XII.
Mademoiselle Marguerite knew Pascal Ferailleur. Suddenly struck down inthe full sunlight of happiness by a terrible misfortune, he, of course,experienced moments of frenzy and terrible depression; but he wasincapable of the cowardice which M. Fortunat had accused him of.
Mademoiselle Marguerite only did him justice when she said that the solecondition on which he could consent to live was that of consecrating hislife, and all his strength, intelligence and will to confounding thisinfamous calumny. And still she did not know the extent of Pascal'smisfortune. How could she suppose that he believed himself deserted byher? How could she know the doubts and fears and the anguish that hadbeen roused in his heart by the note which Madame Leon had given him atthe garden gate? What did she know of the poignant suspicions thathad rent his mind, after listening to Madame Vantrasson's disparaginginsinuations?
It must be admitted that he was indebted to his mother alone for hisescape from suicide--that grim madness that seizes hold of so manydesperate, despairing men. And it was still to his mother--theincomparable guardian of his honor--that he owed his resolution on themorning he applied to Baron Trigault. And his courage met with its firstreward.
He was no longer the same man when he left the princely mansion whichhe had entered with his heart so full of anguish. He was still somewhatbewildered with the strange scenes which he had involuntarily witnessed,the secrets he had overheard, and the revelations which had been made tohim; but a light gleamed on the horizon--a fitful and uncertain light,it is true, but nevertheless a hopeful gleam. At least, he would nolonger have to struggle alone. An honest and experienced man, powerfulby reason of his reputation, his connections and his fortune, hadpromised him his help. Thanks to this man whom misfortune had made atruer friend than years could have done, he would have access to thewretch who had deprived him both of his honor and of the woman he loved.He knew the weak spot in the marquis's armor now; he knew where and howto strike, and he felt sure that he should succeed in winning Valorsay'sconfidence, and in obtaining irrefutable proofs of his villainy.
Pascal was eager to inform his mother of the fortunate result of hisvisit, but certain arrangements which were needful for the success ofhis plans required his attention, and it was nearly five o'clock whenhe reached the Route de la Revolte. Madame Ferailleur was just returninghome when he arrived, which surprised him considerably, for he had notknown that she had intended going out. The cab she had used was stillstanding before the door, and she had not had time to take off hershawl and bonnet when he entered the house. She uttered a joyful cry onperceiving her son. She was so accustomed to read his secret thoughts onhis face, that it was unnecessary for him to say a word; before he hadeven opened his lips, she cried: "So you have succeeded?"
"Yes, mother, beyond my hopes."
"I was not deceived, then, in the worthy man who came to offer us hisassistance?"
"No, certainly not. Do what I may, I can never repay him for hisgenerosity and self-denial. If you knew, my dear mother, if you onlyknew----"
"What?"
He kissed her as if he wished to apologize for what he was about to say,and then he quickly replied: "Marguerite is the daughter of BaronessTrigault."
Madame Ferailleur started back, as if she had seen a reptile spring upin her pathway. "The daughter of the baroness!" she faltered. "GreatHeavens!"
"It is the truth, mother; listen to me." And in a voice that trembledwith emotion, he rapidly related all he had learned by his visit to thebaron, softening the truth as much as he could without concealing it.But prevarication was useless. Madame Ferailleur's indignationand disgust were none the less evident. "That woman is a shamelesscreature," she said, coldly, when her son's narrative was concluded.
Pascal made no reply. He knew only too well that his mother was right,and yet it wounded him cruelly to hear her speak in this style. For thebaroness was Marguerite's mother after all.
"So," continued Madame Ferailleur, with increasing indignation,"creatures do exist who are destitute even of the maternal instinctsof animals. I am an honest woman myself; I don't say it inself-glorification, it's no credit to me; my mother was a saint, and Iloved my husband; what some people call duty was my happiness, so I maybe allowed to speak on this subject. I don't excuse infidelity, but Ican understand how such a thing is possible. Yes, I can understand how abeautiful young woman, who is left alone in a city like Paris, may loseher senses, and forget the worthy man who has exiled himself for hersake, and who is braving a thousand dangers to win a fortune for her.The husband who exposes his honor and happiness to such terrible risk,is an imprudent man. But when this woman has erred, when she has givenbirth to a child, how she can abandon it, how she can cast it off asif it were a dog, I cannot comprehend. I could imagine infanticide moreeasily. No, such a woman has no heart, no bowels of compassion. There isnothing human in her! For how could she live, how could she sleep withthe thought that somewhere in the world her own child, the flesh of herflesh, was exposed to all the temptations of poverty, and the horrors ofshame and vice? And she, the possessor of millions, she, the inmate of apalace, thinking only of dress and pleasure! How was it that she didn'task herself every minute, 'Where is my daughter now, and what is shedoing? What is she living on? Has she shelter, clothes and food? To whatdepths of degradation she may have sunk? Perhaps she has so far lived byhonest toil, and perhaps at this very moment this support fails her, andshe is abandoning herself to a life of infamy.' Great God! how does thiswoman dare to step out of doors? On seeing the poor wretches who havebeen driven to vice by want, how can she fail to say to herself: 'That,perhaps, is my daughter!'"
