Madame de Mirecourt, recollecting what Madame de Senneterre had said in relation to M. de Macreuse, was not sorry to see that gentleman's villainy exposed, but to put an end to the excitement and confusion this strange scene had created, she requested several men she knew very well to form a quadrille as soon as possible.
In fact, the young men were already starting out in search of partners.
This exposure of M. de Macreuse filled Mlle. de Beaumesnil's heart with gratitude and also with terror when she thought that she might have yielded to the interest M. de Macreuse had at first inspired, and perhaps married a man capable of such an infamous act—an act that revealed an utterly depraved nature.
While engaged in these reflections, the orphan saw that Madame de Senneterre and Madame de la Rochaiguë, who had been for a time unable to force their way through the crowd that had gathered around the two men, had returned and resumed their seats beside her. The marquis then rose and stepped around back of the divan, after which he leaned over Madame de la Rochaiguë and said, almost in a whisper:
"Ah, well, madame, you see I am not a bad auxiliary, after all. I discover many strange and villainous things from my post of observation, as I told you some time ago."
"I am utterly astounded, my dear marquis," replied the baroness. "I understand everything now, however. This explains why my odious sister-in-law has been dragging the poor dear child off to the Church of St. Thomas d'Aquin every morning. With her apparent stupidity and her religious zeal, Helena is a most perfidious creature. Did any one ever hear of such deceitfulness and treachery?"
"The end is not yet, my dear baroness. You have not only been sheltering a viper in your house, but a veritable serpent as well."
"A serpent?"
"Yes, an enormous one, with long teeth," said the marquis, with a meaning glance at M. de la Rochaiguë, who happened to be standing in the doorway, showing his teeth after his usual fashion.
"What! my husband?" exclaimed the baroness. "What do you mean?"
"You will soon know. Do you see that stout man advancing towards us with such a triumphant air?"
"Of course. That is M. de Mornand."
"He is coming to ask your ward to dance."
"Oh, that doesn't matter. We can let her dance with anybody now, for we were right in our suppositions. The dear child is charmed with M. de Senneterre, my dear marquis."
"I am sure of it."
"So behold the Duchesse de Senneterre," said Madame de la Rochaiguë, triumphantly, "and that without the slightest trouble."
"The Duchesse de Senneterre!" repeated the hunchback. "Not quite."
"Of course not, but the matter is virtually settled."
"So at last you are satisfied with Gerald, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and me, are you not, my dear baroness?"
"Delighted, my dear marquis."
"That is all I want to know. Now I can devote my attention to that stout man and your serpent of a husband, whose coils—"
"What! M. de la Rochaiguë has dared—"
"Ah, my poor baroness, your ingenuousness rends my heart. Look, listen and profit thereby, poor credulous woman that you are!"
As the marquis uttered these words, M. de Mornand was already bowing low before Mlle. de Beaumesnil to remind her of the engagement she had made to dance with him.
CHAPTER XV.
THE PROSPECTIVE MINISTER'S DEFEAT.
"Mademoiselle has not forgotten that she promised me this dance, I trust," said M. de Mornand, complacently. "Will she do me the honour to accept my arm?"
"That cannot be, M. de Mornand," interposed M. de Maillefort, who was still leaning over the back of the sofa on which Ernestine was seated.
M. de Mornand straightened himself up hastily, and, perceiving the marquis, demanded with great hauteur:
"What can not be, monsieur?"
"You can not dance with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur," answered the hunchback, still in the same quiet tone.
M. de Mornand shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, then, turning to Ernestine, repeated:
"Will mademoiselle do me the honour to accept my arm?"
Embarrassed and bewildered, Ernestine turned to M. de Maillefort as if to ask his advice, and again the marquis repeated in the same quiet but impressive tone, emphasising each word strongly:
"Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand."
Ernestine was so impressed by M. de Maillefort's grave, almost solemn manner that, turning to M. de Mornand, she said, casting down her eyes:
"I must beg you to excuse me, monsieur, for I feel too fatigued to keep the promise I made you."
M. de Mornand bowed low before Ernestine without uttering a word, but as he straightened himself up he cast a meaning glance at the hunchback.
That gentleman answered it by pointing to one of the doors of the gallery towards which he, too, directed his steps, leaving Mlle. de Beaumesnil in a state of great mental perturbation.
This little scene had passed unnoticed, the few words interchanged between the marquis and M. de Mornand having been uttered in subdued tones and in the midst of the confusion that always accompanies the forming of a quadrille, so no one but Madame de la Rochaiguë and the Duchesse de Senneterre had the slightest suspicion of what had occurred.
M. de Mornand on his way to the gallery was accosted successively by M. de la Rochaiguë and M. de Ravil, who had watched with mingled wonder and uneasiness their protégé's futile efforts to induce the heiress to keep her engagement.
"What! you are not going to dance?" inquired De Ravil.
"What has happened, my dear M. de Mornand?" asked the baron, in his turn. "I thought I saw you talking with that accursed hunchback, whose insolence and audacity really exceed all bounds."
"You are right, monsieur," replied the prospective minister, his face darkening. "M. de Maillefort seems to think he can do anything he pleases. Such insolence as his must be put a stop to. He actually had the impertinence to forbid your ward's dancing with me."
"And she obeyed him?" exclaimed the baron.
"What else could the poor girl do after such an injunction?"
"Why this is abominable, outrageous, inconceivable!" exclaimed the baron. "I will go to my ward at once, and—"
"That is useless now," said M. de Mornand. Then, turning to Ravil, he added:
"Come with me. I must have an explanation with M. de Maillefort. He is waiting for me in the gallery."
"I, too, will accompany you," added the baron.
As the three gentlemen approached the hunchback, they saw Messrs. de Morainville and d'Hauterive standing beside him, as well as five or six other men who had been assembled at the request of the marquis.
"M. de Maillefort, I have a few words of explanation to ask of you," said M. de Mornand, in coldly polite tones.
"I am at your service, monsieur."
"Then, if agreeable to you, you and I will go to the picture-gallery. Ask one of your friends to accompany you."
"I am not disposed to comply with your request, monsieur, for I intend to have our explanation as public as possible."
"Monsieur?"
"I do not see why you should fear publicity if I do not."
"So be it, then," responded M. de Mornand, "so I ask you here before these gentleman, why, when I had the honour to invite a certain young lady to dance a few minutes ago, you took the liberty of saying to that young lady, 'Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand.' Those were your very words."
"Those were my very words, monsieur. You have an excellent memory. I hope it will not play you false, presently."
"And I wish to say to M. de Maillefort," interposed the baron, "that he arrogates to himself an authority, a right, and a surveillance which belong to me exclusively, for in telling my ward that—"
"My dear baron," said the marquis, smilingly, interrupting M. de la Rochaiguë, "you are a model, paragon, and example for all guardians, past, present and future, as I will prove to you later, but permit me now to reply to M. de Mornand, whom I have just had the honour to congratulate upon his excellent memory, and to ask him if he recollects something I said to him at a certain matinée dansante given by the Duchesse de Senneterre,—something in relation to a slight scratch that was intended to fix in his memory a date which I might have occasion to remind him of at some future day."
