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“At last, madame, you must have finished?” said the princess, in a sardonic and deeply irritated tone, whilst D’Aigrigny, calm and cold in appearance, could hardly dissemble his mental anguish.
“Try again!” continued the princess, addressing Adrienne. “Are there no more relations that you wish to add to this interesting family-group? Really a queen could not act with more magnificence.”
“Right! I wish to give my family a royal reception—such as is due to the son of a king, and the daughters of the Duke de Ligny. It is well to unite other luxuries of life with the luxury of the hospitable heart.”
“The maxim is assuredly generous,” said the princess, becoming more and more agitated; “it is only a pity that you do not possess the mines of El Dorado to make it practicable.”
“It was on the subject of a mine, said to be a rich one, that I also wished to speak to your highness. Could I find a better opportunity? Though my fortune is already considerable, it is nothing to what may come to our family at any moment. You will perhaps excuse, therefore, what you are pleased to call my royal prodigalities.”
D’Aigrigny’s dilemma became momentarily more and more thorny. The affair of the medals was so important, that he had concealed it even from Dr. Baleinier, though he had called in his services to forward immense interests. Neither had Tripeaud been informed of it, for the princess believed that she had destroyed every vestige of those papers of Adrienne’s father, which might have put him on the scent of this discovery. The abbe, therefore was not only greatly alarmed that Mdlle. de Cardoville might be informed of this secret, but he trembled lest she should divulge it.
The princess, sharing the alarms of D’Aigrigny, interrupted her niece by exclaiming: “Madame, there are certain family affairs which ought to be kept secret, and, without exactly understanding to what you allude, I must request you to change the subject.”
“What, madame! are we not here a family party? Is that not sufficiently evident by the somewhat ungracious things that have been here said?”
“No matter, madame! when affairs of interest are concerned, which are more or less disputable, it is perfectly useless to speak of them without the documents laid before every one.”
“And of what have we been speaking this hour, madame, if not of affairs of interest? I really do not understand your surprise and embarrassment.”
“I am neither surprised nor embarrassed, madame; but for the last two hours, you have obliged me to listen to so many new and extravagant things, that a little amaze is very permissible.”
“I beg your highness’s pardon, but you are very much embarrassed,” said Adrienne, looking fixedly at her aunt, “and M. d’Aigrigny also—which confirms certain suspicions that I have not had the time to clear up. Have I then guessed rightly?” she added, after a pause. “We will see—”
“Madame, I command you to be silent,” cried the princess, no longer mistress of herself.
“Oh, madame!” said Adrienne, “for a person who has in general so much command of her feelings, you compromise yourself strangely.”
Providence (as some will have it) came to the aid of the princess and the Abbe d’Aigrigny at this critical juncture. A valet entered the room; his countenance bore such marks of fright and agitation, that the princess exclaimed as soon as she saw him: “Why, Dubois! what is the matter?”
“I have to beg pardon, your highness, for interrupting you against your express orders, but a police inspector demands to speak with you instantly. He is below stairs, and the yard is full of policemen and soldiers.”
Notwithstanding the profound surprise which this new incident occasioned her, the princess, determining to profit by the opportunity thus afforded, to concert prompt measures with D’Aigrigny on the subject of Adrienne’s threatened revelations, rose, and said to the abbe: “Will you be so obliging as to accompany me, M. d’Aigrigny, for I do not know what the presence of this commissary of police may signify.”
D’Aigrigny followed the speaker into the next room.
CHAPTER XLI. TREACHERY.
The Princess de Saint-Dizier, accompanied by D’Aigrigny, and followed by the servants, stopped short in the next room to that in which had remained Adrienne, Tripeaud and the doctor.
“Where is the commissary?” asked the princess of the servant, who had just before announced to her the arrival of that magistrate.
“In the blue saloon, madame.”
“My compliments, and beg him to wait for me a few moments.”
The man bowed and withdrew. As soon as he was gone Madame de Saint Dizier approached hastily M. d’Aigrigny, whose countenance, usually firm and haughty, was now pale and agitated.
“You see,” cried the princess in a hurried voice, “Adrienne knows all. What shall we do?—what?”
“I cannot tell,” said the abbe, with a fixed and absent look. “This disclosure is a terrible blow to us.”
“Is all, then, lost?”
“There is only one means of safety,” said M. d’Aigrigny;—“the doctor.”
“But how?” cried the princess. “So, sudden? this very day?”
“Two hours hence, it will be too late; ere then, this infernal girl will have seen Marshal Simon’s daughters.”
“But—Frederick!—it is impossible! M. Baleinier will never consent. I ought to have been prepared before hand as we intended, after to-day’s examination.”
“No matter,” replied the abbe, quickly; “the doctor must try at any hazard.”
“But under what pretext?”
“I will try and find one.”
“Suppose you were to find a pretext, Frederick, and we could act immediately—nothing would be ready down there.”
“Be satisfied: they are always ready there, by habitual foresight.”
“How instruct the doctor on the instant?” resumed the princess.
“To send for him would be to rouse the suspicions of your niece,” said M. d’Aigrigny, thoughtfully; “and we must avoid that before everything.”
“Of course,” answered the princess; “her confidence in the doctor is one of our greatest resources.”
