possesses a modest fortune, augmented each day by his economies."
"Humph! I believe that. But what you charitably term economy is sordid avarice, and nothing else."
"Call it what you will; we shall not bandy words about it. Owing to this avarice, however, Ramon will leave a snug fortune after him—I say after him, because he gives nothing away during his life-time."
"I am not surprised at that. But I really cannot understand what you are leading to, father!"
"I feel some hesitation in pursuing; for however false and unjust first impressions may be, they are exceedingly tenacious—and you judged Mademoiselle Ramon so severely—"
"Red-nose! Say rather that I was very indulgent!"
"You will overcome these prejudices, I am sure. Believe me,
Mademoiselle Ramon is one of those persons who improve on better
acquaintance. She is a woman of firm character and exemplary virtues.
What more can be desired in the mother of a family?"
"The mother of a family!" gasped Louis, who until now had not suspected the danger that threatened him, but was beginning to conceive a vague fear. "The mother of a family!" he repeated in dismay, "and what matters it to me whether Mademoiselle Ramon is or is not fitted to become a good mother?"
"It matters more to you than to anyone else."
"To me?"
"Certainly."
"And why, pray?"
"Because my most cherished, and only desire is, to see you marry
Mademoiselle Ramon," declared the old man, resolutely.
"Marry—Mademoiselle Ramon!" cried Louis, aghast, shrinking back in his chair as if the red-nosed spinster had suddenly appeared before him. "I—marry?—"
"Yes, my child," rejoined old Richard, in his most affectionate tone, "marry Mademoiselle Ramon, and our future is assured. We shall live at Dreux; Ramon's house is sufficiently large for us all. He gives his daughter no dowry; but we shall live in his home, and his influence will obtain a position for you. At the death of your father-in-law, you will inherit a snug fortune—Louis, my beloved son," concluded the old man, beseechingly, grasping the young man's hands in his, "consent to this marriage and you will make me the happiest man in the world; for I can then die without anxiety for your future."
"Ah! my father, you don't realize what you ask!" rejoined Louis reproachfully.
"You may say that you feel no love for Mademoiselle Ramon, but mutual esteem is sufficient in marriage; and you must admit that she is deserving of that esteem. As to her father, I can understand that you may have been shocked at what you term his avarice; but this will seem less odious to you when you reflect that you shall one day enjoy the benefits of this economy. At heart, Ramon is an excellent man. His only ambition is to leave a small fortune to his daughter and her husband; and to attain this aim, he practices the strictest economy. Do you call that a crime? Come, my child, give me one word of hope!"
"Father," said the young man, in a constrained voice, "it grieves me to disappoint you in your projects, but what you ask is impossible."
"Louis, can you really answer thus, when I appeal to your affection for me?"
"To begin with, this marriage will bring you no personal advantage; you think of me only."
"What! do you call it no advantage to live in his house without spending a sou? I tell you it is all arranged; he is to board us gratuitously, instead of giving his daughter a dowry."
"Father, as long as there remains a drop of blood in my veins, you shall receive charity from no one! I have already begged you many times to give up your occupation, pledging myself to provide for both—"
"But, if you were taken ill, my child, I should be forced to seek admittance into the alms-house!"
"I shall not be ill, and you will want for nothing; but if I had the misfortune to be that detestable creature's husband, I should die of grief."
"Yon cannot be serious, my son."
"Perfectly serious, father. In your blind affection for me you sought to contract an advantageous union, and I am deeply grateful for your kind solicitude—but let us dismiss the subject; as I have already said, this marriage is impossible."
"Louis!"
"I shall always feel an invincible aversion toward Mademoiselle Ramon, and besides, I love a young girl, and she alone shall be my wife."
"Ah! my son, I believed I enjoyed your full confidence, and yet you formed this grave resolution without consulting me!"
