“Monsieur de Monfréville’s away; he’ll probably come back to-morrow or next day; if anybody wants to wait for him, he told me to offer his room to any of his friends who might come to see him.”
Louise was in despair; she looked at Daréna and murmured:
“The gentleman is away; what shall I do?”
“In the first place, my child, you must go upstairs and rest,” said Daréna; “then we will see, we will consider. Come, follow me without fear; in Monfréville’s house, I act as if I were at home.”
Louise went upstairs with Daréna, who, to dispel every shadow of fear from her mind, made a show of treating her with the greatest respect, and kept always at a considerable distance from her. She was rather surprised that the person to whom Madame de Noirmont had sent her should occupy a house of such humble appearance, and so modestly furnished; but she had not told her that he was rich, she had simply said that he could tell her who her father was, and that was why she was so eager to see him.
“My lovely maid,” said Daréna, after a moment, “you know no one in Paris—except Chérubin; and you do not wish to go to him to ask for shelter, I presume?”
“Oh! no, monsieur!”
“To return to Gagny and then come here again would be a waste of time; besides, if you travel alone, you expose yourself to a thousand encounters that are most annoying to a young lady. It seems to me, therefore, that the best thing for you to do, in view of your position, is to wait here until Monfréville returns.”
“Here, monsieur! alone in this house, with nobody but the little boy I saw downstairs,” replied Louise, with a shudder of dismay; “oh! I should not dare.”
“Alone, my child? no, indeed. If that were the case I would not make the suggestion; but there is a concierge here, Monfréville’s confidential servant, a most respectable person. That little fellow is her nephew; she probably is not far away, and he is watching the house during her absence.”
“Oh! that is a very different matter! If there is a respectable woman here, and she is willing to look after me until Monsieur de Monfréville returns——”
“Wait; I will go down and see what has become of her.”
Daréna hurried downstairs and said to Poterne:
“You will send this little rascal away instantly and find a woman between forty and sixty years of age, who has a face that is somewhere near respectable; that will give the girl confidence, and she will stay here. I am not sorry to get rid of Monsieur Bruno anyway, after he admitted so readily those people who ruined our last affair.”
“A respectable woman,” said Poterne—”I don’t know any such. How in the devil do you expect me to find anything of the kind at La Courtille?”
“Where you choose—nonsense—a dealer in old clothes—a fortune-teller—a charwoman—and teach her her lesson.”
Daréna returned to keep Louise company and told her that the concierge had gone to the central market, because there was no market in that quarter, but that she would soon return.
Meanwhile Poterne began by discharging Monsieur Bruno, who was much displeased to be turned out-of-doors, and who ventured to indulge in some far from respectful gestures as he withdrew. But Poterne did not amuse himself watching Bruno’s antics; he went about to the neighboring wine-shops, and from house to house, inquiring for what he wanted. At last, after two hours search, he found it. He returned to the house with a woman of about fifty years, tall as a grenadier, with a cap on her head which certainly had not been washed for a year, and a dress the color of which was no longer distinguishable; a pimply face, blear-eyes and a nose smeared with snuff completed her portrait.
“This is Madame Ratouille, Monsieur de Monfréville’s confidential servant,” said Poterne, presenting his companion.
Madame Ratouille, to whom Poterne had given careful instructions, curtsied very low to Daréna and greeted Louise most affably, assuring her that the house was at her disposal, and that her master, Monsieur de Monfréville, would approve of her having urged the young lady to wait for him. Madame Ratouille, being extremely loquacious and anxious to play her part well, because she had been promised six francs a day and all that she wanted to eat, lost herself in a sea of words intended to prove to Louise that she would be out of reach of insult in that house. The girl, feeling certain that Madame de Noirmont could not have sent her to any but respectable persons, thanked Madame Ratouille warmly, and consented to await Monsieur de Monfréville’s return under her care.
Daréna passed some time with Louise; Poterne seized the opportunity to show the new concierge over the house, where she was supposed to have lived for a long while. He urged her not to talk too much, for fear of making some slip, and above all things not to allow anyone to have access to the girl who was placed in her charge; then he went away with Daréna, who bade Louise adieu, informing her that he would come the next day to find out whether his friend Monfréville had returned, and whether she had everything that she needed.