"That is true, monsieur," said M. de Mornand, "but that affair has not the slightest connection with the explanation I just demanded of you."
"On the contrary, monsieur, this explanation is the natural consequence of that affair."
"Be more explicit, if you please, monsieur."
"I will. At that entertainment at the house of Madame de Senneterre, in the garden, under a clump of lilacs, in the presence of several gentlemen, and notably M. de Morainville and M. d'Hauterive here, you had the audacity to calumniate Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil in the most shameless manner."
"Monsieur!"
"Without either compassion or consideration for an unfortunate lady who was then lying at the point of death," continued the hunchback, interrupting M. de Mornand, indignantly, "you insulted her in the most cowardly manner and even went so far as to say that no honourable man would ever marry the daughter of such a mother as Madame de Beaumesnil."
And at a hasty movement on the part of M. de Mornand, who was white with rage, the marquis, turning to Messrs. de Morainville and d'Hauterive, asked:
"Is it not true that M. de Mornand made that remark in your presence, gentlemen?"
"M. de Mornand did make that remark in our presence," they replied. "It is impossible for us to deny the fact."
"And I, myself, unseen by you, heard you make it, monsieur," continued the hunchback, "and, carried away with just indignation, I could not help exclaiming, 'Scoundrel!'"
"So it was you!" cried Mornand, furious to see all his hopes of future wealth thus rudely blighted.
"Yes, it was I, and that is why I just told Mlle. de Beaumesnil that she could not and should not dance with you, monsieur,—a man who had publicly defamed her mother; and I leave it to these gentlemen here if I have not done perfectly right to interfere in this matter."
A silence that was anything but complimentary to M. de Mornand followed the words of the hunchback.
De Ravil alone ventured to speak. It was in an ironical tone.
"M. le marquis must be trying to pose as a paladin or knight-errant to inflict a wound upon a gallant gentleman, as a sort of memento, merely to prevent him from dancing a quadrille with Mlle. de Beaumesnil some day."
"Or rather to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur," corrected the marquis, "for your friend is as mercenary as Mlle. de Beaumesnil is rich, which is saying a good deal, and in the conversation I overheard at Madame de Senneterre's dance, M. de Mornand betrayed his intentions even at that early day. By defaming Madame de Beaumesnil's character, and making the disgraceful effects of his calumnies extend to the daughter, and even to any man who might wish to marry her, M. de Mornand hoped to drive away all rivals. This infamous conduct exasperated me beyond endurance. In my indignation the word 'Scoundrel!' escaped me. I subsequently devised a way to offer M. de Mornand the reparation due him, however. Hence the wound which was to serve as a sort of memento, and hence my resolve to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I have succeeded, for I defy him now to venture into the presence of the richest heiress in France, even if he delivers a dozen more philanthropical speeches on the cod fisheries, or even under your protection, baron,—you the most exemplary, admirable, and high-minded of guardians, who were not only willing, but eager, to sacrifice your ward's happiness and welfare to your absurd ambition."
And as no one made any attempt to reply, the hunchback continued:
"Ah, gentlemen, these villainies are of such frequent occurrence in society that it would be well to make an example of at least one offender. Because such shameful things often occur among respectable people, is that any reason they should go unpunished? What! there is a prison cell for poor devils who make a few louis by cheating at cards, and there is no pillory in which to place people who, by means of false pretences and foul lies, endeavour to secure possession of an enormous fortune, and plot in cold blood to enchain for ever an innocent child, whose only crime is the possession of a colossal fortune, which, unbeknown to her, excites the most shameless cupidity in those around her! And when these men succeed, people praise them and envy them and welcome them to their houses. People praise their shrewdness and go into ecstasies over their good fortune! Yes, for thanks to the wealth acquired by such unworthy means, they will entertain magnificently, and their gold not only enables them to gratify their every wish, but to attain any official position, no matter how exalted. The unfortunate woman who has enriched them, and whom they have so basely deceived, weeps her life away or plunges into a career of dissipation in order to forget her misery. Ah, gentlemen, I have at least had the satisfaction of bringing two scoundrels to grief, for M. de Macreuse, whom I drove from this house a few minutes ago, had devised a similar scheme."
"You are outwitted like the fool that you are, and it has been very cleverly done," De Ravil whispered in the ear of his friend, who stood as if petrified. "I will never forgive you as long as I live for having made me lose my percentage on that dowry."
Noble and generous sentiments exert such an irresistible influence sometimes that, after the hunchback's scathing words, M. de Mornand felt that he was censured by every one. Not a voice was lifted in his defence, but fortunately the termination of the quadrille brought quite a crowd of people into the gallery, and the prospective minister was thus afforded an opportunity to make his escape, pale and agitated, and without having been able to find a word to say in refutation of M. de Maillefort's grievous charges.
The marquis then rejoined Madame de la Rochaiguë, who was as entirely in the dark concerning what had just taken place as Ernestine.
"It is absolutely necessary that you take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once," M. de Maillefort said to the baroness. "Her presence here is no longer desirable. Yes, my dear child," added the marquis, turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "the unpleasant curiosity you excite is increasing, instead of diminishing. To-morrow I will tell you all, but now take my advice and go home at once."
"Oh, gladly, monsieur," replied Ernestine, "for I am in misery."
So the young girl rose and took the arm of Madame de la Rochaiguë, who said to the hunchback, in a tone of the liveliest gratitude:
"I understand the situation now, I think. M. de Mornand had also entered the lists, it seems."
"We will talk all this over to-morrow. Now, in Heaven's name, take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once!"
"Ah, you are certainly our guardian angel, my dear marquis," whispered Madame de la Rochaiguë. "I was wise to confide in you!"
"Yes, yes, but for pity's sake, get Mlle. de Beaumesnil away."
The orphan cast a quick glance of gratitude at the hunchback, then, agitated and almost terrified by the exciting events of the evening, she left the ballroom in company with Madame de la Rochaiguë; but M. de Maillefort remained, unwilling to appear to leave under cover of the sort of stupor his daring act had caused.
De Ravil, like a true cynic, had no sooner witnessed the ruin of his friend Mornand's hopes than he abandoned him then and there. The future minister had thrown himself into a cab, but Ravil wended his way homeward on foot, reviewing the events that had just occurred, and comparing the overthrow of M. de Mornand with that of M. de Macreuse.
As he turned the corner of the street on which Madame de Mirecourt's house stood, De Ravil saw in the bright moonlight a man a short distance ahead of him, walking now slowly, now with feverish haste.
The agitated bearing of this man excited the cynic's curiosity. He quickened his pace, and soon recognised M. de Macreuse, who could not tear himself away from the house where the marquis lingered,—the marquis whose heart Macreuse would have torn from his breast, had he been able to do it.
Yielding to a truly diabolical impulse, Ravil approached Macreuse, and said:
"Good evening, M. de Macreuse."