"I was silent on the subject because the young girl and myself agreed to wait a whole year before speaking of marriage, that we might be sure we had not mistaken a passing fancy for a real passion. Thank heaven! our love has resisted all trials. The time of probation expires this very day, and to-morrow we shall fix the wedding day. The young girl I love is as poor as ourselves, but she possesses the noblest heart in the world. Never will you find a more devoted daughter, and I shall double in zeal and energy to make life agreeable to you. Believe me, nothing is more painful to me than to disagree with you, and I beg you to spare me the pain of another refusal. Do not insist on this union, for I shall never resign myself to it, and I swear by my affection for you that I shall have no other wife than Mariette Moreau."
The young man uttered these last words so firmly that the father decided not to insist at that moment, but merely said in a grieved tone:
"I cannot believe, Louis, that all the reasons I have pleaded in favor of this marriage can be without value in your eyes. I have more confidence in your heart than you seem to have yourself, and I am sure that reflection will bring you to a wiser decision."
"I shall not change my mind."
"I shall insist no further on the subject, but leave you to your reflections. I give you twenty-four hours to come to a definite resolution. Until then, I shall not say a word of this marriage, and I beg of you, on your side, not to trouble me with your love affairs."
"Very well, father; but I assure you that delay—"
"Not a word more on the subject," interrupted the old man, rising.
As he silently paced the room, he cast furtive glances on his son, who was thoughtfully gazing at the letter before him, with his head leaning on his hands, and his elbows supported by the table.
CHAPTER VII.
Having contemplated the letter in silence for some time, without recognizing the writing, Louis mechanically tore it open, while old Richard still continued his tireless pacing, closely observing his every movement.
Suddenly he saw him turn ghastly pale, brush his hand over his brow, as if to assure himself he was not the victim of an illusion, then read the letter once more, with ever-growing anguish expressed on his features.
The letter, written that morning by old Richard, in a disguised hand, ran as follows:
"Monsieur Louis:
"I take advantage of your absence to make a confession which I have postponed for two whole months, because I feared to cause you grief. We must renounce our projects of marriage and never see each other again.
"I cannot explain the cause of this change; but, believe me, my resolution is well taken. If I have waited until this day, the sixth of May, to tell you this, it was because I wanted ample time for reflection before announcing my determination.
"Farewell, Monsieur Louis; do not try to see me; it would be useless and cause us needless pain. If, on the contrary, you forget me entirely and make no attempt to see me, my happiness, as well as that of my god-mother will be assured.
"It is therefore in the name of our happiness and tranquillity that I ask you not to seek me.
"You possess such a kind heart that I am sure you will make no attempt to grieve me, by insisting on an explanation. I swear that all is over between us and that I love you as a friend only. MARIETTE MOREAU."
"P. S. Instead of sending this letter to Dreux, as you instructed me to do, I address it to Paris, that you may find it on your return. Augustine has gone to the country, so another person writes this for me.
"I have forgotten to say that my godmother's condition is still the same."
The reading of this letter plunged Louis into a hopeless stupor. The ingenuity of the style, the correctness of details, the emphasis on the date, all convinced him that the lines must have been dictated by Mariette. Having vainly tried to understand the cause of this abrupt rupture, he felt his heart invaded with mingled grief, anger, resentment, and a deep sentiment of wounded pride.
"Indeed, I shall never attempt to see her again," he murmured, unconscious that he spoke aloud. "She has no need to insist on that point with so much obstinacy!"
These words were a relief to the old man, who was closely watching the effects of his stratagem, while apparently absorbed in his own reflections.
But grief soon took the ascendancy over anger in the young man's heart, and his love re-awakened more tender and more passionate than ever; he tried to recall the most trifling details of his last interview with Mariette, questioned his memory in regard to the last few months of their friendship, but could find no trace of growing coldness in their relations. The young girl, on the contrary had never seemed more loving, more devoted, or more impatient to unite her life to his. And all these appearances had lied; Mariette was a monster of deceit—she whom he had always believed so pure and candid!
No, he could not accept this in silence! He could no longer endure such anguish, without making one effort to unveil the mystery that surrounded Mariette's conduct! The atmosphere of the room stifled him, and he resolved to seek the girl at once and force an explanation from her lips, even at the risk of prejudicing his cause with Mariette's godmother, who was also in ignorance of their love.