When they had left the house, Poterne said:
“This girl has fallen into our hands to make up to us for the Polish intrigue. She is a fascinating creature! It is impossible that young Chérubin should not adore her; indeed, you have often told me how much he used to talk about his little playmate—a proof that he hasn’t forgotten her, as she thinks; but we mustn’t let him have her except for her weight in gold.”
Daréna made no reply; he seemed to be thinking deeply, and Poterne did not dare to disturb him; he proposed to have the management of the affair in his own hand.
The next day Daréna made a careful toilet and went with Poterne to the little house. While he talked with Louise, Poterne remained below, talking with Madame Ratouille, who assured him that the girl had not had a moment of ennui as she had played cards with her all day.
Daréna remained with Louise until nightfall; when he went away with Poterne, he was as silent as on the day before.
The following day passed in the same way; but Poterne observed that his dear friend was becoming more and more coquettish in his attire. Madame Ratouille continued to play cards with Louise, who thought that Monsieur de Monfréville was very slow about returning. But Daréna said to her every day:
“Be patient; he must return at last, and as you have waited for him so long, it would be absurd to go away just at the moment of his return.”
But Louise was beginning to be disturbed; it seemed to her that the gentleman who came every day to keep her company, no longer addressed her with the same respect or kept so far away from her; she considered that he gazed at her too often and too long; and she had observed some things in Madame Ratouille’s manners and speech which materially diminished her confidence in that woman.
On the sixth day, when they left the house, where they had remained later than usual, Poterne, surprised to find that affairs were still at the same point, said to his companion:
“I say! what’s your plan? When shall you see the young marquis? What fairy tale do you propose to tell him on the subject of the girl?”
Daréna puffed himself up and replied in a fatuous tone:
“I have changed my mind! This girl is decidedly too pretty to turn over to another man; she pleases me. I had forgotten what love was, and she has revived that sentiment in my dilapidated heart! Louise shall be my mistress; and then, later, when I am tired of her, we will see.”
“That’s a fine idea!” cried Poterne. “Is that the way you hope to earn money? Fall in love—you! why it’s pitiful! just because you have a few gold pieces in hand, and because you have been lucky at play these last few days. But it will soon be spent; and if you miss this opportunity——”
“Poterne, if you don’t stop annoying me, I’ll break this stick over your back! I mean to possess that child; perhaps it is only a whim, but it suits me to gratify it. She’s a little jewel, is this Louise, not a false one, like the one you sold to Chérubin. To-morrow, you will order a delectable repast, with wines which you will be kind enough not to purchase at La Courtille; you will order it sent to my villa near Barrière de la Chopinette; I will dine with Louise, and I will sleep there. As to you, if Madame Ratouille tempts you, I turn her over to you.”
“Sapristi! I should prefer five years at Toulon!”
“You heard me, Poterne: a dainty feast at the little house to-morrow.”
“And you think that this young Louise will consent to——”
“Why not, when I have induced her to drink a few glasses of champagne? And if she doesn’t consent, why, I will do without her permission. For six days now I have been darting burning glances at her, and if she hasn’t understood them, so much the worse for her! it isn’t my fault, and I have no desire to take it out in sighs.”
“Well,” thought Poterne, as he followed Daréna, “he has taken it into his head, and anything that I could say would do no good.”
While all this was taking place, Chérubin and Monfréville were searching Paris, making inquiries, asking in all directions if anything had been seen of a young woman, of whom they gave an exact description. All of Chérubin’s servants too had taken the field; Monsieur Gérondif started out as soon as he had breakfasted and did not return until dinner-time, swearing that he had travelled twelve leagues during the day in search of Louise. Jasmin had gone to Gagny to inquire whether by any chance Louise had returned there; but the girl had not been seen, and Nicole, when she learned that the whereabouts of her adopted child were unknown, shed tears, cursed the tutor, who was responsible for Louise’s going to Paris, and swore that she would find him and beat him if her child was not found.
Two days passed and no trace of her had been discovered; toward the end of the third day, Chérubin had just left Monfréville, to return home, in despair over the non-success of his search, when, as he crossed the Pont Neuf, his eyes happened to fall on a small boy, leading an ugly dog, which he offered for sale to the passers-by.