“There is a way,” said the abbe quickly; “I will write a few words in haste to Baleinier: one of your people can take the note to him, as if it came from without—from a patient dangerously ill.”
“An excellent idea!” cried the princess. “You are right. Here—upon this table—there is everything necessary for writing. Quick! quick—But will the doctor succeed?”
“In truth, I scarcely dare to hope it,” said the marquis, sitting down at the table with repressed rage. “Thanks to this examination, going beyond our hopes, which our man, hidden behind the curtain, has faithfully taken down in shorthand—thanks to the violent scenes, which would necessarily have occurred to-morrow and the day after—the doctor, by fencing himself round with all sorts of clever precautions, would have been able to act with the most complete certainty. But to ask this of him to-day, on the instant!—Herminia—it is folly to think of!”—The marquis threw down the pen which he held in his hand; then he added, in a tone of bitter and profound irritation: “At the very moment of success—to see all our hopes destroyed!—Oh, the consequences of all this are incalculable. Your niece will be the cause of the greatest mischief—oh! the greatest injury to us.”
It is impossible to describe the expression of deep rage and implacable hatred with which D’Aigrigny uttered these last words.
“Frederick,” cried the princess with anxiety, as she clasped her hands strongly around the abbe’s, “I conjure you, do not despair!—The doctor is fertile in resources, and he is so devoted to us. Let us at least, make the attempt.”
“Well—it is at least a chance,” said the abbe, taking up the pen again.
“Should it come to the worst.” said the princess, “and Adrienne go this evening to fetch General Simon’s daughters, she may perhaps no longer find them.
“We cannot hope for that. It is impossible that Rodin’s orders should have been so quickly executed. We should have been informed of it.”
“It is true. Write then to the doctor; I will send you Dubois, to carry your letter. Courage, Frederick! we shall yet be too much for that ungovernable girl.” Madame de Saint-Dizier added, with concentrated rage: “Oh, Adrienne! Adrienne! you shall pay dearly for your insolent sarcasms, and the anxiety you have caused us.”
As she went out, the princess turned towards M. d’Aigrigny, and said to him: “Wait for me here. I will tell you the meaning of this visit of the police, and we will go in together.”
The princess disappeared. D’Aigrigny dashed off a few words, with a trembling hand.
CHAPTER XLII. THE SNARE.
After the departure of Madame de Saint-Dizier and the marquis, Adrienne had remained in her aunt’s apartment with M. Baleinier and Baron Tripeaud.
On hearing of the commissary’s arrival, Mdlle. de Cardoville had felt considerable uneasiness; for there could be no doubt that, as Agricola had apprehended, this magistrate was come to search the hotel and extension, in order to find the smith, whom he believed to be concealed there.
Though she looked upon Agricola’s hiding-place as a very safe one, Adrienne was not quite tranquil on his account; so in the event of any unfortunate accident, she thought it a good opportunity to recommend the refugee to the doctor, an intimate friend, as we have said, of one of the most influential ministers of the day. So, drawing near to the physician, who was conversing in a low voice with the baron, she said to him in her softest and most coaxing manner: “My good M. Baleinier, I wish to speak a few words with you.” She pointed to the deep recess of one of the windows.
“I am at your orders, madame,” answered the doctor, as he rose to follow Adrienne to the recess.
M. Tripeaud, who, no longer sustained by the abbe’s presence, dreaded the young lady as he did fire, was not sorry for this diversion. To keep up appearances, he stationed himself before one of the sacred pictures, and began again to contemplate it, as if there were no bounds to his admiration.
When Mdlle. de Cardoville was far enough from the baron, not to be overheard by him, she said to the physician, who, all smiles and benevolence, waited for her to explain: “My good doctor, you are my friend, as you were my father’s. Just now, notwithstanding the difficulty of your position, you had the courage to show yourself my only partisan.”
“Not at all, madame; do not go and say such things!” cried the doctor, affecting a pleasant kind of anger. “Plague on’t! you would get me into a pretty scrape; so pray be silent on that subject. Vade retro Satanas!—which means: Get thee behind me, charming little demon that you are!”
“Do not be afraid,” answered Adrienne, with a smile; “I will not compromise you. Only allow me to remind you, that you have often made me offers of service, and spoken to me of your devotion.”
“Put me to the test—and you will see if I do not keep my promises.”
“Well, then! give me a proof on the instant,” said Adrienne, quickly.
“Capital! this is how I like to be taken at my word. What can I do for you?”
“Are you still very intimate with your friend the minister?”
“Yes; I am just treating him for a loss of voice, which he always has, the day they put questions to him in the house. He likes it better.”
“I want you to obtain from him something very important for me.”
“For you? pray, what is it?”
At this instant, the valet entered the room, delivered a letter to M. Baleinier, and said to him: “A footman has just brought this letter for you, sir; it is very pressing.”
The physician took the letter, and the servant went out.
“This is one of the inconveniences of merit,” said Adrienne, smiling; “they do not leave you a moment’s rest, my poor doctor.”
“Do not speak of it, madame,” said the physician, who could not conceal a start of amazement, as he recognized the writing of D’Aigrigny; “these patients think we are made of iron, and have monopolized the health which they so much need. They have really no mercy. With your permission, madame,” added M. Baleinier, looking at Adrienne before he unsealed the letter.