Alarmed at the varied emotions reflected on his son's face, old Richard thought it time to interfere.
"My dear Louis," he said, closely scrutinizing the young man's troubled face, "I believe we had better start for Dreux early tomorrow morning, thereby anticipating Ramon's visit to us by twenty-four hours."
"Father!" began Louis, in protestation.
"It will not compromise you, in the least, my son, and if you are resolved to deny me the dearest wish of my life, all I ask, as a last satisfaction, is to spend a few days with Ramon and his daughter. You shall then be free to act as you please." Then seeing Louis take up his hat, he asked anxiously: "Where are you going?"
"My head aches, and I am going out for a whiff of fresh air," replied the young man.
"In mercy don't go out, my boy!" cried the old man, with growing alarm. "You look gloomy and out of sorts since you read that letter. Really, you frighten me!"
"You are mistaken. The letter was absolutely insignificant, I assure you," returned Louis, closing the door behind him.
As he was rushing out, however, the concierge hailed him and invited him to enter the lodge.
"What is it?" asked Louis, struck by the man's mysterious air.
"Here is a card left for you by a decorated gentleman," explained the concierge. "He came in an elegant carriage, and said this was urgent."
Taking the card, Louis approached the light and read:
"Commander de La Miraudière, "17 Rue du Mont-Blanc.
"Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home, between nine and ten o'clock to-morrow morning, to communicate something of grave importance, which admits of no delay."
"Commander de La Miraudière? I never heard the name," said Louis, gazing curiously at the card; then, as he mechanically turned it over, his eyes caught sight of these words in pencil:
"Mariette Moreau, with Madame Lacombe, Rue des Prêtres-Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois."
The commander had noted Mariette's address on the back of his card, and unconsciously used the same in writing to Louis to request an interview.
Much astonished and perplexed, the young man vainly asked himself what relation could exist between this stranger, whose card he held, and Mariette.
"Did the gentleman leave any other message?" he asked the concierge.
"Did he say anything?"
"Nothing, except that I was to give you the card without your father's knowledge."
"Strange," murmured the young man.
"He even gave me forty sous, to make sure I would do the errand."
"Was he young or old?"
"A very handsome man, wearing the ribbon, with a mustache and side-whiskers black as ink, and dressed like a prince, not counting his elegant cabriolet."
Louis went out more perplexed than ever. This new incident redoubled his anguish; by dint of seeking Mariette's motive for this abrupt rupture, he was beginning to feel the sharp pangs of jealousy. Once under this influence, the wildest suspicions and most chimerical fears assumed the appearance of reality to his eyes; and he finally asked himself if this stranger might not be a rival. How else was he to explain Mariette's relations with a young and handsome young man?
In her letter to him, Mariette begged him not to seek her, as it might compromise her own and her god-mother's happiness. He well knew the wretched position of the two women, and Mariette had often confided to him the trials she was forced to endure through her god-mother's gloomy and harsh character. A horrible thought now flashed through his head. Had not Mariette, perhaps, been driven by misery and the threats of her god-mother to listen to the brilliant propositions of this man, whose card he now held in his hand? But, in that case, why should this stranger request an interview? The mystery seemed as impenetrable as ever.
Once launched in the dizzy path of jealousy, lovers invariably give full sway to their imaginations and entertain the wildest ideas. Louis was no exception to the rule. In supposing himself supplanted by a rival, he found the key to what seemed inexplicable in Mariette's letter and in her conduct. He therefore tenaciously clung to the belief of her infidelity, longing for the moment when he might demand an explanation from this audacious commander.
He now abandoned his first resolution of seeing Mariette, and retraced his steps homeward in a state of deep agitation and painful excitement. It was midnight when he again entered their dreary room. His father was anxiously waiting for him; but one glance at his son's gloomy countenance reassured the old man. Feeling certain that the lovers had not met and that his stratagem was still undiscovered, he again proposed a visit to Dreux on the following day; but Louis threw himself dejectedly on his bed, declaring he must have time for reflection before taking such a grave step.