Pascal turned pale, moved to the depths of his soul by his mother'sextraordinary vehemence. He trembled lest she should say: "And you,my son, would you marry the child of such a mother?" For he knew hismother's prejudices, and the great importance she attached to aspotless reputation transmitted from parent to child, from generation togeneration. "The baroness knew that her husband adored her, and hearingof his return she became terrified; she lost her senses," he ventured tosay in extenuation.
"Would you try to defend her?" exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. "Do youreally think one can atone for a fault by a crime?"
"No, certainly not, but----"
"Perhaps you would censure the baroness more severely if you knew whather daughter has suffered--if you knew the perils and miseries she hasbeen exposed to from the moment her mother left her on a door-step, nearthe central markets, till the day when her father found her. It is amiracle that she did not perish."
Where had Madame Ferailleur learned these particulars? Pascal askedhimself this question without being able to answer it. "I don'tunderstand you, mother," he faltered.
"Then you know nothing of Mademoiselle Marguerite's past life. Is itpossible she never told you anything about it?"
"I only know that she has been very unhappy."
"Has she never alluded to the time when she was an apprentice?"
"She has only told me that she earned her living with her own hands atone time of her life."
"Well, I am better informed on the subject."
Pascal's amazement was changed to terror. "You, mother, you!"
"Yes; I--I have been to the asylum where she was received and educated.I have had a conversation with two Sisters of Charity who rememberher, and it is scarcely an hour since I left the people to whom she wasformerly bound as an apprentice."
Standing opposite his mother with one hand convulsively clutching theback of the chair he was leaning on, Pascal tried to nerve himself forsome terrible blow. For was not his life at stake? Did not his wholefuture depend upon the revelations Madame Ferailleur was about to make?"So this was your object in going out, mother?" he faltered.
"Yes."
"And you went without warning me?"
"Was it necessary? What! you love a young girl, you swear in my presencethat she shall be your wife, and you think it strange that I shouldtry to ascertain whether she is worthy of
you or not? It would be verystrange if I did not do so."
"This idea occurred to you so suddenly!"
Madame Ferailleur gave an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders,as if she were astonished to have to answer such puerile objections."Have you already forgotten the disparaging remarks made by our newservant, Madame Vantrasson?"
"Good Heavens!"
"I understood her base insinuations as well as you did, and after yourdeparture I questioned her, or rather I allowed her to tell herstory, and I ascertained that Mademoiselle Marguerite had once been anapprentice of Vantrasson's brother-in-law, a man named Greloux, who wasformerly a bookbinder in the Rue Saint-Denis, but who has now retiredfrom business. It was there that Vantrasson met Mademoiselle Marguerite,and this is why he was so greatly surprised to see her doing themistress at the Hotel de Chalusse."
It seemed to Pascal that the throbbing of his heart stopped his breath.
"By a little tact I obtained the Greloux's address from MadameVantrasson," resumed his mother. "Then I sent for a cab and drove thereat once."
"And you saw them?"
"Yes; thanks to a falsehood which doesn't trouble my conscience much, Isucceeded in effecting an entrance, and had an hour's conversation withthem." His mother's icy tones frightened Pascal. Her slowness torturedhim, and still he dared not press her. "The Greloux family," shecontinued, "seem to be what are called worthy people, that is, incapableof committing any crime that is punishable by the code, and very proudof their income of seven thousand francs a year. They must have beenvery much attached to Mademoiselle Marguerite, for they were lavish intheir protestations of affection when I mentioned her name. The husbandin particular seemed to regard her with a feeling of something likegratitude."
"Ah! you see, mother, you see!"
"As for the wife, it was easy to see that she had sincerely regrettedthe loss of the best apprentice, the most honest servant, and the bestworker she had ever seen in her life. And yet, from her own story, Ishould be willing to swear that she had abused the poor child, and hadmade a slave of her." Tears glittered in Pascal's eyes, but he breathedfreely once more. "As for Vantrasson," resumed Madame Ferailleur, "itis certain that he took a violent fancy to his sister's apprentice. Thisman, who has since become an infamous scoundrel, was then only a rake,an unprincipled drunkard and libertine. He fancied the poor littleapprentice--she was then but thirteen years old--would be only too gladto become the mistress of her employer's brother; but she scornfullyrepulsed him, and his vanity was so deeply wounded that he persecutedthe poor girl to such an extent that she was obliged to complain, firstto Madame Greloux, who--to her shame be it said--treated these insultsas mere nonsense; and afterward to Greloux himself, who was probablydelighted to have an opportunity of ridding himself of his indolentbrother-in-law, for he turned him out of the house."