Mdlle. de Cardoville answered by a graceful nod. Marquis d’Aigrigny’s letter was not long; the doctor read it at a single glance, and, notwithstanding his habitual prudence, he shrugged his shoulders, and said hastily: “Today! why, it’s impossible. He is mad.”
“You speak no doubt of some poor patient, who has placed all his hopes in you—who waits and calls for you at this moment. Come, my dear M. Baleinier, do not reject his prayer. It is so sweet to justify the confidence we inspire.”
There was at once so much analogy, and such contradiction, between the object of this letter, written just before by Adrienne’s most implacable enemy, and these words of commiseration which she spoke in a touching voice, that Dr. Baleinier himself could not help being struck with it. He looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with an almost embarrassed air, as he replied: “I am indeed speaking of one of my patients, who counts much upon me—a great deal too much—for he asks me to do an impossibility. But why do you feel so interested in an unknown person?”
“If he is unfortunate, I know enough to interest me. The person for whom I ask your assistance with the minister, was quite as little known to me; and now I take the deepest interest in him. I must tell you, that he is the son of the worthy soldier who brought Marshal Simon’s daughters from the heart of Siberia.”
“What! he is—”
“An honest workman, the support of his family; but I must tell you all about it—this is how the affair took place.”
The confidential communication which Adrienne was going to make to the doctor, was cut short by Madame Saint-Dizier, who, followed by M. d’Aigrigny, opened abruptly the door. An expression of infernal joy, hardly concealed beneath a semblance of extreme indignation, was visible in her countenance.
M. d’Aigrigny threw rapidly, as he entered the apartment, an inquiring and anxious glance at M. Baleinier. The doctor answered by a shake of the head. The abbe bit his lips with silent rage; he had built his last hopes upon the doctor, and his projects seemed now forever annihilated, notwithstanding the new blow which the princess had in reserve for Adrienne.
“Gentlemen,” said Madame de Saint-Dizier, in a sharp, hurried voice, for she was nearly choking with wicked pleasure, “gentlemen, pray be seated! I have some new and curious things to tell you, on the subject of this young lady.” She pointed to her niece, with a look of ineffable hatred and disdain.
“My poor child, what is the matter now?” said M. Baleinier, in a soft, wheedling tone, before he left the window where he was standing with Adrienne. “Whatever happens, count upon me!”—And the physician went to seat himself between M. d’Aigrigny and M. Tripeaud.
At her aunt’s insolent address, Mdlle. de Cardoville had proudly lined her head. The blood rushed to her face, and irritated at the new attacks with which she was menaced, she advanced to the table where the princess was seated, and said in an agitated voice to M. Baleinier: “I shall expect you to call on me as soon as possible, my dear doctor. You know that I wish particularly to speak with you.”
Adrienne made one step towards the arm-chair, on which she had left her hat. The princess rose abruptly, and exclaimed: “What are you doing, madame?”
“I am about to retire. Your highness has expressed to me your will, and I have told you mine. It is enough.”
She took her hat. Madame de Saint-Dizier, seeing her prey about to escape, hastened towards her niece, and, in defiance of all propriety, seized her violently by the arm with a convulsive grasp, and bade her, “Remain!”
“Fie, madame!” exclaimed Adrienne, with an accent of painful contempt, “have we sunk so low?”
“You wish to escape—you are afraid!” resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier, looking at her disdainfully from head to foot.
With these words “you are afraid,” you could have made Adrienne de Cardoville walk into a fiery furnace. Disengaging her arm from her aunt’s grasp, with a gesture full of nobleness and pride, she threw down the hat upon the chair, and returning to the table, said imperiously to the princess: “There is something even stronger than the disgust with which all this inspires me—the fear of being accused of cowardice. Go on, madame! I am listening!”
With her head raised, her color somewhat heightened, her glance half veiled by a tear of indignation, her arms folded over her bosom, which heaved in spite of herself with deep emotion, and her little foot beating convulsively on the carpet, Adrienne looked steadily at her aunt. The princess wished to infuse drop by drop, the poison with which she was swelling, and make her victim suffer as long as possible, feeling certain that she could not escape. “Gentlemen,” said Madame de Saint-Dizier, in a forced voice, “this has occurred: I was told that the commissary of police wished to speak with me: I went to receive this magistrate; he excused himself, with a troubled air, for the nature of the duty he had to perform. A man, against whom a warrant was out, had been seen to enter the garden-house.”
Adrienne started, there could be no doubt that Agricola was meant. But she recovered her tranquillity, when she thought of the security of the hiding-place she had given him.
“The magistrate,” continued the princess, “asked my consent to search the hotel and extension, to discover this man. It was his right. I begged him to commence with the garden-house, and accompanied him. Notwithstanding the improper conduct of Mademoiselle, it never, I confess, entered my head for a moment, that she was in any way mixed up with this police business. I was deceived.”
“What do you mean, madame?” cried Adrienne.