After a night of sleepless agony, the young man rose at dawn and quietly slipped out of the room, glad to escape his father's questioning for a few hours. With his mind tortured by anxiety and misgivings, he turned toward the boulevard to await the hour fixed for his interview with Commander de La Miraudière.
CHAPTER VIII.
Enveloped in a magnificent dressing gown, his feet encased in embroidered slippers, and a fragrant cigar between his lips, Commander de La Miraudière was quietly seated at his desk, with a stack of notes and papers before him, when a servant entered and announced: "M. Richard."
"Usher M. Richard into the drawing-room, and beg him to wait a moment," he said, rising quickly. "You may bring him in when I ring."
The servant withdrew, while his master opened a drawer in the safe near by, took out twenty-five notes of a thousand francs each, and, placing them beside a sheet of stamped paper used in making out deeds, rang the bell.
Louis Richard entered, looking gloomy and confused. His heart throbbed violently at the thought that he was perhaps standing in the presence of a happy rival, and like all sincere and candid lovers, he greatly exaggerated the advantages possessed by the man whom he believed had supplanted him in the heart of the woman he loved. This Commander de La Miraudière, draped in his superb damask gown, and occupying magnificent apartments, seemed a most formidable rival, indeed, to poor, modest Louis Richard.
"Have I the honor of addressing Monsieur Louis Richard?" said M. de La
Miraudière, with his most gracious smile.
"Yes, monsieur," replied Louis, simply.
"Only son of M. Richard, public scribe?"
"My father is a public scribe," returned the young man dryly, believing he detected a slight tone of sarcasm in the last words.
"Pardon me for disturbing you," continued the commander, "but it was necessary that I should see you alone. As a private interview seemed impossible in your own home, I requested you to come to me."
"And now that I am here, may I inquire what your wishes are?"
"My only wish is to serve you, my dear sir, for I would be only too happy to class you as my client."
"I!—your client? But who are you, monsieur?"
"An old soldier, retired commander, twenty campaigns, ten wounds, and a business man, to while away the hours. I hob-nob with the big capitalists, and frequently serve as intermediary between them and the sons of good families."
"Really, I fail to see what service you can render me."
"What service, my young friend!—permit an old trooper to give you that title—you ask what service I can render you, a poor notary clerk! You vegetate, you share a wretched attic room with your father, and you are dressed—heaven knows how!"
"Monsieur!" cried Louis, flushing with indignation.
"My dear young friend, these are facts which I state with regret, with indignation, almost. The devil! a young man like you should spend twenty-five to thirty thousand francs per annum, have horses and mistresses, and enjoy the luxuries of life!"
"Is this a jest, monsieur?" asked Louis, haughtily. "If so, I warn you that I am not in the humor to endure it."
"Being an old soldier, my young friend, I have already proved my bravery and valor on scores of occasions," remarked M. de La Miraudière, boastfully, "and I can therefore allow your hasty words to pass unnoticed. Moreover, I admit that what I have said must sound very extraordinary to you."
"Most extraordinary, indeed!"
"Here is something that will convince you that I am speaking seriously, my young friend," went on the braggart, designating the bills before him. "Here are twenty-five thousand francs, which I will be most happy to place at your disposition, that you may establish yourself as a young man of good family; furthermore, you may draw on me for two thousand five hundred francs each month. I offer you these advances for five years; we shall count up later."
Louis was gazing at him in consternation, unable to believe his senses.
"You make that offer to me?" he queried, rousing himself from his stupefaction.
"Yes, and I am most happy to make it."
"To me?—Louis Richard?"
"To you, Louis Richard."
"Richard is a common name, monsieur; you must take me for some one else."
"Not at all! I know whom I am addressing; Louis Desiré Richard, only son of Alexander Timoleon Benedict Richard, aged sixty-seven years, born at Brie-Comte-Robert; domiciled at 23 Rue de Grenelle, public scribe by profession. As you see, there is no error, my young friend."
"If you know my family so well, monsieur, you must be aware that my poverty does not permit me to contract such a loan."