The young dog fancier’s face bore altogether too noticeable an expression of craft and mischief not to attract the attention of a person who had seen it before. Chérubin instantly recognized the little scamp who was watching the house to which Daréna had taken the so-called Comtesse de Globeska; and, without any very clear idea in what way that encounter might be of service to him, he walked toward Monsieur Bruno, who recognized him and seemed delighted to see him.
“Ah! it’s you, is it, monsieur? I recognize you!” said Bruno, staring impudently at the young man; “you’re the man they tried to gull with a German woman who made believe she was a Pole! Don’t you want to buy my dog? It’s a terrier; he’ll bring things back better’n I do, for I never bring anything back at all. Six francs! that’s not a high price. I found him yesterday and I’m selling him to-day; we’re both hungry, and that’s why I’ll let you have him so cheap.”
“Ah! so you sell dogs now, eh?” said Chérubin.
“Well! I’ve got to do something, as those fellows turned me out-of-doors. You know who I mean—your friend that’s such a bully, and that old thief of a Poterne. You see they’ve taken another girl to the little house yonder, but she’s a very different kind from the Alsatian; she’s a mighty sight prettier.”
A sudden thought flashed through Chérubin’s mind; he led Bruno aside, put twenty francs in his hand, and said to him:
“Here, that’s for you; and ten times as much more if you will help me to find the woman I am looking for.”
“Twenty francs! My eyes! what luck! I never had so much money at once. The dog’s yours.”
“Now answer my questions. Daréna and Poterne, you say, have taken a young girl to the house outside the barrier?”
“Yes, in a carriage, an old cab.”
“How long since? do you know?”
“Pardi, yes! I was there when they brought her. It was—let me see—a week ago to-day.”
“A week—and we have been looking for her three days; oh! it must be she! Is this young lady pretty?”
“Lovely, and she don’t look like a country wench like the other. They made her believe that she was at a Monsieur de Monfréville’s house; then that old vagabond of a Poterne went off and found, I don’t know where, an old woman to play concierge; and they kicked me out.”
“Did they call her by name before you?”
“Wait a minute—I remember now that, when they arrived, Monsieur Daréna said, as he brought the girl into the house:
“‘This is my friend Marquis Chérubin’s foster-sister.’”
“It is she! Ah! the villains! I’ll make them give her back to me! Poor Louise! in that infamous Daréna’s hands for a week! God grant that I may arrive in time!”
“Take me with you. If you appear at the door, they won’t let you in.”
“I’ll break the door down.”
“Oh! it’s too strong; but I promise you that I’ll find a way to make them open it.”
“Come, then, come; I will double the reward I promised you, if Louise is under my protection soon.”
“Ah! a fine trick! They’ll kick me out, will they? Thanks! I guess I’ll have a little revenge.—Go on, Boudin, I give you your liberty—go find a dinner.”
Bruno released his dog. Chérubin hesitated a moment, uncertain whether he should inform Monfréville of his discovery; but every instant’s delay made him more and more fearful that Louise would fall a victim to some plot, and he felt that he had sufficient resolution and courage to rescue her, single-handed, from the dangers that threatened her. He took a cab with Bruno, and was driven first to his house, which was not far away; he took a pair of pistols, determined to make use of them, if necessary to rescue Louise; then, without a word to any of his people, he returned to the cab, which conveyed him and Bruno to Barrière de la Chopinette.
It was dark when they reached the outer boulevard. Chérubin quivered with impatience, rage, and fear of not finding Louise. Little Bruno, who thought of everything, said to him:
“Have the cab stop before we’re very near the house. If they should hear it, it would put them on their guard.”
Chérubin realized the wisdom of that advice; he alighted with Bruno, ordered the driver to wait for him, and walked toward the house with his little companion. The shutters were closed on the ground floor and first floor; but through the poorly joined boards it was easy to see that there were lights on both floors.
“There’s somebody there!” said Chérubin, his heart beating violently.
“Yes. Now is when we need to be cunning, in order to get in. Wait, and don’t breathe. Have your pistols all ready to frighten them when the door is open. You’ll see how I pull the wool over their eyes.”
And Bruno knocked on the door, beginning at the same time to whistle and hum his favorite tune: Tu tu tu tu r’lu tu tu tu.