“You shall know all, madame,” said the princess, with a triumphant air, “in good time. You were in rather too great a hurry just now, to show yourself so proud and satirical. Well! I accompanied the commissary in his search; we came to the summer-house; I leave you to imagine the stupor and astonishment of the magistrate, on seeing three creatures dressed up like actresses. At my request, the fact was noted in the official report; for it is well to reveal such extravagances to all whom it may concern.”
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“The princess acted very wisely,” said Tripeaud, bowing; “it is well that the authorities should be informed of such matters.”
Adrienne, too much interested in the fate of the workman to think of answering Tripeaud or the princess, listened in silence, and strove to conceal her uneasiness.
“The magistrate,” resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier, “began by a severe examination of these young girls; to learn if any man had, with their knowledge, been introduced into the house; with incredible effrontery, they answered that they had seen nobody enter.”
“The true-hearted, honest girls!” thought Mademoiselle de Cardoville, full of joy; “the poor workman is safe! the protection of Dr. Baleinier will do the rest.”
“Fortunately,” continued the princess, “one of my women, Mrs. Grivois, had accompanied me. This excellent person, remembering to have seen Mademoiselle return home at eight o’clock in the morning, remarked with much simplicity to the magistrate, that the man, whom they sought, might probably have entered by the little garden gate, left open, accidentally, by Mademoiselle.”
“It would have been well, madame,” said Tripeaud, “to have caused to be noted also in the report, that Mademoiselle had returned home at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“I do not see the necessity for this,” said the doctor, faithful to his part: “it would have been quite foreign to the search carried on by the commissary.”
“But, doctor,” said Tripeaud.
“But, baron,” resumed M. Baleinier, in a firm voice, “that is my opinion.”
“It was not mine, doctor,” said the princess; “like M. Tripeaud, I considered it important to establish the fact by an entry in the report, and I saw, by the confused and troubled countenance of the magistrate, how painful it was to register the scandalous conduct of a young person placed in so high a position in society.”
“Certainly, madame,” said Adrienne, losing patience, “I believe your modesty to be about equal to that of this candid commissary of police; but it seems to me, that your mutual innocence was alarmed a little too soon. You might, and ought to have reflected, that there was nothing extraordinary in my coming home at eight o’clock, if I had gone out at six.”
“The excuse, though somewhat tardy, is at least cunning,” said the princess, spitefully.
“I do not excuse myself, madame,” said Adrienne; “but as M. Baleinier has been kind enough to speak a word in my favor, I give the possible interpretation of a fact, which it would not become me to explain in your presence.”
“The fact will stand, however, in the report,” said Tripeaud, “until the explanation is given.”
Abbe d’Aigrigny, his forehead resting on his hand, remained as if a stranger to this scene; he was too much occupied with his fears at the consequences of the approaching interview between Mdlle. de Cardoville and Marshal Simon’s daughters—for there seemed no possibility of using force to prevent Adrienne from going out that evening.
Madame de Saint-Dizier went on: “The fact which so greatly scandalized the commissary is nothing compared to what I yet have to tell you, gentlemen. We had searched all parts of the pavilion without finding any one, and were just about to quit the bed-chamber, for we had taken this room the last, when Mrs. Grivois pointed out to us that one of the golden mouldings of a panel did not appear to come quite home to the wall. We drew the attention of the magistrate to this circumstance; his men examined, touched, felt—the panel flew open!—and then—can you guess what we discovered? But, no! it is too odious, too revolting; I dare not even—”
“Then I dare, madame,” said Adrienne, resolutely, though she saw with the utmost grief the retreat of Agricola was discovered; “I will spare your highness’s candor the recital of this new scandal, and yet what I am about to say is in nowise intended as a justification.”
“It requires one, however,” said Madame de Saint-Dizier, with a disdainful smile; “a man concealed by you in your own bedroom.”
“A man concealed in her bedroom!” cried the Marquis d’Aigrigny, raising his head with apparent indignation, which only covered a cruel joy.
“A man! in the bedroom of Mademoiselle!” added Baron Tripeaud. “I hope this also was inserted in the report.”
“Yes, yes, baron,” said the princess with a triumphant air.
“But this man,” said the doctor, in a hypocritical tone, “must have been a robber? Any other supposition would be in the highest degree improbable. This explains itself.”
“Your indulgence deceives you, M. Baleinier,” answered the princess, dryly.
“We knew the sort of thieves,” said Tripeaud; “they are generally young men, handsome, and very rich.”
“You are wrong, sir,” resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier. “Mademoiselle does not raise her views so high. She proves that a dereliction from duty may be ignoble as well as criminal. I am no longer astonished at the sympathy which was just now professed for the lower orders. It is the more touching and affecting, as the man concealed by her was dressed in a blouse.”
“A blouse!” cried the baron, with an air of extreme disgust; “then he is one of the common people? It really makes one’s hair stand on end.”
“The man is a working smith—he confessed it,” said the princess; “but not to be unjust—he is really a good-looking fellow. It was doubtless that singular worship which Mademoiselle pays to the beautiful—”
“Enough, madame, enough!” said Adrienne suddenly, for, hitherto disdaining to answer, she had listened to her aunt with growing and painful indignation; “I was just now on the point of defending myself against one of your odious insinuations—but I will not a second time descend to any such weakness. One word only, madame; has this honest and worthy artisan been arrested?”