The abbé's protégé raised his head, and the evil passions that filled his heart could be read so plainly in his face that De Ravil congratulated himself upon his idea.
"What do you want?" Macreuse demanded, brusquely, not recognising De Ravil at the first glance. Then looking at him more attentively, he said:
"Ah, it is you, M. de Ravil; excuse me."
He made a movement as if about to walk on, but De Ravil checked him by saying:
"M. de Macreuse, I feel sure that we are likely to understand and be of service to each other."
"In what way, monsieur?"
"We hate the same man, that is something."
"Whom?"
"M. de Maillefort."
"So you, too, hate him?"
"With a deadly hatred."
"Well, what of it, monsieur?"
"Well, having the same animosity, we may have the same interests."
"I do not understand you, M. de Ravil."
"M. de Macreuse, you are a much too gifted and energetic man to allow yourself to be discouraged by one setback."
"What setback, monsieur?"
"So I will take you into my confidence. I had a fool of a friend, known to you as M. de Mornand, who had designs upon the same heiress that you did."
"M. de Mornand?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, a few minutes after your hasty departure, that d—d marquis exposed him as he had exposed you. That is to say, he has rendered my imbecile friend's marriage with the little Beaumesnil an impossibility."
"But what difference does it make to you whether the heiress does or does not marry your friend?"
"The devil! A great deal of difference! I went into the affair with the expectation of getting a handsome percentage on the dowry, so that accursed hunchback ruined me in ruining Mornand. Do you understand now?"
"Perfectly."
"Mornand is too much of a milksop—too blubbery, in short, to make any attempt to recover from his setback or even to console himself by revenge."
"Revenge? Upon whom?"
"Upon that little ninny of an heiress, and indirectly upon that d—d hunchback. But let me assure you that I am not one of those blockheads who thirst for revenge alone; it is a profitable revenge I am after every time."
"Profitable?"
"Yes, very profitable, and I can furnish the materials for it, too."
"You? And what are your materials, pray?"
"Excuse me. I possess a very valuable secret."
"In relation to Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"
"The same. I can work up this valuable secret alone, however, just as well."
"And yet you offer—"
"To go shares with you? Nothing of the kind. You would think me a simpleton if I did, and you've no fondness for simpletons."
"Then, monsieur, to what purpose—?"
"You did not embark in such an important enterprise—as my imbecile friend the politician would say—you did not embark in such an important enterprise as your marriage with the greatest heiress in France without backers, without powerful intermediaries and without strong probabilities of success. One does not make such a blunder as that when one is the founder of the St. Polycarpe Mission,—a work, by the way, which has convinced me that you are a remarkably able man, and gained you my sincere admiration. This being the case, you are too high-spirited to submit quietly to such a setback to the atrocious treatment you have received from M. de Maillefort. You may, perhaps, have some means of retrieving your lost ground, or of obtaining your object in some other way, and so long as the little Beaumesnil remains single, a man like you does not abandon hope."
"Well, so be it, monsieur; suppose I have not given up all hope, what then?"
"If you admit that, I will propose that we pool, you, your means of success, and I, my secret. If your hopes are realised, we will not make use of my secret; if they are not realised, my secret will remain a luscious, juicy pear to quench our thirst. In short, if you marry the heiress, you will give me a small percentage on her dowry; if you do not marry her, I will give you a part of the money my secret will gain for me, that is, if the aforesaid secret can not be made to render you valuable assistance in your new attempt."
"All this is worthy of attention," answered Macreuse, after a moment's reflection, for he, too, was beginning to think that he and De Ravil were, indeed, congenial spirits. "But it would be well for me to know what this secret is, and what its influence is likely to be."
"Give me your arm, my dear M. de Macreuse, I am going to state the case plainly to you, for I have nothing to gain by deceiving you, as you will soon see for yourself."
The two men walked on arm in arm and were soon lost in the shadow of the tall houses that bordered one edge of the sidewalk.
CHAPTER XVI.
DISINTERESTED AFFECTION.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil had promised Herminie that she would come and see her Friday morning, or, in other words, on the day immediately following the ball which the richest heiress in France had attended at Madame de Mirecourt's house, and where M. de Macreuse and M. de Mornand had seen their villainous projects exposed by the Marquis de Maillefort.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil had left the ballroom deeply distressed and terrified by the discoveries she made in relation to her suitors, discoveries which had been completed by Gerald's frank confession concerning the manner in which an heiress was married off; and feeling quite as much contempt as aversion, now, for her guardian and his family, the young girl realised the necessity of taking some decisive action in the matter, her present relations with the Rochaiguës having become intolerable.
It was consequently necessary for her to ask the protection and counsel of some person outside of this family of sage advisers.
Ernestine knew only two persons whom she could trust,—Herminie and M. de Maillefort.
In order to open her heart to Herminie Mlle. de Beaumesnil would be obliged to confess who she really was, but though she had no intention of deferring this revelation much longer, she did long to enjoy once more the inexpressible happiness of receiving those evidences of tender friendship which the duchess supposed she was lavishing upon a poor orphan girl who had to work for her living.
"Heaven grant that she will love me just as much when she knows that I am rich!" thought the heiress, anxiously. "Heaven grant that this discovery may not impair the friendship that a person of Herminie's proud and sensitive nature feels for me!"
Faithful to her promise, and rejoiced to know how entirely worthy Gerald was of Herminie's love, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, accompanied by Madame Laîné, who was to wait for her in the cab, as usual, started early Friday morning for the home of the duchess, for it is needless to say that, after M. de Macreuse's humiliation of the evening before, Mlle. Helena did not come to take her brother's ward to church as usual.
As she neared her friend's home, Ernestine became very uneasy, for though, since her conversation with M. de Senneterre the evening before, the young girl knew for a certainty how perfectly honourable Gerald's intentions were, and how passionately he loved Herminie, Mlle. de Beaumesnil foresaw only too plainly the many difficulties to be overcome before a marriage between the young duke and a penniless music teacher could be brought about.
When Ernestine reached her friend's house, Herminie sprang forward to meet her and embraced her tenderly.
"Ah, I was sure you would not forget your promise, Ernestine," she cried, "for did I not tell you what a comfort your coming would be to me?"
"I trust it may prove so, indeed, my dear Herminie. Have you regained a little of your wonted courage? Are you not more hopeful?"
The duchess shook her head sadly.
"Alas! I can not say that I see any reason to hope," she replied, "but don't let us talk of my troubles now, Ernestine. We will discuss them again when the subject that is now on my mind has ceased to divert my thoughts from them."
"To what subject do you refer?"
"It is a matter that concerns you, Ernestine."
"Me?"
"It is a matter that may exert a very happy influence over your future, my poor, lonely child."
"What do you mean, Herminie?"
"I am not the proper person to explain this mystery to you. I was asked to do so, but fearing I might influence you by the manner in which I presented the case, I refused, wishing your decision to be unbiased by any outside influence, though I will express my opinion afterwards if you wish."