Poterne was at table with Madame Ratouille, on the ground floor; Daréna had gone upstairs, where he had ordered Louise’s dinner to be served, announcing his purpose to dine with her. He had just declared his love to Louise, who, terrified and trembling, began to understand that she had fallen into a trap, and implored heaven to come to her aid.
On the ground floor, where there was no talk of love, they ate much and drank even more. Madame Ratouille’s eyes had grown so small that they were invisible, and Monsieur Poterne’s tongue was beginning to thicken, when Bruno knocked on the door.
For some time no one answered; at last Poterne’s voice inquired:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Père Poterne; it’s your little monkey, Bruno; please let me in.”
“What do you want, you scalawag? what have you come here for? We are not in need of you. Away you go!”
“I came to get a Greek cap that I forgot to take; I’m sure I can find it, for I know just where I put it. Let me get my cap and I’ll go right away.”
“You annoy us. Go somewhere else and get a cap. Leave us in peace.”
“If you don’t let me get my cap, which is in your house, I’ll knock on the door all night, and I’ll make row enough to bring the watch here.”
That threat convinced Poterne; he opened the door, grumbling:
“Well, come in and find your Greek cap; and make haste to clear out.”
But instead of the small boy whom he expected to see, Chérubin darted into the house, with a pistol in his hand, the barrel of which he held against Poterne’s chest, saying in a low voice, but with fire flashing from his eyes:
“If you make a sound, I’ll kill you!—Where is Louise?”
Poterne was so frightened that he could barely murmur:
“Upstairs—with Daréna.”
Chérubin asked no more questions; he darted forward, rushed upstairs, and with a kick forced the door of the apartment on the first floor. He was no longer the weak, timid young man, who could neither speak nor act, but a Hercules whom nothing could withstand. As he entered the room he saw Louise struggling and doing her utmost to repel Daréna, who was trying to take her in his arms. Chérubin rushed upon the man who sought to outrage Louise, and seizing him about the middle of the body, lifted him up and threw him violently across the room, against the table on which the dinner was served.
Daréna had no time to grasp what had happened, or to defend himself; his head struck the corner of the table, his chin broke a plate which cut his face, and he fell, murmuring Chérubin’s name.
“Chérubin!” cried Louise, staring at her rescuer, afraid to believe her eyes, but shedding tears of joy. “Is it possible? It is he! it is you!”
“Yes, Louise, it is I, Chérubin, your friend, your brother—so overjoyed to find you! But come, come! Do not stay any longer in this infamous house! As for you, villain, if there is any heart left in your body, and if you wish to have the honor of dying by my hand, come to my house, and you will find that the young man whom you believed to be so shy and timid, knows how to use a sword and a pistol.”
Daréna could not reply, for he was unconscious.
Chérubin took Louise’s hand and led her away; on the lower floor they found Madame Ratouille still at table, while Poterne was trying to hide in a butter firkin, and Bruno stood guard at the door. Chérubin did not stay an instant with Daréna’s confederate; he led Louise from the house, and told Bruno to call the cab to the door; he did so, and they entered. But, before they drove away, Chérubin took a handful of gold pieces from his pocket and gave them to Bruno, saying:
“Take this; you have earned it by doing a good deed; I hope that it will bring you luck, and that you will try to become an honest man.”
The cab drove off. Chérubin held both of Louise’s hands in his; and for some time those two, who had not met for three years, were so pleased and happy to be together again, their hearts were so full, their emotion so intense, that they could exchange only incoherent words and broken sentences.
“It is really you, Chérubin, who saved me,” said Louise. “So you did still think of me?”
“Why, Louise, I have been searching Paris for three days, looking everywhere for you, ever since I learned that you had disappeared from Madame de Noirmont’s. I have not lived, I have not had a moment’s peace of mind!”
“Can it be true? Then you still love me, Chérubin?”
“Love you, my Louise! Ah! more than I ever did—I realize it now! I let a long while go by without going to see you, it is true; you must have thought me indifferent or ungrateful; but I always intended to go to see you, if Monsieur Gérondif had not told me that you were in Bretagne, where you were so happy that you did not mean to return to Gagny.”
“Oh! the liar! And it was he who drove me to despair by telling me that you never gave a thought to your old playmate, that you had no desire to see her again.”