"Your poverty?—poor boy!"
"But—"
"This is abominable, a veritable outrage!" cried the business man in a tone of righteous indignation; "to bring up a young man in such error! to condemn him to spend the brightest years of his life in slavery! to reduce him to a shabby coat, blue stockings and laced shoes! But, happily—there is a Providence, and that Providence you see in me, my young friend. It appears to you under the features of Commander de La Miraudière!"
"I am weary of this by-play, monsieur," returned Louis, impatiently.
"Pray explain yourself clearly, or I shall go."
"Very well!—You believe your father to be almost in want, do you not?"
"I am not ashamed of our poverty—"
"Oh! candid young man!"
"What do you mean?"
"Listen, and you will then bless me as your saviour forever after."
Opening a voluminous register, he read the following statement:
"Record of personal property of Alexandre Timoleon
Benedict Richard (information taken by Credit
Committee of the Bank of France, May 1, 18—.)
Three thousand, nine hundred and twenty
shares in the Bank of France (actual value) .. 924,300 frs.
Bonds of the Mont-de-Piété ………………… 875,250 frs.
Deposit in Bank of France …………………. 259,130 frs.
Total …………………………….. 2,058,680 frs."
"As you see, my innocent young friend," continued the pompous commander, "the known personal property of your esteemed and honorable father amounts to two millions, fifty-eight thousand, six hundred and eighty francs, according to official statistics. But everything leads us to believe that, like all misers, your worthy father has a good round lump of gold hidden somewhere. But even placing things at their lowest, you see that the author of your being possesses over two millions, at least. As his income is about a hundred thousand livres per annum, and he does not spend twelve hundred francs, you shall enjoy a very large fortune some day; you can, therefore, feel no astonishment at my offer."
This revelation paralyzed the young man with amazement. A thousand confused thoughts struggled in his mind, and he stared at his companion stupidly, unable to utter a word.
"You are quite dazed, my young friend," pursued the commander. "I suppose you imagine you must be dreaming!"
"Indeed, I scarcely know whether to believe you or not," said Louis, still sadly bewildered.
"Do as Saint Thomas did, my young friend: touch these twenty-five thousand franc notes; it will give you faith. The capitalists whom I represent, are not men who throw away money; and here, I may add, that they make these advances at the rate of eight per cent. the commission for my obliging services being seven per cent. more. You are too much of a gentleman to bargain over such trifles; besides, both capital and interest will barely reach half your father's yearly income. Even while spending at the rate of fifty thousand francs per annum, you will be economizing; yet, it will enable you to await the supreme hour patiently—I mean the hour when the old man—you understand! Moreover, as the said old man might be astonished at your high way of living, I have thought of a most ingenious explanation. You will hold a ticket in a lottery and presumably draw the capital prize, a diamond which you will sell for eight or nine thousand francs. This you will be supposed to have entrusted to a friend who, in his turn, invested the money in a magnificent enterprise, paying three hundred per cent. per annum. Thanks to this stratagem, you can spend your twenty-five to thirty thousand francs right under the paternal nose without awakening any suspicions. Now, young man, was I presumptuous in affecting providential airs toward you? But why this gloom and silence? I, who expected you to burst with delight, to shout with joy, to cut capers, and give vent to many other manifestations totally excusable in the first moments of rejoicing over your sudden transformation from a poor notary clerk into a millionaire! Why don't you answer me? Heavens! I fear his sudden happiness has bereft him of his senses!"
This revelation, which would doubtless have thrown anyone else into a state of delirious joy, caused the most painful emotion to Louis Richard. To begin with, the long dissimulation and distrust shown by his father in leaving him in ignorance of his wealth, wounded him to the heart; and then—this was the most cruel thought to him—he remembered that he could never share these riches with Mariette; that by her heartless desertion she had deprived him of the pleasure of changing her wretched, joyless existence into a life of luxury and happiness.
This reflection revived his bitter grief; and, forgetting everything but the explanation he had sworn to demand from this man before him, he drew the offending visiting card from his pocket, saying haughtily:
"You left this card for me at my home, monsieur?"