"Good Heavens! What you say, Herminie, mystifies me more and more. What is this very important project?"
"The last time you were here, and while Commander Bernard was again expressing his fervent gratitude to you, M. Olivier begged me to see him the next day on a very important matter, he said. I complied with his request, and the matter was indeed one of grave importance, so grave, in fact, that he asked me to act as his intermediary with you, which I refused to do for reasons I have already explained."
"Ah, then the matter has some connection with M. Olivier?"
"Yes, and I thought it would be better for him to make his wishes known himself, in my presence, if you have no objection."
"And you advise me to grant M. Olivier a hearing, my dear Herminie?"
"I do, Ernestine, because whatever happens and whatever your decision may be, you will, I am sure, be both proud and happy to have heard what he has to tell you."
"Then I am to see M. Olivier. But when, Herminie?"
"To-day, now, if you desire it."
"Where is he?"
"Out in the garden. Counting upon a visit from you this morning, I said to him: 'Come Friday morning. You will not mind waiting in the garden awhile, and if Ernestine consents to see you, I will send for you.'"
"Very well, then, Herminie, have the goodness to send M. Olivier word that I should be pleased to see him."
A moment afterwards M. Olivier Raymond was ushered into the room by Madame Moufflon, the concierge.
"M. Olivier," said Herminie, "Ernestine is ready to listen to you. You know my friendship for her. You know, too, how highly I esteem you, so I trust my presence will prove no restraint."
"I particularly desire your presence, Mlle. Herminie, as I shall, perhaps, find it necessary to appeal to your memory in support of some of my statements," replied Olivier. Then, turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, he continued, without making any attempt to conceal his emotion:
"Mademoiselle, permit me to say, first of all, that I must have perfect confidence in the rectitude of my intentions to venture upon the rather peculiar step I am about to take."
"I am certain, in advance, M. Olivier, that this step is worthy of you, of me, and of the friend that is listening to us."
"I think so, too, mademoiselle, so I am going to speak to you in all sincerity, for you may recollect that once before you expressed yourself as grateful to me for my frankness."
"I was certainly deeply touched by it, as Herminie will tell you, M. Olivier."
"Mlle. Herminie can also testify to the deep interest you inspired in my heart, mademoiselle, I will not say from the time of the charity dance," added Olivier, with a faint smile, "but rather from the time of the conversation I had with you that evening."
"It is perfectly true, my dear Ernestine," said Herminie, "that, after your departure, M. Olivier seemed to be deeply touched by the strange mixture of melancholy, frankness, and originality, that he had noticed in your conversation, and his interest seemed to be greatly increased when I told him, without committing any breach of confidence, I trust, that I felt sure your life was far from happy."
"The truth is never a breach of confidence, my dear Herminie. Though one ought, of course, to conceal one's unhappiness from the indifferent, one should at least have the consolation of confessing it to one's friends."
"Then you may be able to understand, mademoiselle," said Olivier, "that, by reason of the very peculiar circumstances of our first interview, there sprang up in my heart, not one of those sudden and violent emotions one sometimes experiences,—I should be uttering an untruth if I asserted this,—but an emotion full of sweetness and charm, together with a lively solicitude for you, a solicitude which memory and reflection rendered more and more keen. Such were my feelings, mademoiselle, when you, at the risk of your own life, saved the uncle whom I love as a father from a horrible death. Then, gratitude and the admiration which so noble an act richly merited were added to the sentiments I already entertained for you, but I should, probably, never have dared to give expression to these feelings had it not been for the unexpected good fortune that has befallen me."
After pausing an instant, as if uncertain whether he had better go on, Olivier added:
"And now, mademoiselle, I find myself again obliged to remind myself and to remind you that you love sincerity above all things."
"Yes, M. Olivier, I do both love and appreciate sincerity above all things."
"Well, mademoiselle, to speak frankly, you are not happy, and the persons with whom you live are not congenial to you. Is this not so?"
"Yes, M. Olivier. The only happiness I have known since my parents' death dates from the hour of my entrance into Madame Herbaut's house."
"I do not wish to sadden you, mademoiselle," continued Olivier, kindly, even tenderly. "I am loath, too, to remind you how hard and precarious the life of a young girl who is dependent upon her own exertions is, and yet, mademoiselle, however courageous and industrious you may be, you cannot forget that you are an orphan, surrounded by selfish, hard-hearted persons, who would cruelly desert you, perhaps, if want or sickness should be your portion, or manifest a humiliating pity towards you which would be even more hard to bear than heartless desertion."
"You are perfectly right, monsieur. Privations, disdain, desertion, these are all I have to expect from the persons around me if I should become really destitute."
"You exposed to disdain and privations, never!" exclaimed Olivier. "No, you must not, you shall not, be treated thus," he continued. "I know that you can count upon Mlle. Herminie's devoted friendship; but poor and honest people like ourselves must not deceive ourselves. Mlle. Herminie may need your aid herself some day. Besides, two devoted friends are better than one, so I would gladly offer myself as well, if I only knew that you had half as much confidence in me as I have true and faithful affection for you."
"Monsieur," said Ernestine, trembling, and casting down her eyes, "I do not know—I am not sure that I ought—"
"Listen one moment, mademoiselle. If I were still a common soldier, for to be a common soldier and a non-commissioned officer really amount to the same thing, I should not have spoken to you on this subject. I should have tried to forget, not my gratitude, but the sentiment that renders it doubly dear to me. Whether I should have succeeded or not, I cannot say. But now I am an officer, and that means a competence to me. Will you allow me to offer this competence to you?"
"Such a future far exceeds my wildest hopes," replied Ernestine, only partially concealing the intense joy Olivier's words caused her.
"Ah, mademoiselle, if you should make me happy by an acceptance of this offer, far from feeling that I was released from a sacred obligation, I should realise that I had only contracted another,—for I should owe the happiness of my life to you, though this debt, at least, I should be certain to pay by my love and devotion. Yes, for why should I not say it, there can be no love deeper or more honourable than mine. There is no cause more holy and generous than that which lies so near my heart."
On hearing Olivier utter these words, in tones of intense earnestness and profound sincerity, Mlle. de Beaumesnil experienced a rapturous emotion hitherto unknown to her, and a vivid blush dyed her throat and brow as she cast a timid glance at Olivier's handsome, manly face, now radiant with love and hope.
So Ernestine had not been mistaken as to the meaning of Olivier's look when he heard, in her presence, of his promotion. The girl saw and felt that she was loved, ardently loved. The proofs of it were so unmistakable, the causes that had produced it were so noble, that she could not doubt its reality.
And to believe, understand, and appreciate all that is noble, tender, and charming in such a love, is that not equivalent to sharing it, above all when one has lived, like Mlle. de Beaumesnil, a prey to apprehensions which recent events had more than justified, and to a distrust which had threatened to destroy all her hopes of future happiness?