“The miserable villain! why, that was perfectly horrible!”
“And it was not true, and you do still love your poor Louise? Oh! how happy I am!”
This time the drive from the barrier to his house seemed very short to Chérubin. He alighted, led Louise into the house, and took her up to his own apartment. She followed him trustfully; she was with the man she loved—that was the only thought in her mind.
Jasmin, who had come up to his master’s apartment with a light, uttered a cry of joy when he saw the girl, and Chérubin briefly explained to him how he had found her.
“So it was that blackguard Poterne again—the preserved turnips fellow!” cried Jasmin; “and his master—another rascal! Do you know, monsieur, it has occurred to me several times that they were mixed up in this.”
“Louise will remain here. I do not propose that she shall leave me,” said Chérubin; “I am too much afraid of losing her again. She will have apartments in this house; but meanwhile she will occupy mine to-night. Jasmin, you will have a room prepared for me upstairs.”
“Yes, my dear master.”
Louise tried to object to that arrangement; she disliked to disturb Chérubin and said that the smallest room in the house would suffice for her; but Chérubin paid no heed to her, and Jasmin went to carry out his orders.
The young people were left alone. It seemed that Chérubin would never tire of gazing in admiration at Louise. She was so lovely, so charming, so fascinating, in his eyes, that he cried:
“And I forgot you for all those creatures that I thought that I loved. Ah! Louise, there is not a single one of them who can be compared with you!”
The girl told her friend all that she had done since she left the village; she concealed from him none of her thoughts; she had no secrets from him. When she reached the time of her entering Madame de Noirmont’s service, she told him of all the incidents that had marked her life there; then, suddenly putting her hand to her breast, she made sure that she still had the letter which she was to deliver to Monsieur de Monfréville, and which Daréna was trying to make her give up to him when Chérubin arrived so opportunely to rescue her.
“I will take you to Monfréville to-morrow,” said Chérubin, “for it is too late to-night to send for him to come here. Madame de Noirmont told you that he would tell you who your father is; but, my dear Louise, let us swear that, whatever happens, we will never part again. If you have no parents, I will take the place of them both; I will be your protector, your friend, your——”
Chérubin did not know how to finish, but he took Louise’s hand and covered it with kisses. The girl was so happy to find that her old playmate still loved her, that she gladly took the oath that he requested. They did not weary of telling each other of their love, and of swearing that they would love each other always. Then they recalled their childish delights, their first games, the happy moments that they had passed together, those days, so brief and so blissful, which they might perhaps know again.
To two people who love each other sincerely and who have not seen each other for a long time, the hours pass rapidly and unnoticed. Jasmin had long since come to inform his master that a room had been prepared on the upper floor, and Chérubin had dismissed him, making ready at the same time to follow him. But he resumed his conversation with Louise, he let his eyes rest in unalloyed delight upon hers, which were filled with emotion and love. They exchanged more oaths of never-ending love and thought no more about parting.
Suddenly a neighboring clock struck two.
“Mon Dieu! it is very late!” said Louise; “two o’clock! I would not have believed it! My dear, I am keeping you from sleeping; we must say good-night, but only till to-morrow.”
“Very well,” said Chérubin, “I will leave you to sleep, Louise. Good-night—since it must be.”
And the young man gazed lovingly at the girl—and did not go away. At last he added with some embarrassment:
“Louise, before we part, won’t you let me kiss you? I have not dared to do it since I found you; and yet, in the village, we used to kiss very often.”
The girl saw no reason why she should deny the friend of her childhood the sweet privilege which she used to accord him, and her only reply was to walk toward him. Chérubin threw his arms about her and pressed her to his heart; but his kiss was no longer the kiss of a child. Louise realized her imprudence too late; how can one shun a danger which one does not anticipate? And then there are sins which it is so pleasant to commit, and Chérubin swore so earnestly that he would always love her!—He had ceased to be bashful!
Daybreak found Chérubin still in Louise’s arms; the apartment made ready on the floor above had not been required. But when morning came, the young man crept softly upstairs, so that his servants might think that he had passed the night there. About nine o’clock he rang for Jasmin and bade him go down and see if Mademoiselle Louise had risen and could receive him.