“To be sure, he has been arrested and taken to prison, under a strong escort. Does not that pierce your heart?” sneered the princess, with a triumphant air. “Your tender pity for this interesting smith must indeed be very great, since it deprives you of your sarcastic assurance.”
“Yes, madame; for I have something better to do than to satirize that which is utterly odious and ridiculous,” replied Adrienne, whose eyes grew dim with tears at the thought of the cruel hurt to Agricola’s family. Then, putting her hat on, and tying the strings, she said to the doctor: “M. Baleinier, I asked you just now for your interest with the minister.”
“Yes, madame; and it will give me great pleasure to act on your behalf.”
“Is your carriage below?”
“Yes, madame,” said the doctor, much surprised.
“You will be good enough to accompany me immediately to the minister’s. Introduced by you, he will not refuse me the favor, or rather the act of justice, that I have to solicit.”
“What, mademoiselle,” said the princess; “do you dare take such a course, without my orders, after what has just passed? It is really quite unheard-of.”
“It confounds one,” added Tripeaud; “but we must not be surprised at anything.”
The moment Adrienne asked the doctor if his carriage was below, D’Aigrigny started. A look of intense satisfaction flashed across his countenance, and he could hardly repress the violence of his delight, when, darting, a rapid and significant glance at the doctor, he saw the latter respond to it by trace closing his eyelids in token of comprehension and assent.
When therefore the princess resumed, in an angry tone, addressing herself to Adrienne: “Madame, I forbid you leaving the house!”—D’Aigrigny said to the speaker, with a peculiar inflection of the voice: “I think, your highness, we may trust the lady to the doctor’s care.”
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The marquis pronounced these words in so significant a manner, that the princess, having looked by turns at the physician and D’Aigrigny, understood it all, and her countenance grew radiant with joy.
Not only did this pass with extreme rapidity, but the night was already almost come, so that Adrienne, absorbed in painful thoughts with regard to Agricola, did not perceive the different signals exchanged between the princess, the doctor, and the abbe. Even had she done so, they would have been incomprehensible to her.
Not wishing to have the appearance of yielding too readily, to the suggestion of the marquis, Madame de Saint-Dizier resumed: “Though the doctor seems to me to be far too indulgent to mademoiselle, I might not see any great objection to trusting her with him; but that I do not wish to establish such a precedent, for hence forward she must have no will but mine.”
“Madame,” said the physician gravely, feigning to be somewhat shocked by the words of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, “I do not think I have been too indulgent to mademoiselle—but only just. I am at her orders, to take her to the minister if she wishes it. I do not know what she intends to solicit, but I believe her incapable of abusing the confidence I repose in her, or making me support a recommendation undeserved.”
Adrienne, much moved, extended her hand cordially to the doctor, and said to him: “Rest assured, my excellent friend, that you will thank me for the step I am taking, for you will assist in a noble action.”
Tripeaud, who was not in the secret of the new plans of the doctor and the abbe in a low voice faltered to the latter, with a stupefied air, “What! will you let her go?”
“Yes, yes,” answered D’Aigrigny abruptly, making a sign that he should listen to the princess, who was about to speak. Advancing towards her niece, she said to her in a slow and measured tone, laying a peculiar emphasis on every word: “One moment more, mademoiselle—one last word in presence of these gentlemen. Answer me! Notwithstanding the heavy charges impending over you, are you still determined to resist my formal commands?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Notwithstanding the scandalous exposure which has just taken place, you still persist in withdrawing yourself from my authority?”
“Yes, madame.”
“You refuse positively to submit to the regular and decent mode of life which I would impose upon you?”
“I have already told you, madame, that I am about to quit this dwelling in order to live alone and after my own fashion.”
“Is that your final decision?”
“It is my last word.”
“Reflect! the matter is serious. Beware!”
“I have given your highness my last word, and I never speak it twice.”
“Gentlemen, you hear all this?” resumed the princess; “I have tried in vain all that was possible to conciliate. Mademoiselle will have only herself to thank for the measures to which this audacious revolt will oblige me to have recourse.”
“Be it so, madame,” replied Adrienne. Then, addressing M. Baleinier, she said quickly to him: “Come, my dear doctor; I am dying with impatience. Let us set out immediately. Every minute lost may occasion bitter tears to an honest family.”
So saying, Adrienne left the room precipitately with the physician. One of the servants called for M. Baleinier’s carriage. Assisted by the doctor, Adrienne mounted the step, without perceiving that he said something in a low whisper to the footman that opened the coach-door.
When, however, he was seated by the side of Mdlle. de Cardoville, and the door was closed upon them, he waited for about a second, and then called out in a loud voice to the coachman: “To the house of the minister, by the private entrance!” The horses started at a gallop.
CHAPTER XLIII. A FALSE FRIEND.
Night had set in dark and cold. The sky, which had been clear till the sun went down, was now covered with gray and lurid clouds; a strong wind raised here and there, in circling eddies, the snow that was beginning to fall thick and fast.