And what inexpressible joy it was for her to be able to say to herself:
"It is I, the poor, nameless, penniless orphan, that he loves, because I have proved myself to be sincere, brave, and generous. And I am so truly loved that he offers a life of comparative ease, and an honourable position to me, who seemed destined to a life of poverty, if not absolute want."
And Mlle. de Beaumesnil, agitated by a thousand new emotions, blushing and smiling at the same time, seized the hand of Herminie, by whom she was sitting, and, thus avoiding the necessity of any direct reply to Olivier's proposal, exclaimed:
"You were right, Herminie; I have, indeed, good reason to be proud of M. Olivier's offer."
"And do you accept this offer, Ernestine?" asked Herminie, certain what her friend's reply would be.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil, with a graceful, almost childish movement, threw her arms around the neck of the duchess, kissed her tenderly, and said, almost in a whisper:
"Yes—I accept it."
But she still kept her face almost hidden on her friend's bosom, while Herminie, scarcely able to restrain her tears of sympathetic emotion, turned to the young officer, who was himself deeply moved by this charming scene, and said:
"Ernestine accepts, M. Olivier. I am delighted both on your account and hers, for from this time I feel that her happiness is certain."
"Ah, yes, mademoiselle," cried Olivier, his face radiant with joy, "for from this moment I have the right to devote my life to Mlle. Ernestine."
"I believe in you, and in my future happiness, M. Olivier," said mademoiselle, shyly, raising her head until it rested on Herminie's shoulder. Then, with cheeks slightly flushed, and her beautiful eyes sparkling with purest joy, the girl timidly extended her little hand to the young man.
Olivier trembled, as he touched this hand which he dared not carry to his lips, but he pressed it tenderly with mingled love and deference.
Then, without trying to conceal the tears that filled his eyes, he said:
"By this dear hand so generously given, mademoiselle, I swear to you, and ask your friend to bear witness to my vow, I swear that my life shall be consecrated to your happiness."
CHAPTER XVII.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
After the vows thus plighted by Mlle. de Beaumesnil and Olivier Raymond in Herminie's presence, the three actors in the scene maintained an almost solemn silence for several minutes.
All three fully realised the gravity of the obligation assumed.
"How delightful it is to be rich," thought Olivier, "for I am rich in comparison with this dear child who has only her own labour to depend upon. What happiness it gives me to be able to assure her an existence superior even to her wildest dreams."
His features were radiant with the delight of this thought, as he broke the silence by saying to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:
"Until I became sure of your consent, mademoiselle, I did not care to broach the subject to your relative, though I have every reason to hope she will accede to my request. Do you not think so? As for my uncle, need I tell you that his joy will almost equal mine, when he knows that he can call you his daughter? If you think proper, mademoiselle, he had better be the one, perhaps, to go to your relative and make known my request."
This proposal threw Ernestine into a state of deep perplexity. Yielding to an outburst of irresistible confidence, that told her that every possible guarantee of safety and happiness would be found in Olivier, she had never once thought of the many difficulties that were sure to arise from the maintenance of the incognito which she dared not throw off at once, however.
But already somewhat familiar with the sudden dilemmas resulting from the position in which she had placed herself, Mlle. de Beaumesnil replied, after a moment's reflection:
"I am hardly able to say to-day whether it had better be M. Bernard or Herminie who goes to my relative to inform her of your intentions—and of my consent. I will think the matter over, and let you know my decision the next time I see you."
"Ernestine is right, M. Olivier," remarked Herminie; "from what I have heard of her relative's disposition, it would be advisable to act with prudence, as—as the consent of this parent is indispensable to Ernestine's marriage."
"I shall be guided entirely by Mlle. Ernestine and by you, Mlle. Herminie, in this matter. Sure of Mlle. Ernestine's consent, I can wait with patience. If you knew with what happiness I think of the future—our future, I can say now! And my brave, kind uncle, how happy he will be surrounded by our care, for it will not be at all unpleasant to you to live with him, will it, Mlle. Ernestine? He is so good and kind, and it would make him so happy to have us with him!"
"Did you not tell me that he would call me his daughter, M. Olivier? I shall be very proud of that title and try to deserve it."
"Tell me, Mlle. Herminie," asked Olivier, addressing the duchess, "after such a reply, can there be a happier man in the world than I?"
"No, M. Olivier," replied the duchess, smothering a sigh as she thought how she, too, might have enjoyed the same felicity if Gerald's position had been as modest as Olivier's; "no, I do not believe there can be any greater happiness than yours, nor any that is more richly deserved."
"We shall not be high and mighty seigneurs, Mlle. Ernestine," said Olivier, smiling, "for a second lieutenant is no great things, but even a single epaulette honourably worn levels all conditions. Besides, I am young, and I shall soon have two epaulettes instead of one, some day I shall become a major, perhaps even a colonel."
"Beware of ambition, M. Olivier," said Ernestine, smiling in her turn.
"That is true. It seems to me that I am devoured with ambition now. It would give me such happiness to see you enjoy the consideration with which the wife of a colonel is surrounded! My poor uncle, too, how proud he would be to see me hold that rank. Then, think of it, Mlle. Ernestine, we should be millionaires on a colonel's pay. And what pleasure it would give me to surround you with comforts and even luxuries enough to make you forget the hardships of your youth, and to at last see my poor uncle placed above the reach of want, for he is sometimes subjected to great privations!"
"Yes, in spite of your generous assistance, M. Olivier," said Ernestine, with deep emotion, "and in spite of the hard work you have been doing all through your furlough."
"Ah, you have been tattling, Mlle. Herminie," said Olivier, gaily.
"At all events, I was entirely disinterested," she retorted; "for when I told Ernestine all the good I knew of you, M. Olivier, I was far from suspecting that you would corroborate my statements so soon."
"And I must tell M. Olivier, with that frankness on which he sets such store, that he misjudges me very much if he thinks I am pining for the luxury he promises me," said Ernestine, smiling.
"And I," said Olivier, "shall reply with equal frankness that I am terribly selfish, and that, in hoping to be able to surround Mlle. Ernestine with luxury, I am thinking only of the pleasure it will give me."
"And I, who am Reason personified," said Herminie, with a melancholy smile, "I shall tell Mlle. Ernestine and M. Olivier that they are two foolish children to indulge in these golden visions. The present should content them."
"Yes, I admit it is wrong," responded Olivier, gaily. "Just see where ambition leads one! I am dreaming of becoming a colonel, instead of saying to myself that my worthy uncle and myself—thanks to my pay as a second lieutenant—have never been so rich before. Think of it, nearly six thousand francs a year—for us two. What happiness to be able to say, 'For us three, Mlle. Ernestine!'"
"Six thousand francs a year? Why, that is an enormous amount," exclaimed the richest heiress in France. "How can any one spend all that money?"
"Poor child!" Olivier said to himself, exulting in his new-found prosperity, "I thought as much. She has been so poor up to this time, that it seems an immense fortune to her."