The old servant eagerly performed his errand and returned with a radiant face to inform his young master that his dear friend had risen, that she was as lovely and fresh as a rose, and that anyone could see that she had slept soundly all night.
Chérubin smiled at Jasmin’s perspicacity, and went down at once to Louise.
The girl wept and hid her face on her lover’s breast; but Chérubin said to her in the tone which speaks true love and which reaches a woman’s heart so quickly:
“Why should you regret having made me happy, when I propose to employ my whole life hereafter to make you happy? We will never part, you will be my faithful companion, my beloved wife.”
“No,” replied Louise, weeping, “you are rich and of noble birth, and you cannot marry a poor girl without father or mother. I shall love you as long as I live, but I cannot be your wife; for perhaps a day would come when you would be sorry that you had given me that title, and then I should be too wretched.”
“Never! and it is very wicked of you to have any such idea!—But there’s the letter that you are to deliver to Monfréville—that should inform you who your parents are. I will throw myself at their feet, and they will have to consent to my becoming your husband.”
Louise sighed and hung her head.
“But am I worthy now to find my parents?” she replied. “It seems to me that I no longer dare to deliver the letter to that gentleman; perhaps I should do better to destroy it.”
Chérubin succeeded in allaying her fears; he decided to write to his friend and to send him the letter that the young woman dared not carry to him. So he at once wrote Monfréville the following letter:
“My dear friend:
“I have found my Louise; she is an angel who will embellish my life. She cannot be another’s now, for she is mine. O my dear Monfréville, I am the happiest of men, and I was not frightened this time. But then, I have never loved other women, and I adore this one.
“Madame de Noirmont gave my Louise a letter for you, and told her that you could tell her who her father was; and it was while she was looking for your house that she fell in with that villainous Daréna, who took her to his petite maison, making her think that she was in your house. Luckily, I arrived in time! I send you this letter, my friend; come to us quickly, and tell us what you know. But if Louise’s parents would try to part us, do not make them known to her; for henceforth we cannot exist without each other.”
Chérubin signed this letter, enclosed with it the one that was given to Louise, and sent them both to his friend early in the morning.
Monfréville was alone when Chérubin’s letter was brought to him, and he lost no time in reading it. When he saw Madame de Noirmont’s name and learned what she had said to Louise, he trembled and turned pale, and his eyes instantly rested on the enclosure; he glanced at the superscription and exclaimed:
“Yes, she has written to me; I recognize that writing, although it is a long while since my eyes last rested on it. Great God! what can have induced her to write to me, after swearing that she would never look upon me except as a stranger, that she would wipe the whole past from her memory? And this girl that she sent to me—Ah! if I dared to hope!”
Monfréville broke the seal of Madame de Noirmont’s letter. Before reading it, he was obliged to pause again, for he was so excited that his eyes had difficulty in distinguishing the letters. At last he made an effort to recover himself, and read:
“Monsieur:
“When, disregarding your oaths, you left me to lament by my child’s cradle a fault which you made no motion to repair, I swore that you should never know that child. And more than that, I confess that I included her in the hatred which filled my heart thenceforth for my seducer; I abandoned my child to the village people in whose care I had placed her, and I determined never to see her again. Later, my position made it my duty to keep that oath. My father, who, thank heaven, never knew of his daughter’s wrongdoing, disposed of my hand; married, a mother, and the wife of a man no less severe on the question of honor than jealous of his reputation, I should have wrecked my daughter’s happiness, Monsieur de Noirmont’s, and my own, if, by a single imprudent step, I had exposed myself to the suspicion of a youthful indiscretion. To tell you that I was happy would be to deceive you; can a mother be happy, when she has spurned one of her children from her arms? I often blamed myself for the caresses that I gave my daughter; for I said to myself, in the depths of my heart, that I had another daughter who had an equal claim to my affection, and that I had cast her out!—My remorse was not sufficient, evidently, and Heaven had a more terrible punishment in store for me! A few months ago, while I was out of town, a young woman was taken into my household as lady’s maid. Her sweet disposition, the charm that emanated from her whole person, soon won all hearts. I myself felt drawn toward her. But conceive my situation when I discovered that that girl, brought up in the village of Gagny, by the good-nature of a peasant-woman named Nicole, was the same child whom I had abandoned to that woman’s tender mercies years ago! My daughter under my roof in a servile capacity! a servant in her mother’s house! Ah! monsieur, could I endure that ghastly position of affairs? Constantly tempted to throw myself into Louise’s arms, to strain her to my heart; then, remembering my husband, my other daughter, the honor of a whole family—I felt that I must find a way out of that situation or die. At last I went to Louise; I could not force myself to confess that I was her mother, but I implored her to leave the house, and the poor child yielded to my entreaties. But, deeply touched by the attachment to me which she has manifested, I have determined to give her a father. That child, whom, on your return to France, you vainly implored me to make known to you, is Louise, the lovely and virtuous maid who will hand you this letter. Give her a father, monsieur; as for her mother, you must not mention her name to her, but her heart will doubtless lead her to divine who she is.