The lamps threw a dubious light into the interior of Dr. Baleinier’s carriage, in which he was seated alone with Adrienne de Cardoville. The charming countenance of the latter, faintly illumined by the lamps beneath the shade of her little gray hat, looked doubly white and pure in contrast with the dark lining of the carriage, which was now filled with that, sweet, delicious, and almost voluptuous perfume which hangs about the garments of young women of taste. The attitude of the girl, seated next to the doctor, was full of grace. Her slight and elegant figure, imprisoned in her high-necked dress of blue cloth, imprinted its wavy outline on the soft cushion against which she leaned; her little feet, crossed one upon the other, and stretched rather forward, rested upon a thick bear-skin, which carpeted the bottom of the carriage. In her hand, which was ungloved and dazzlingly white, she held a magnificently embroidered handkerchief, with which, to the great astonishment of M. Baleinier, she dried her eyes, now filled with tears.
Yes; Adrienne wept, for she now felt the reaction from the painful scenes through which she had passed at Saint-Dizier House; to the feverish and nervous excitement, which had till then sustained her, had succeeded a sorrowful dejection. Resolute in her independence, proud in her disdain, implacable in her irony, audacious in her resistance to unjust oppression, Adrienne was yet endowed with the most acute sensibility, which she always dissembled, however, in the presence of her aunt and those who surrounded her.
Notwithstanding her courage, no one could have been less masculine, less of a virago, than Mdlle. Cardoville. She was essentially womanly, but as a woman, she knew how to exercise great empire over herself, the moment that the least mark of weakness on her part would have rejoiced or emboldened her enemies.
The carriage had rolled onwards for some minutes; but Adrienne, drying her tears in silence, to the doctor’s great astonishment, had not yet uttered a word.
“What, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne?” said M. Baleinier, truly surprised at her emotion; “what! you, that were just now so courageous, weeping?”
“Yes,” answered Adrienne, in an agitated voice; “I weep in presence of a friend; but, before my aunt—oh! never.”
“And yet, in that long interview, your stinging replies—”
“Ah me! do you think that I resigned myself with pleasure to that war of sarcasm? Nothing is more painful to me than such combats of bitter irony, to which I am forced by the necessity of defending myself from this woman and her friends. You speak of my courage: it does not consist, I assure you, in the display of wicked feelings—but in the power to repress and hide all that I suffer, when I hear myself treated so grossly—in the presence, too, of people that I hate and despise—when, after all, I have never done them any harm, and have only asked to be allowed to live alone, freely and quietly, and see those about me happy.”
“That’s where it is: they envy your happiness, and that which you bestow upon others.”
“And it is my aunt,” cried Adrienne, with indignation, “my aunt, whose whole life has been one long scandal that accuses me in this revolting manner!—as if she did not know me proud and honest enough never to make a choice of which I should be ashamed! Oh! if I ever love, I shall proclaim it, I shall be proud of it: for love, as I understand it, is the most glorious feeling in the world. But, alas!” continued Adrienne, with redoubled bitterness, “of what use are truth and honor, if they do not secure you from suspicions, which are as absurd as they are odious?” So saying, she again pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Come, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne,” said M. Baleinier, in a voice full of the softest unction, “becalm—it is all over now. You have in me a devoted friend.” As he pronounced these last words, he blushed in spite of his diabolical craft.
Original
“I know you are my friend,” said Adrienne: “I shall never forget that, by taking my part to-day, you exposed yourself to the resentment of my aunt—for I am not ignorant of her power, which is very great, alas! for evil.”
“As for that,” said the doctor, affecting a profound indifference, “we medical men are pretty safe from personal enmities.”
“Nay, my dear M. Baleinier! Mme. de Saint-Dizier and her friends never forgive,” said the young girl, with a shudder. “It needed all my invincible aversion, my innate horror for all that is base, cowardly, and perfidious, to induce me to break so openly with her. But if death itself were the penalty, I could not hesitate and yet,” she added, with one of those graceful smiles which gave such a charm to her beautiful countenance, “yet I am fond of life: if I have to reproach myself with anything, it is that I would have it too bright, too fair, too harmonious; but then, you know, I am resigned to my faults.”
“Well, come, I am more tranquil,” said the doctor, gayly; “for you smile—that is a good sign.”
“It is often the wisest course; and yet, ought I smile, after the threats that my aunt has held out to me? Still, what can she do? what is the meaning of this kind of family council? Did she seriously think that the advice of a M. D’Aigrigny or a M. Tripeaud could have influenced me? And then she talked of rigorous measures. What measures can she take; do you know?”
“I think, between ourselves, that the princess only wished to frighten you, and hopes to succeed by persuasion. She has the misfortune to fancy herself a mother of the Church, and dreams of your conversion,” said the doctor, maliciously, for he now wished to tranquillize Adrienne at any cost; “but let us think no more about it. Your fire eyes must shine with all their lustre, to fascinate the minister that we are going to see.”
“You are right, dear doctor; we ought always avoid grief, for it has the disadvantage of making us forget the sorrows of others. But here am I, availing myself of your kindness, without even telling you what I require.”
“Luckily, we shall have plenty of time to talk over it, for our statesman lives at some distance.”