"Certainly, my young friend, but—"
"Can you explain, monsieur, how the name and address of Mademoiselle Mariette Moreau came to be scribbled on it?" continued Louis, glaring at him.
"What!" exclaimed the amazed commander.
"I wish to know how Mademoiselle Mariette Moreau's address comes to be on this card!" repeated Louis coldly.
"The devil! he must have lost his senses!" said the usurer. "My dear young fellow, I speak to you of millions, of thirty thousand francs yearly, and you answer by speaking of—grisettes!"
"When I ask a question, monsieur," thundered Louis, "I expect a reply!"
"And you assume such a tone with me, my young friend!"
"If my tone does not suit you, I cannot help it."
"The deuce, my young fellow!" cried the usurer, fiercely. "But, bah!" he added, twirling his black moustache caressingly between his fingers, "I have proved my bravery scores of times—I, an old soldier, perforated with bullets, can pass such words unnoticed. My dear client, the name and address of that little girl were found on my card, because I wrote them down that I might not forget where to find her."
"You know Mademoiselle Mariette then?"
"Most assuredly!"
"You court her?"
"Once in a while."
"And you hope?—"
"Much."
"Monsieur, I forbid you to ever set foot in her home again!"
"So I have found a rival!" said the usurer to himself. "Ah! I now understand the girl's refusal. I must sound him, drive him to jealousy, push him into a trap. The girl is worth having, and I must check this passionate youth."
"My dear sir," he asked aloud, "when I am forbidden to do a thing, I consider it my first duty to do that very thing."
"That remains to be seen!"
"Listen, young man; I have fought fifty-seven duels, and can therefore dispense with the fifty-eighth. I prefer to reason with you. Allow me one question: You have just returned from a journey?"
"I have."
"You were absent several days, and have not seen Mariette since your return?"
"But—"
"My dear young friend, you only share the lot of many others. Mariette knows nothing of your wealth; so when I offered her enough to turn the head of any starved working girl, she accepted with delight. Her godmother, who is also half starved, has a natural inclination for the luxuries of this life, and as the absent ones are always in the wrong—you understand—"
"Oh, my God! is it true then!" moaned Louis piteously, his wrath giving way to hopeless despair.
"Had I known I was entering in competition with a future client I would have abandoned the game," resumed the usurer; "but it is too late now. Besides, my young friend, there is nothing to cry about. This girl was much too inexperienced for you; you would have had to form her, while there are many charming women ready to drop in your arms. I would particularly recommend a certain Madame de Saint-Hildebrande—"
"Wretch!" cried Louis indignantly, grasping him by the collar and shaking him vigorously. "You miserable scoundrel!"
"Sir, you will give me satisfaction for this—!" gasped the enraged commander.
The door opened abruptly and the two adversaries turned their heads simultaneously as a gay burst of laughter rang through the room.
"Saint-Herem!" exclaimed Louis, recognizing his old friend.
"You here!" cried Florestan de Saint-Herem, grasping the young man's hand and gazing curiously into his pale face.
"May the devil take him for coming in at this moment!" muttered the usurer between his clenched teeth, as he readjusted the collar of his dressing-gown.
CHAPTER IX.
Florestan de Saint-Herem was a man of thirty, at the most, with handsome features and a commanding, elegant figure. His physiognomy expressed both intelligence and wit, but often wore a mask of supercilious impertinence when addressing persons of the same stamp as the usurer.
The first moment of surprise and greeting over, the actors in the foregoing scene resumed their antagonistic attitude toward each other. Louis, still pale with indignation, glared at his adversary fiercely, while the latter faced him defiantly.
"To dare raise a hand on me!—an old soldier!" cried the commander, advancing threateningly toward Louis. "This will not pass unpunished, Monsieur Richard!"
"As you wish, Monsieur de La Miraudière," returned Louis.
"Monsieur de La Miraudière!" repeated Florestan, with a sarcastic laugh. "What! do you take this fellow seriously, my good Louis? Do you believe in his military title, his cross, his campaigns, his wounds, his duels, and his sonorous name of de La Miraudière?"