“AMELIE DE NOIRMONT.”
When he had finished reading this letter, Monfréville abandoned himself to the wildest delight; he ran his eyes over Madame de Noirmont’s missive again, for he feared that he was the plaything of a delusion; he was too happy to think that Louise, whose beauty and virtue and sweet temper everyone joined in extolling, was the daughter whom he was ardently desirous to find. But soon he recalled something that moderated the exuberance of his joy; he remembered Chérubin’s letter, took it up and read it again, and a melancholy expression stole over his face.
“Heaven did not choose that my happiness should be without alloy,” he murmured, with a sigh; “doubtless it is to make me expiate my sin; but after being so guilty myself, there is nothing left for me to do but to forgive.”
Louise and Chérubin were still together; they were impatiently awaiting Monfréville’s arrival, and their impatience was blended with a secret fear which they could not clearly define.
At last, Jasmin announced: “Monsieur de Monfréville.”
Louise, deeply agitated, lowered her eyes; Chérubin ran to meet his friend, but stopped short when he saw his serious, even stern, expression, and faltered, offering him his hand:
“Haven’t you received my letter, my friend?”
Monfréville did not touch the hand that Chérubin offered him; he turned his eyes on the girl who stood, trembling, at the farther end of the room; and, as he gazed at her, he felt that his eyes filled with tears. But, struggling to conceal the emotion that he felt, he seated himself a few steps from Louise, who still kept her eyes on the floor, and motioned Chérubin to sit, saying:
“Yes, I have received your letter; and I have read the one from Madame de Noirmont, who tells me that mademoiselle was adopted by the same good woman who nursed you.”
“Well, my friend, is it true that you know Louise’s father, that you can help her to find him? But do you think he will make her happy, that he will not put any obstacles in the way of our love?”
Monfréville glanced at the girl again and said in a faltering voice:
“Yes, I know mademoiselle’s father.”
Louise raised her eyes at that, and looked at Monfréville with a thrill of hope and of filial affection, crying:
“You know my father? Oh! if it should be true, monsieur, that he would deign to love me—to——”
She could not finish the sentence; her voice trembled and the words died on her lips.
“Before answering your questions,” Monfréville continued, after a moment, “it is necessary that I should tell you an anecdote of my youth. Please give me your attention.—I was just twenty-two years old; I was independently rich, absolutely master of my actions and with very little control over my passions. I loved a young lady belonging to an honorable family. She had no mother to watch over her, and during her father’s absence, my love succeeded in triumphing over her virtue. Believe me, it is very wrong to abuse a sentiment you have aroused, in order to induce the person you love to forget her duties; and it rarely happens that one is not punished for it!”
Here Chérubin lost countenance and dared not look at Monfréville, while Louise, pale and trembling, felt the tears falling from her eyes.