“In two words, here’s the mystery,” answered Adrienne. “I told you what reasons I had to interest myself in that honest workman. This morning he came to me in great grief, to inform me that he was compromised by some songs he had written (for he is a poet), and that, though innocent, he was threatened with an arrest; and if they put him into prison, his family, whose sole support he is, would die of hunger. Therefore he came to beg me to procure bail for him, so that he might be left at liberty to work: I promised immediately, thinking of your interest with the minister; for, as they were already in pursuit of the poor lad, I chose to conceal him in my residence, and you know how my aunt has twisted that action. Now tell me, do you think, that, by means of your recommendation, the minister will grant me the freedom of this workman, bail being given for the same?”
“No doubt of it. There will not be the shadow of a difficulty—especially when you have explained the facts to him, with that eloquence of the heart which you possess in perfection.”
“Do you know, my dear Dr. Baleinier, why I have taken the resolution (which is perhaps a strange one) to ask you to accompany me to the minister’s?”
“Why, doubtless, to recommend your friend in a more effective manner.”
“Yes—but also to put an end, by a decisive step, to the calumnies which my aunt will be sure to spread with regard to me, and which she has already, you know, had inserted in the report of the commissary of police. I have preferred to address myself at once, frankly and openly, to a man placed in a high social position. I will explain all to him, who will believe me, because truth has an accent of its own.”
“All this, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne, is wisely planned. You will, as the saw says, kill two birds with one stone—or rather, you will obtain by one act of kindness two acts of justice; you will destroy a dangerous calumny, and restore a worthy youth to liberty.”
“Come,” said Adrienne, laughing, “thanks to this pleasing prospect, my light heart has returned.”
“How true that in life,” said the doctor, philosophically, “everything depends on the point of view.”
Adrienne was so completely ignorant of the forms of a constitutional government, and had so blind a confidence in the doctor, that she did not doubt for an instant what he told her. She therefore resumed with joy: “What happiness it will be! when I go to fetch the daughters of Marshal Simon, to be able to console this workman’s mother, who is now perhaps in a state of cruel anxiety, at not seeing her son return home!”
“Yes, you will have this pleasure,” said M. Baleinier, with a smile; “for we will solicit and intrigue to such purpose, that the good, mother may learn from you the release of her son before she even knows that he has been arrested.”
“How kind, how obliging you are!” said Adrienne. “Really, if the motive were not so serious, I should be ashamed of making you lose so much precious time, my dear M. Baleinier. But I know your heart.”
“I have no other wish, than to prove to you my profound devotion, my sincere attachment,” said the doctor inhaling a pinch of snuff. But at the same time, he cast an uneasy glance through the window, for the carriage was just crossing the Place de l’Odeon, and in spite of the snow, he could see the front of the Odeon theatre brilliantly illuminated. Now Adrienne, who had just turned her head towards that side, might perhaps be astonished at the singular road they were taking.
In order to draw off her attention by a skillful diversion, the doctor exclaimed suddenly: “Bless me! I had almost forgotten.”
“What is the matter, M. Baleinier?” said Adrienne, turning hastily towards him.
“I had forgotten a thing of the highest importance, in regard to the success of our petition.”
“What is it, please?” asked the young girl, anxiously.
M. Baleinier gave a cunning smile. “Every man,” said he, “has his weakness—ministers even more than others. The one we are going to visit has the folly to attach the utmost importance to his title, and the first impression would be unfavorable, if you did not lay great stress on the Minister.”
“Is that all, my dear M. Baleinier?” said Adrienne, smiling in her turn. “I will even go so far as Your Excellency, which is, I believe, one of his adopted titles.”
“Not now—but that is no matter; if you could even slide in a My Lord or two, our business would be done at once.”
“Be satisfied! since there are upstart ministers as well as City-turned gentlemen, I will remember Moliere’s M. Jourdain, and feed full the gluttonous vanity of your friend.”
“I give him up to you, for I know he will be in good hands,” replied the physician, who rejoiced to see that the carriage had now entered those dark streets which lead from the Place de l’Odeon to the Pantheon district; “I do not wish to find fault with the minister for being proud, since his pride may be of service to us on this occasion.”
“These petty devices are innocent enough,” said Mdlle. de Cardoville, “and I confess that I do not scruple to have recourse to them.” Then, leaning towards the door-sash, she added: “Gracious! how sad and dark are these streets. What wind! what snow! In which quarter are we?”
“What! are you so ungrateful, that you do not recognize by the absence of shops, your dear quarter of the Faubourg Saint Germain?”
“I imagine we had quitted it long ago.”
“I thought so too,” said the physician, leaning forward as if to ascertain where they were, “but we are still there. My poor coachman, blinded by the snow, which is beating against his face, must have gone wrong just now—but we are all right again. Yes, I perceive we are in the Rue Saint Guillaume—not the gayest of streets by the way—but, in ten minutes, we shall arrive at the minister’s private entrance, for intimate friends like myself enjoy the privilege of escaping the honors of a grand reception.”
Mdlle. de Cardoville, like most carriage-people, was so little acquainted with certain streets of Paris, as well as with the customs of men in office, that she did not doubt for a moment the statements of Baleinier, in whom she reposed the utmost confidence.