The thought that so vile a rascal as this man Vantrasson should havedared to insult Marguerite made Pascal frantic with indignation. "Thewretch!" he exclaimed; "the wretch!" But without seeming to notice herson's anger, Madame Ferailleur continued: "They pretended they had notseen their former apprentice since she had been living in grandeur,as they expressed it. But in this they lied to me. For they saw her atleast once, and that was on the day she brought them twenty thousandfrancs, which proved the nucleus of their fortune. They did not mentionthis fact, however."
"Dear Marguerite!" murmured Pascal, "dear Marguerite!" And then aloud:"But where did you learn these last details, mother?" he inquired.
"At the asylum where Mademoiselle Marguerite was brought up, and there,too, I only heard words of praise. 'Never,' said the superior, 'have Ihad a more gifted, sweeter-tempered or more attractive charge.' They hadreproached her sometimes for being too reserved, and her self-respecthad often been mistaken for inordinate pride; but she had not forgottenthe asylum any more than she had forgotten her former patrons. On oneoccasion the superior received from her the sum of twenty-five thousandfrancs, and a year ago she presented the institution with one hundredthousand francs, the yearly income of which is to constitute themarriage dowry of some deserving orphan."
Pascal was greatly elated. "Well, mother!" he exclaimed, "well, isit strange that I love her?" Madame Ferailleur made no reply, and asorrowful apprehension seized hold of him. "You are silent," said he,"and why? When the blessed day that will allow me to wed Margueritearrives, you surely won't oppose our marriage?"
"No, my son, nothing that I have learned gives me the right to do so."
"The right! Ah, you are unjust, mother."
"Unjust! Haven't I faithfully reported all that was told me, although Iknew it would only increase your passion?"
"That's true, but----"
Madame Ferailleur sadly shook her head. "Do you think," she interrupted,"that I can, without sorrow, see you choose a girl of no family, a girlwho is outside the pale of social recognition? Don't you understandmy disquietude when I think that the girl that you will marry is thedaughter of such a woman as Baroness Trigault, an unfortunate girlwhom her mother cannot even recognize, since her mother is a marriedwoman----"
"Ah! mother, is that Marguerite's fault?"
"Did I say it was her fault? No--I only pray God that you may neverhave to repent of choosing a wife whose past life must ever remain animpenetrable mystery!"
Pascal had become very pale. "Mother!" he said in a quivering voice,"mother!"
"I mean that you will only know so much of Mademoiselle Marguerite'spast life as she may choose to tell you," continued the obdurate oldlady. "You heard Madame Vantrasson's ignoble allegations. It has beensaid that she was the mistress, not the daughter, of the Count deChalusse. Who knows what vile accusations you may be forced to meet?And what is your refuge, if doubts should ever assail you? MademoiselleMarguerite's word! Will this be sufficient? It is now, perhaps; but willit suffice in years to come? I would have my son's wife above suspicion;and she--why, there is not a single episode in her life that does notexpose her to the most atrocious calumny."
"What does calumny matter? it will never shake my faith in her. Themisfortunes which you reproach Marguerite for sanctify her in my eyes."
"Pascal!"
"What! Am I to scorn her because she has been unfortunate? Am I toregard her birth as a crime? Am I to despise her because her MOTHER isa despicable woman? No--God be praised! the day when illegitimatechildren, the innocent victims of their mother's faults, were branded asoutcasts, is past."
But Madame Ferailleur's prejudices were too deeply rooted to be shakenby these arguments. "I won't discuss this question, my son," sheinterrupted, "but take care. By declaring children irresponsible fortheir mother's faults, you will break the strongest tie that binds awoman to duty. If the son of a pure and virtuous wife, and the son ofan adulterous woman meet upon equal ground, those who are held in checkonly by the thought of their children will finally say to themselves,what does it matter?"
It was the first time that a cloud had ever arisen between mother andson. On hearing his dearest hopes thus attacked, Pascal was temptedto rebel, and a flood of bitter words rose to his lips. However he hadstrength enough to control himself. "Marguerite alone can triumph overthese implacable prejudices," he thought; "when my mother knows her, shewill feel how unjust they are!"