But he said aloud:
"We shall manage to spend our three thousand francs, all the same, I expect, Mlle. Ernestine. In the first place, I shall always insist upon your being nicely dressed, in simple but elegant toilets. Our rank requires it, you know, mademoiselle. An officer's wife—why, the army regulations require her to be well dressed, you understand."
"If the dignity of your rank is at stake, why, I submit, of course," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, laughing, "but only on condition that your dear uncle shall have a pretty garden, as he is so fond of flowers."
"That is understood, Mlle. Ernestine. We can easily find a snug little apartment with a garden in a quiet part of the town, for as I shall belong to the garrison we can not live in the Batignolles any longer. But—great Heavens—"
"What is the matter, M. Olivier?"
"Are you a Bonapartist, Mlle. Ernestine?" inquired the young officer, with comical seriousness.
"Why certainly, M. Olivier. I admire the emperor very much. But why do you ask that question?"
"Then we are lost, mademoiselle, for my poor uncle shelters beneath his roof the most implacable enemy of the great Napoleon that ever lived."
"Indeed!"
"You will shudder to hear her frightful stories of his atrocities; but seriously, Mlle. Ernestine, I shall be obliged to ask your indulgence, and your affection as well, for a very worthy woman, my uncle's housekeeper, who during the ten years she has been in his employ has never allowed a day to pass without lavishing every attention upon him, and without quarrelling with him in the most outrageous manner on the subject of the Corsican ogre."
"Very well, M. Olivier, I will disclose my admiration for the great emperor only to your dear uncle, and play the hypocrite before this worthy woman. Oh, you shall see; I am very politic, and she will love me in spite of my Bonapartism."
Madame Moufflon, the concierge, having rapped at the door, interrupted the conversation by handing a letter to Herminie, who, recognising the handwriting as that of M. de Maillefort, told the portress to ask the messenger to wait, as there might be an answer required.
So Olivier, fearing that a longer stay would be indiscreet, and being also in a hurry to find Commander Bernard, and report the success of his wooing, said to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:
"I came here in a very anxious frame of mind, Mlle. Ernestine. Thanks to you, I am going away the happiest and most contented of men. I need not tell you how impatiently I shall await your decision in regard to your relative. If you think it advisable for my uncle to approach her on the subject, please let me know as soon as possible."
"I will do so at our next interview, which had better take place here, M. Olivier."
"May I not be permitted to bring my uncle?" asked Olivier. "There is so much that he wishes to say to you. He will be so anxious to see you, too, that it would hardly be fair to deny him the favour, for there is nothing he wouldn't be capable of doing in order to reach you, and tell you of his joy and gratitude."
"Herminie and I will not force your dear uncle to any extreme measures, for I, myself, am very impatient to see him again, so à bientôt, M. Olivier."
"A bientôt, mademoiselle."
And Olivier departed, leaving the two girls alone together.
Herminie then opened M. de Maillefort's letter. It read as follows:
"It is still to-morrow, Saturday, my dear child, that I shall call to take you to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, only, if agreeable to you, I will come at three in the afternoon, instead of at noon as we agreed.
"A cousin-germain of mine, the Prince Duc de Haut-Martel, the head of our house, has just died in Hungary.
"I received this news through the Austrian ambassador, upon whom I must call early to-morrow morning for some necessary formalities, which, to my great regret, will prevent me from fulfilling my engagement with you as early as I promised.
"I shall see you, then, to-morrow, my dear child,
"Affectionately,
"Maillefort."
"Ernestine, you will excuse me to write a few words in answer to this letter, will you not?" asked Herminie, seating herself at the table.
So, while the duchess was writing to M. de Maillefort, Mlle. de Beaumesnil reflected with growing satisfaction upon the engagement she had just contracted with Olivier.
The duchess wrote M. de Maillefort that she would expect him at three the following afternoon, then rang for Madame Moufflon, and asked her to deliver the note to the messenger.
When the portress had left the room, Herminie returned to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and, kissing her affectionately, asked:
"You are very happy, are you not, Ernestine?"
"Yes, very happy, Herminie," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "and it was here in your home that this happiness came to me, my dear friend. How generous M. Olivier is! How much he must esteem and love me for him to desire to marry me, when his position is so superior to mine! That, in itself, is enough to make me adore him, and to make me place implicit faith in his promises. With what a feeling of security I can now face the future, however trying may be the circumstances in which I find myself to-day!"
"Yes, Ernestine, you are indeed certain of happiness. Your life cannot fail to be pleasant and fortunate. To love and to be loved worthily is, indeed, a fate to be envied."
And as the contrast between her own future and that of her friend struck her, the poor duchess could not help bursting into tears.
"It is, indeed, true that happiness is always selfish!" cried Ernestine. "Oh, Herminie, forgive me, forgive me! How much you must have suffered! Every word of our conversation with M. Olivier must have pierced your soul! You heard us talk of our mutual love, of our hope of a blissful future, and all the while you felt that you, perhaps, would have to renounce all such joys. Ah, our thoughtlessness must have pained you deeply, my dear Herminie."
"No, no, Ernestine," said the poor duchess, drying her eyes, "on the contrary, your happiness has been a great consolation to me. Has it not enabled me to forget my own grief and despair all the morning?"
"Despair? But why do you say that? M. de Senneterre is worthy of you," cried Ernestine, thoughtlessly, remembering only her conversation with the young duke the evening before. "He loves you as you deserve to be loved, I know it."
"You know it, Ernestine? How do you know it?"
"I mean that—that I am sure of it, Herminie," replied Ernestine, much embarrassed. "All you have told me about him convinces me that you could not have placed your affections more wisely. The obstacles to your union are great, I admit, but by no means insurmountable."
"But they are, Ernestine. I have never told you before, but my own sense of dignity will not permit me to marry M. de Senneterre, unless his mother comes here and tells me that she consents to my marriage with her son. Without that, nothing could induce me to enter this aristocratic family."
"Oh, Herminie, how much I admire your pride!" exclaimed Ernestine. "And what does M. de Senneterre say?"
"When M. Olivier told him my resolution, far from appearing either surprised or shocked, Gerald replied: 'What Herminie asks is only just. Her dignity, as well as mine, requires it. Despair is cowardly and foolish. It is for me to find the means of compelling my mother to acknowledge the worth of the woman to whom I shall be proud to give my name.' Noble and touching words, were they not, Ernestine?"
"You are right, Herminie."
"My mother loves me devotedly,' added M. de Senneterre, 'and nothing is impossible to an ardent lover. I shall find a way to convince my mother of the wisdom of my choice, and to induce her to make the advances Herminie has a right to expect. How I shall do it, I cannot say, but I shall do it, for Herminie's happiness and mine are at stake.'
"And does not this courageous resolve inspire you with some hope?" asked Ernestine.