When they left the Saint-Dizier House, the doctor had upon his lips a question which he hesitated to put, for fear of endangering himself in the eyes of Adrienne. The latter had spoken of important interests, the existence of which had been concealed from her. The doctor, who was an acute and skillful observer, had quite clearly remarked the embarrassment and anxiety of the princess and D’Aigrigny. He no longer doubted, that the plot directed against Adrienne—one in which he was the blind agent, in submission to the will of the Order—related to interests which had been concealed from him, and which, for that very reason, he burned to discover; for every member of the dark conspiracy to which he belonged had necessarily acquired the odious vices inherent to spies and informers—envy, suspicion, and jealous curiosity.
It is easy to understand, therefore, that Dr. Baleinier, though quite determined to serve the projects of D’Aigrigny, was yet very anxious to learn what had been kept from him. Conquering his irresolution, and finding the opportunity favorable, and no time to be lost, he said to Adrienne, after a moment’s silence: “I am going perhaps to ask you a very indiscreet question. If you think it such, pray do not answer.”
“Nay—go on, I entreat you.”
“Just now—a few minutes before the arrival of the commissary of police was announced to your aunt—you spoke, I think, of some great interests, which had hitherto been concealed from you.”
“Yes, I did so.”
“These words,” continued M. Baleinier, speaking slowly and emphatically, “appeared to make a deep impression on the princess.”
“An impression so deep,” said Adrienne, “that sundry suspicions of mine were changed to certainty.”
“I need not tell you, my charming friend,” resumed M. Baleinier, in a bland tone, “that if I remind you of this circumstance, it is only to offer you my services, in case they should be required. If not—and there is the shadow of impropriety in letting me know more—forget that I have said a word.”
Adrienne became serious and pensive, and, after a silence of some moments, she thus answered Dr. Baleinier: “On this subject, there are some things that I do not know—others that I may tell you—others again that I must keep from you: but you are so kind to-day, that I am happy to be able to give you a new mark of confidence.”
“Then I wish to know nothing,” said the doctor, with an air of humble deprecation, “for I should have the appearance of accepting a kind of reward; whilst I am paid a thousand times over, by the pleasure I feel in serving you.”
“Listen,” said Adrienne, without attending to the delicate scruples of Dr. Baleinier; “I have powerful reasons for believing that an immense inheritance must, at no very distant period, be divided between the members of my family, all of whom I do not know—for, after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, those from whom we are descended were dispersed in foreign countries, and experienced a great variety of fortunes.”
“Really!” cried the doctor, becoming extremely interested. “Where is this inheritance, in whose hands?”
“I do not know.”
“Now how will you assert your rights?”
“That I shall learn soon.”
“Who will inform you of it?”
“That I may not tell you.”
“But how did you find out the existence of this inheritance?”
“That also I may not tell you,” returned Adrienne, in a soft and melancholy tone, which remarkably contrasted with the habitual vivacity of her conversation. “It is a secret—a strange secret—and in those moments of excitement, in which you have sometimes surprised me, I have been thinking of extraordinary circumstances connected with this secret, which awakened within me lofty and magnificent ideas.”
Adrienne paused and was silent, absorbed in her own reflections. Baleinier did not seek to disturb her. In the first place, Mdlle. de Cardoville did not perceive the direction the coach was taking; secondly, the doctor was not sorry to ponder over what he had just heard. With his usual perspicuity, he saw that the Abbe d’Aigrigny was concerned in this inheritance, and he resolved instantly to make a secret report on the subject; either M. d’Aigrigny was acting under the instructions of the Order, or by his own impulse; in the one event, the report of the doctor would confirm a fact; in the other, it would reveal one.
For some time, therefore, the lady and Dr. Baleinier remained perfectly silent, no longer even disturbed by the noise of the wheels, for the carriage now rolled over a thick carpet of snow, and the streets had become more and more deserted. Notwithstanding his crafty treachery, notwithstanding his audacity and the blindness of his dupe, the doctor was not quite tranquil as to the result of his machinations. The critical moment approached, and the least suspicion roused in the mind of Adrienne by any inadvertence on his part, might ruin all his projects.
Adrienne, already fatigued by the painful emotions of the day, shuddered from time to time, as the cold became more and more piercing; in her haste to accompany Dr. Baleinier, she had neglected to take either shawl or mantle.
For some minutes the coach had followed the line of a very high wall, which, seen through the snow, looked white against a black sky. The silence was deep and mournful. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and the footman went to knock at a large gateway; he first gave two rapid knocks, and then one other at a long interval. Adrienne did not notice the circumstance, for the noise was not loud, and the doctor had immediately begun to speak, to drown with his voice this species of signal.
“Here we are at last,” said he gayly to Adrienne; “you must be very winning—that is, you must be yourself.”
“Be sure I will do my best,” replied Adrienne, with a smile; then she added, shivering in spite of herself: “How dreadfully cold it is! I must confess, my dear Dr. Baleinier, that when I have been to fetch my poor little relations from the house of our workman’s mother, I shall be truly glad to find myself once more in the warmth and light of my own cheerful rooms, for you know my aversion to cold and darkness.”
“It is quite natural,” said the doctor, gallantly; “the most charming flowers require the most light and heat.”
Whilst the doctor and Mdlle. de Cardoville exchanged these few words, a heavy gate had turned creaking upon its hinges, and the carriage had entered a court-yard. The physician got down first, to offer his arm to Adrienne.