"Your jests are entirely out of place!" cried the usurer, flushing angrily, "and I will not endure them in my own house, Monsieur de Saint-Herem!—Indeed I will not, my dear fellow."
"His name is Jerome Porquin, my dear Louis," sneered Saint-Herem, "and it seems admirably chosen, does it not?" Then, turning to the crushed usurer, he added in a tone that admitted of no retort: "Monsieur Porquin, this is the second time I am forced to forbid you to address me as "your dear fellow." With me it is a different matter; I have bought and paid for the right of calling you my dear, my enormously dear, my too dear Monsieur Porquin, for you have swindled me outrageously and cost me a good round sum!"
"Sir, I will not suffer this!" cried the wrathful usurer.
"Whence comes this timid sensitiveness on the part of M. Porquin?" asked Florestan, derisively. "What has happened? Ah! I see. This dear M. Porquin does not enjoy having his lies and vain pretentious unmasked in your presence, Louis. Well, I will tell you who M. de La Miraudière really is. He once served the rations in the army, and in that capacity went to Madrid during the last war. This is the only service he has ever seen, and he was discharged from that for dishonesty. He has never fought a duel for, to begin with, he is too cowardly, and then he knows well that a gentleman would receive a challenge from him with contempt; and if driven to extremities by his insolence, he would simply teach him a lesson with his walking-stick."
"When you stand in need of me you treat me with more delicacy!" sneered the usurer.
"When I need your services I pay for them; and as I know your unscrupulous character, it is my duty to warn M. Richard, whose friend I have the honor to be. You are doubtless trying to entice him into your net."
"Ah! this is the reward I get for my services!" cried M. Porquin, bitterly. "I reveal a secret of the highest importance to your friend, and—"
"I now understand your object in coming to me," interrupted Louis, dryly. "I owe you no thanks for the service you have rendered me—if it is a service," he concluded sadly.
The usurer had no intention of giving up his prey without a struggle, however, and turning to Florestan, with the same ease as if they had been on the most friendly terms, he said conciliatingly:
"M. Louis Richard can tell you what conditions I proposed and under what circumstances I made him this offer; you will then be better able to judge if my demands were exorbitant. Furthermore, if I disturb you in your conversation, gentlemen, you may enter the drawing-room. If M. Richard wishes to consult you on the subject, I shall await his decision here."
"This is the most intelligent phrase you have uttered yet," returned Saint-Herem, taking Louis' arm to lead him into the adjoining room. "And when we get through, I shall tell you the object of my visit. Or, rather, I will tell you now. I must have two hundred louis this evening. Here are the securities; examine them at your leisure."
Drawing a bundle of papers from his pocket, he tossed them carelessly toward the usurer and left the room with his friend.
The haughty brutality with which Florestan had unmasked Porquin had proved a new blow to Louis Richard. The thought that Mariette had sacrificed him for such a wretch, filled his heart with bitterness and resentment, and, unable to control his emotion longer, he burst into tears the moment he found himself alone with his friend.
"Ah! Florestan, I am unhappy!" he sobbed, as he clasped his companion's hand.
"I have no doubt of it, my poor Louis," said Saint-Herem sympathizingly, "for to place yourself in the clutches of such a rascal as Porquin, is to sell yourself to the devil! But tell me what has happened? You have always been good and industrious, I know, but you may have contracted some debt or committed some slight folly. What may seem enormous to you, may be only a trifle to me. I shall receive two hundred louis from this Arab to-night; you have but to say the word and they are yours. I can turn to someone else! Two hundred louis ought to cover the debts of a notary clerk—-come, must you have more? Then we shall raise more; but in heaven's name don't put yourself in the toils of this scoundrel!"
This generous offer filled Louis' heart with such sweet consolation that for the moment he forgot his sorrows.
"My dear Florestan," he said gratefully, "you cannot imagine how this proof of friendship on your part comforts and consoles me."
"You accept, then?"
"No."
"What?"