The duchess shook her head sadly as she replied:
"Gerald is sincere in his determination, but he deceives himself. All I have heard of his mother convinces me that this haughty woman will never—"
"Never! why do you say never?" cried Ernestine, interrupting her friend. "Ah, Herminie, you have no idea how much the love of a man like M. de Senneterre can accomplish. His mother is a very proud woman, you say; so much the better. She would show herself pitiless to any cowardly humility, while your eminently proper pride will be sure to impress her, as she, too, is proud; so she will at least be obliged to esteem and respect you. That will be one great advantage gained; her love for her son will do the rest, for you do not know how she idolises him. She loves him so devotedly, in fact, that she has so far forgotten herself as to mix herself up in a shameful conspiracy in order to secure him an immense fortune by an act unworthy of him. Why, then, is her maternal love likely to fail when a worthy, commendable act on her part is alone needed to assure her son's happiness? Believe me, Herminie, no one ever need despair when there is a mother's heart to appeal to."
"Really, Ernestine, you amaze me. You speak of M. de Senneterre and his family as if you knew them."
"Well, I may as well admit, my dear Herminie," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, unable to resist her desire to allay her friend's fears and to encourage her to hope, "that, knowing how unhappy you were, I managed to make some inquiries about the Senneterre family through my relative."
"But how?"
"She knows one of Mlle. de Beaumesnil's servants."
"Your relative does?"
"Yes, and she discovered in this way that Madame de Senneterre has been mixed up in an unfortunate scheme to bring about a marriage between her son and Mlle. de Beaumesnil, that rich heiress."
"Gerald was to marry Mlle. de Beaumesnil?" exclaimed Herminie.
"Yes, but he nobly refused. Her immense fortune has no attraction for him, because he loves you,—loves you devotedly, Herminie."
"Is this true?" exclaimed the duchess, delightedly. "Are you sure of what you say, Ernestine?"
"Perfectly sure."
"It is not so much that this disinterestedness on Gerald's part astonishes me," said Herminie, "as that—"
"That you are proud of this new proof of his love. Am I not right?"
"Yes, yes," exclaimed the duchess, her hopes reviving in spite of herself. "But once more, I can not help asking if you are perfectly sure of what you say? My poor child, you are so anxious to see me happy that I am afraid you have lent too ready an ear to these reports, for servants' gossip, you know, is proverbially unreliable. Do you know whether Gerald has ever met Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"
"Once or twice, I think my relative told me. But why do you ask that question, Herminie?"
"Because it seems to me that I shall feel very uncomfortable to-morrow, knowing that there has been some talk of a marriage between Gerald and Mlle. de Beaumesnil."
"Why, what is to happen to-morrow, Herminie?"
"I am to give Mlle. de Beaumesnil her first music lesson."
"To-morrow?" exclaimed Ernestine, without concealing her surprise.
"Read this letter, my dear," replied the duchess. "It is from that gentleman, the hunchback, you remember, that you once met here."
"M. de Maillefort probably had his reasons for not warning me of his intentions," Ernestine said to herself, as she perused the missive. "I am glad that he is hastening the dénouement, however, for my powers of dissimulation are nearly exhausted. What a relief it will be to confess all!"
As she returned the letter, Ernestine asked:
"What difference does it make to you, Herminie, if there has been some talk of a marriage between M. de Senneterre and Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"
"I do not know, but I somehow feel that it places me in a false, almost painful position towards that young lady, and if I had not promised M. de Maillefort—"
"What would you do?"
"I would abandon this visit, which now causes me a sort of vague uneasiness."
"But you have promised, Herminie, and you can not break your word. Besides, is not Mlle. de Beaumesnil the child of the lady whom you loved so much, and who so often talked to you about her dear daughter? Think of it, Herminie; would it not be wrong to give up going to see her? Do you not at least owe that to her mother's memory?"
"You are right, Ernestine. I shall have to go, and yet—"
"Who knows, Herminie, but your acquaintance with this young girl will prove of benefit to both of you. I scarcely know why, but I prophesy good from this visit, and I certainly prove my disinterestedness by doing so, for devoted friendship is naturally jealous. But it is growing late, my friend, and I must go. I will write to you to-morrow."
The duchess sat silent and evidently absorbed in thought for a moment.
"Ah, Ernestine," she exclaimed at last, "I can not tell you all the strange thoughts that are passing through my mind. Gerald's noble disinterestedness, my approaching interview with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, your disclosures in relation to the character of Madame de Senneterre, who, being proud herself, can, perhaps, better understand the demands of my pride,—all this agitates me deeply. Nevertheless, though I was so full of despair a few minutes ago, I now hope, in spite of myself, and thanks to you, my dear friend, my heart is much less heavy than when you came."
Consideration for M. de Maillefort's plans alone prevented Ernestine from putting an end to her friend's anxiety and increasing her hope by giving her further proofs of Gerald's love as well as of his nobility of character, but remembering that all this mystery would soon be cleared up, she carried her secret away with her when she parted from Herminie.
The following afternoon, according to promise, M. de Maillefort called for the duchess, and the two immediately started for Mlle. de Beaumesnil's residence.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A QUESTION OF IDENTITY.
Before going to Herminie's, Friday morning, Mlle. de Beaumesnil had had no conversation with M. de la Rochaiguë and Mlle. Helena on the subject of M. de Macreuse and M. de Mornand.
On her return from the ball the night before, Ernestine had pleaded fatigue as an excuse for at once retiring to her room, and she had left the house early the next morning, in company with Madame Laîné.
One can easily imagine the bitter reproaches and recriminations that were interchanged between the baron and his wife and sister after returning from the entertainment, where their secret plans had been so ruthlessly unveiled.
Madame de la Rochaiguë, still confident of the speedy marriage of M. de Senneterre and Mlle. de Beaumesnil, was pitiless in her triumph, which she scarcely took the pains to conceal now, and quite overwhelmed the baron and his sister by her reproaches and sarcasms.
The devotee replied, sweetly and patiently, that "the success of the proud and the wicked was fleeting, but that the just, though laid low for a time, would soon rise again, radiant in glory."
The baron, who was less versed in Biblical diction, declared that his wife did not know him yet, and that, though he could not compel Mlle. de Beaumesnil to marry M. de Mornand, after the deplorable scene of the evening before, he should nevertheless completely, absolutely, and irrevocably refuse his consent to any other marriage until mademoiselle attained her majority.
Ernestine, on her return from Herminie's, had been tenderly welcomed by Madame de la Rochaiguë, who informed her that the baron had declared his intention of opposing any marriage whatever until his ward became of age, but that all this did not make the slightest difference, as he would change his mind within twenty-four hours if he discovered that there was any possibility of Mlle. de Beaumesnil's marriage with M. de Senneterre.
But when the baroness added that it would be advisable for Ernestine to receive Gerald's mother on the following day, as that lady wished to come to some definite understanding in relation to her son's marriage with the heiress, the young girl replied that, while she fully appreciated M. de Senneterre's merits, she would like to have a few days longer for reflection, hoping in this way to secure time to consult with M. de Maillefort and Herminie concerning her plans for the future. The baroness tried in vain to change Ernestine's decision, but the young girl was obdurate.