“Soon after,” continued Monfréville, “being obliged to visit England on business, I went away, promising the victim of my seduction that I would soon return to ask her father for her hand. But when I was away from her, inconstancy, too natural in a young man, led me to forget my promise. But I received a letter in which she told me that she was about to become a mother, and that I must hasten back to her, if I wished to save her honor and repair the wrong I had done. Well! I left that letter unanswered; I had another intrigue on hand! Two years passed. I returned to France, and, remembering the woman whom I had abandoned in such dastardly fashion, and the child who did not know its father, I resolved to offer my name and my hand to her to whom my conduct had been so blameworthy. But it was too late—she was married! As she was married to a man of honorable position, I felt sure that she had succeeded in concealing her weakness from all eyes; but I was wild to know what had become of my child. After many fruitless attempts, I succeeded at last in obtaining a secret interview with the woman who had loved me so well; but I found only an embittered, implacable woman, who, to all my entreaties, made no other answer than this: ‘You abandoned me when I implored you to come home and make me your wife and give your child a father. I no longer know you! I desire to forget a sin for which I blush; and, as for your daughter, all your prayers will be wasted, you shall never know what has become of her.’ This decree, pronounced by an outraged woman, was only too strictly executed. Sixteen years passed. I renewed my prayers at intervals, but in vain: they were left unanswered. And now, Chérubin, you know the cause of the fits of melancholy which sometimes assailed me in the gayest circles; of that instability of temper for which I am noted; sometimes, amid the noisy amusements of society, the thought of my child would come to my mind, and the wealth that people envied, the good-fortune that I seemed to enjoy—ah! I would willingly have sacrificed them to hold my daughter in my arms just once! But to-day my desires are granted; to-day, a friend of her whom I once loved so dearly, has deigned to restore my child to me at last! But O my God! when I should be so happy to recover her, must I needs learn at the same time that she is guilty? that seduction, which wrecked her mother’s happiness, is the lot of my child also?”
Monfréville had not finished when Louise and Chérubin threw themselves at his feet. With their faces bathed in tears, they kissed his knees, and Louise held out her arms, murmuring tremulously:
“Forgive me, father—forgive us! Alas! I did not know my parents, and Chérubin was everything to me!”
Monfréville opened his arms and the lovers threw themselves upon his heart.
“Yes,” he said, as he embraced them, “yes, I must forgive you, for henceforth I shall have two children instead of one.”
Some time after that day which restored a father to Louise, Monsieur de Monfréville, who had publicly acknowledged her as his daughter, bestowed her hand on Marquis Chérubin de Grandvilain.
And on the wedding-day, Nicole came to Paris, doubly happy to be present at the ceremony which sealed the happiness of him whom she still called her fieu, and of the child to whom she had, for a long time, been a mother.
And Jasmin, who seemed to have recovered all his youthful vigor, absolutely insisted upon discharging fireworks in the courtyard for his master’s nuptials; but stout Turlurette opposed it, recalling the accidents that had happened at the time of Chérubin’s birth. So that Jasmin confined himself to firing a few rockets, with which he burned off what little hair he had left.
As for Monsieur Gérondif, Chérubin, after bestowing a tidy little sum upon him, requested him to seek other pupils. The tutor, finding himself possessed of a round sum, determined to make a name for himself in Paris; he founded a Latin journal, wrote a tragedy, gave a course of lectures on universal knowledge, and tried to compel ladies to dress without corsets. After some time, having succeeded only in squandering his capital, he was very glad to return to Gagny and resume his post as schoolmaster.
As the result of his fall among plates and glasses, Daréna was permanently disfigured, so that he dared not show himself in respectable society; he abandoned himself more freely than ever to his taste for debauchery, and after a wild orgy and a night passed at play with some low wretches, whose money he had won, he was found in the street, dead and stripped clean.
Thus ended a man born in good society, brought up in opulence, and well educated, but reduced to the lowest social level by his vices.
After losing his intimate friend, Monsieur Poterne became a dealer in return checks at the doors of theatres, and in that occupation he received several beatings because one could never get into the theatre with the checks that he sold.
Little Bruno took advantage of the advice and the money that Chérubin gave him; abandoning the practice of stealing dogs to sell, he set up a little shop, did a good business and became an honest man; he often said that it was easier than to be a knave.
Louise was a happy wife and a happy daughter. Monfréville never told her her mother’s name; but when she went into society, where she was warmly greeted as young Marquis Chérubin’s wife, she sometimes met the Noirmont family. It was with the keenest pleasure that she embraced Ernestine, who always manifested a warm affection for her. Then her eyes would seek Madame de Noirmont’s, who, on her side, was always on the watch; and when, concealed behind the throng, their eyes met, their glances were eloquent with all the love that a mother’s and a daughter’s hearts can contain.
As for Chérubin, he became a model husband; it is even said that he was faithful to his wife; that young man was always different from other people.