"I have no need of your good services. This usurer, who was a total stranger to me, wrote to me requesting an interview; and he offers to lend me more money in one year than I have spent in all my life."
"He offers you that! Why, the rascal never advances a sou without the best securities. People of his stamp consider neither honor, probity, nor industry; and I was not aware that you had expectations."
"You are mistaken, Florestan; my father is worth over two millions."
"Your father!" exclaimed Saint-Herem in amazement. "Your father rich!"
"This usurer discovered his secret; how, I cannot say."
"And so he offered his services. Well, you may be sure his information is correct, for he advances nothing on doubtful security."
"I believe it," rejoined Louis sadly.
"My dear Louis, one might think you had made some unfortunate discovery. What is it? Are you unhappy?—and why, pray?"
"Ah! my friend, don't scoff at me. I love, and have been deceived."
"You have a rival?"
"And that rival is this wretch!"
"Porquin?—nonsense; what makes you imagine such an absurdity?"
"I had some suspicions, and then he assured me he had been accepted."
"A fine authority, upon my word! He lies, I am sure of it."
"He is rich, Florestan; and the woman I loved and still love in spite of myself, is poor. She has endured the most cruel misery for years."
"The devil!"
"Besides this, she is the only support of a crippled old woman. This man's offers dazzled the poor child; and like so many others, she succumbed through misery. What good is a fortune now, when my only desire was to share it with Mariette?"
"My dear Louis, I know you too well to believe you could have loved a woman unworthy of your affections."
"For a whole year Mariette gave me abundant proofs of a sincere affection; then yesterday, without warning, a letter came announcing the sudden rupture—"
"A woman who loved a poor man like you for a whole year, does not yield
to an old rascal like Porquin in one day. I tell you he lies!" And to
Louis' great astonishment, Saint-Herem called aloud, "Hi, there! de la
Miraudière!"
"Florestan! what are you doing?" remonstrated Louis, as the usurer appeared.
"Monsieur de La Miraudière," observed Saint-Herem, with his habitual supercilious air, "there seems to exist some slight confusion in your mind in regard to a respectable young girl, who, according to you, has been seduced by your wit, your personal charms and excellent manners, still more enchanced by that gold which you so honorably grasp. Now, my worthy commander, will you do me the pleasure to speak the truth? If not, I shall know how to deal with you."
"I deeply regret having jested on a subject which seems to annoy M. Richard," responded Porquin, deeming it better policy to sacrifice a fancy which stood little chance of being gratified, than to run the risk of losing so promising a client as Louis.
"You may perhaps be able to explain how the idea of this jest—which, by the way, I should call a base calumny—entered your head?" pursued Florestan.
"Nothing more simple, monsieur: I saw Mademoiselle Mariette Moreau in the workshop, and was struck with her beauty. I then procured her address, visited her home, where I found her godmother, and proposed—"
"Enough, sir! enough!" cried Louis indignantly.
"Permit me to add, my dear client," resumed Porquin, imperturbably, "that the said godmother refused my offers point-blank, and that Mademoiselle Mariette indignantly showed me the door. As you see, I am perfectly frank, and hope this sincere avowal will win me the confidence of M. Richard, who will not fail to accept my services. As for you, Monsieur de Saint-Herem, I have examined your securities and will place the two hundred louis in your hands this evening—and now that you have learned the conditions I have proposed to your friend, I am sure you must consider them reasonable."
"I don't want your money," cried Louis. "Do you believe me capable of discounting my father's death?"
"But, my dear client, allow me—"
"Come, Florestan, let us go," interrupted Louis, "this room stifles me."
"My dear Porquin," remarked Saint-Herem, as he followed his friend to the door, "as you see, there are still honest sons and daughters living. I will not say: 'May this serve you as a lesson or an example,' for you are too old a sinner to reform; but I sincerely hope this double disappointment will prove a most disagreeable pill to swallow."
"Ah! my dear friend, you have relieved me of a cruel doubt," said Louis, gratefully, when they had reached the street. "I am now certain that Mariette never lowered herself to this wretch—but the fact still remains that she has broken our engagement."
"Did she tell you so?"