Considerably surprised, and not a little irritated by this refusal, the baroness remarked to the orphan, as she was leaving her:
"I forgot to inform you yesterday, my dear child, that after a talk with M. de Maillefort, who is now one of my best friends, and yours as well (you know how highly he speaks of M. de Senneterre), we decided to give you an opportunity to perform a truly charitable act. The idea originated with me, even prior to your arrival in Paris. There is a poor, but honest young girl, who was employed to play and sing to your poor dear mother during her last illness. This young girl is very proud, in spite of her poverty; so we thought you might assist her pecuniarily under the pretext of taking a few music lessons, and if you are willing to do so, the marquis will bring her to you to-morrow."
The reader can imagine Ernestine's response, and the impatience with which she awaited the coming of Herminie and her escort.
At last the long-looked-for hour arrived.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil had put on the same dress she had worn on her first visit to her friend's house,—a simply made gown of inexpensive lawn.
Soon a footman threw open the folding doors that led into the small drawing-room where the heiress usually sat, and announced, in a loud voice:
"M. le Marquis de Maillefort."
Herminie was with the hunchback, and for some reason or other seemed to be greatly agitated by the prospect of this meeting with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and as the duchess, whose bosom was heaving visibly, kept her eyes fixed upon the floor, the footman had time to close the door and make his escape before Herminie recognised Ernestine.
The marquis, who was enjoying this little scene immensely, gave Mlle. de Beaumesnil a meaning glance just as Herminie, surprised at the long silence, ventured to raise her eyes.
"Ernestine, you here!" she exclaimed, taking a step towards her friend, then, intensely surprised, looked wonderingly at the marquis, as Mlle. de Beaumesnil, throwing herself upon Herminie's neck, embraced her tenderly, while tears of joy rolled down her cheeks.
"You are weeping, Ernestine!" said Herminie, more and more astonished, but still without the slightest suspicion of the truth, though her heart was throbbing with unwonted violence. "What is the matter with you, Ernestine?" she continued. "How do you happen to be here? You do not answer me. Good Heavens! I cannot imagine why I tremble so!"
And again the duchess turned inquiringly to the hunchback, whose eyes were dim with tears.
"I do not know, but it seems to me something extraordinary is going on here, M. le marquis; tell me what all this means, I beseech you."
"It means, my dear child, that I was a true prophet when, in talking with you about your approaching interview with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, I told you that I felt sure this meeting would afford you much more pleasure than you anticipated."
"Then you knew that I would find Ernestine here, monsieur?"
"I was certain of it."
"You were certain of it?"
"Yes, there could be no doubt of it."
"Why do you say that?"
"For the simple reason that—"
"That what, monsieur?"
"Is it possible you don't suspect?"
"No, monsieur."
"That the two Ernestines are one and the same person."
The duchess was so far from suspecting the truth that she utterly failed to understand the import of the hunchback's reply at first, and repeated mechanically, gazing at him wonderingly all the while:
"The two Ernestines are one and the same person?"
Then seeing her friend gazing at her with an expression of ineffable joy and happiness, and with arms outstretched as if to embrace her, she exclaimed, overwhelmed with astonishment, and almost terror:
"Mlle. de Beaumesnil! Can it be—my God! can it be that you are Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"
"Yes," exclaimed the hunchback, "she is Mlle. de Beaumesnil, the daughter of the lady who loved you so much, and to whom you were so deeply attached."
"Ernestine is my sister," thought the duchess.
This startling revelation, and the recollection of the strange way in which she had made Mlle. de Beaumesnil's acquaintance, as well as of the events which had occurred since their first meeting, gave Herminie a sort of vertigo. Her brain seemed to whirl; she turned pale, and trembled so violently, that Ernestine was obliged to assist her to a neighbouring armchair.
There, kneeling beside her, and gazing up in her face with all a sister's tenderness, Mlle. de Beaumesnil took Herminie's hands in hers, and kissed them almost reverently, while the marquis stood contemplating this touching scene in silence.
"Pardon me," faltered Herminie, "but the surprise,—the trying position in which I find myself, mademoiselle—"
"Mademoiselle! Oh, do not call me that," exclaimed Mlle. de Beaumesnil. "Am I no longer your Ernestine, the orphan to whom you promised your friendship because you thought she was so unhappy? Alas! M. de Maillefort, your friend and mine, will tell you that I am indeed very unhappy, and that I am in even greater need of your tender affection than ever. What if I am no longer the poor little embroideress! The rich have their sorrows as well as the poor. In pity remember the words of my dying mother, who so often talked to you of me, and continue to love me for her sake."
"Have no fears on that score. You will always be dear, doubly dear to me," replied Herminie; "but you see I have scarcely recovered from my bewilderment. It seems like a dream to me, and when I think of the way in which I became acquainted with you, Ernestine, and of a thousand other things, I have to see you here close beside me, to believe that it is not really all a dream."
"Your surprise is very natural, my dear child," remarked the marquis, "and I myself, when I met Mlle. de Beaumesnil at your home a few days ago, was so overwhelmed with astonishment that, if something had not diverted your attention for a moment, you would have perceived my amazement; but Ernestine begged me to keep her secret, and I did."
When Herminie had recovered from the shock sufficiently for her mind to become clear again, the first words she uttered were:
"But, Ernestine, how did you happen to come to Madame Herbaut's? What is the meaning of all this mystery? Why did you wish to attend that reunion?"
Ernestine, smiling sadly, took from a table the journal she had been writing, the journal dedicated to the memory of her mother, and, handing it to Herminie open at the page where were enumerated the divers reasons which had forced the richest heiress in France to resort to the painful test she had endured so heroically, the young girl said to the duchess:
"I anticipated these questions, Herminie, and, as I am anxious that you should deem me worthy of your affection, I beg you to read these pages. They speak the truth, for it is to the memory of my mother that they are dedicated. M. de Maillefort, I would like you to peruse their contents at the same time, so you can see that, though I unfortunately believed, for a time, the base slanders told me concerning you, your wise, though severe, lesson was not lost upon me, but gave me the courage to resort to a test that may, perhaps, seem strange to you, my dear Herminie."
The duchess took the book from Ernestine's hands. It was an interesting scene to see Herminie holding the open journal, while the marquis, leaning over the back of the armchair in which she was seated, read with her and like her, in silence, Mlle. de Beaumesnil's artless story.
That young girl watched both Herminie and the hunchback intently during the reading, evidently anxious to know if they would approve her motives.
All doubts on this subject were soon allayed, however, for touching and sympathetic exclamations speedily testified to the approval of both.
When the perusal was ended, the duchess, her eyes filled with tears of love and compassion, exclaimed:
"Ah, it is not friendship alone that I feel for you now, Ernestine, but respect and admiration. Great Heavens! how these frightful doubts must have tortured you! What an immense amount of courage it must have required to take such an important step alone—to face an ordeal from which even the bravest heart would have shrunk! Ah, I can at least offer you an affection which has been proved as disinterested as it is sincere. Thank God, I have been able to convince you beyond a doubt that you can and should be loved for yourself alone."