And as he found it difficult to remain master of himself, he stammeredsome excuse, and abruptly retired to his own room, where he threwhimself on his bed. He felt that it was not his place to reproach hismother or censure her for her opinions. What mother had ever been sodevoted as she had been? And who knows?--it was, perhaps, from thesesame rigid prejudices that this simple-minded and heroic woman hadderived her energy, her enthusiastic love of God, her hatred of evil,and that virility of spirit which misfortune had been powerless todaunt. Besides, had she not promised to offer no opposition to hismarriage! And was not this a great concession, a sacrifice which musthave cost her a severe struggle? And where can one find the motherwho does not count as one of the sublime joys of maternity the task ofsee
king a wife for her son, of choosing from among all others the younggirl who will be the companion of his life, the angel of his dark and ofhis prosperous days? His mind was occupied with these thoughts when hisdoor suddenly opened, and he sprang up, exclaiming: "Who is it?"
It was Madame Vantrasson, who came to announce that dinner wasready--a dinner which she had herself prepared, for on going out MadameFerailleur had left her in charge of the household. On seeing thiswoman, Pascal was overcome with rage and indignation, and felt a wilddesire to annihilate her. He knew that she was only a vile slanderer,but she might meet other beings as vile as herself who would be only tooglad to believe her falsehoods. And to think that he was powerless topunish her! He now realized the suffering his mother had spoken of--themost atrocious suffering which the lover can endure--powerlessness toprotect the object of his affections, when she is assailed. Engrossedin these gloomy thoughts, Pascal preserved a sullen silence during therepast. He ate because his mother filled his plate; but if he had beenquestioned, he could scarcely have told what he was eating. And yet, themodest dinner was excellent. Madame Vantrasson was really a good cook,and in this first effort in her new situation she had surpassed herself.Her vanity as a cordon-bleu was piqued because she did not receive thecompliments she expected, and which she felt she deserved. Four or fivetimes she asked impatiently, "Isn't that good?" and as the only replywas a scarcely enthusiastic "Very good," she vowed she would never againwaste so much care and talent upon such unappreciative people.
Madame Ferailleur was as silent as her son, and seemed equally anxiousto finish with the repast. She evidently wanted to get rid of MadameVantrasson, and in fact as soon as the simple dessert had been placedon the table, she turned to her, and said: "You may go home now. I willattend to the rest."
Irritated by the taciturnity of these strange folks, the landlady of theModel Lodging House withdrew, and they soon heard the street door closebehind her with a loud bang as she left the house. Pascal drew a longbreath as if relieved of a heavy weight. While Madame Vantrasson hadbeen in the room he had scarcely dared to raise his eyes, so great washis dread of encountering the gaze of this woman, whose malignity wasbut poorly veiled by her smooth-tongued hypocrisy. He really feared heshould not be able to resist his desire to strangle her. However, MadameFerailleur must have understood her son's agitation, for as soon asthey were alone, she said: "So you have not forgiven me for my plainspeaking?"
"How can I be angry with you, mother, when I know that you are thinkingonly of my happiness? But how sorry I shall be if your prejudices----"
Madame Ferailleur checked him with a gesture. "Let us say no more on thesubject," she remarked. "Mademoiselle Marguerite will be the innocentcause of one of the greatest disappointments of my life; but I have noreason to hate her--and I have always been able to show justice even tothe persons I loved the least. I have done so in this instance, and I amgoing perhaps to give you a convincing proof of it."
"A proof?"
"Yes."
She reflected for a moment and then she asked: "Did you not tell me,my son, that Mademoiselle Marguerite's education has not suffered onaccount of her neglected childhood?"
"And it's quite true, mother."
"She worked diligently, you said, so as to improve herself?"
"Marguerite knows all that an unusually talented girl can learn in fouryears, when she finds herself very unhappy, and study proves her onlyrefuge and consolation."
"If she wrote you a note would it be written grammatically, and be freefrom any mistakes in spelling?"
"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed Pascal, and a sudden inspiration madehim pause abruptly. He darted to his own room, and a minute later hereturned with a package of letters, which he laid on the table, saying:"Here, mother, read and see for yourself."
Madame Ferailleur drew her spectacles from their case, and, afteradjusting them, she began to read.
With his elbows on the table, and his head resting upon his hands,Pascal eagerly watched his mother, anxious to read her impressionson her face. She was evidently astonished. She had not expected theseletters would express such nobility of sentiment, an energy no whitinferior to her own, and even an echo of her own prejudices. For thisstrange young girl shared Madame Ferailleur's rather bigoted opinions.Again and again she asked herself if her birth and past had not createdan impassable abyss between Pascal and herself. And she had not feltsatisfied on this point until the day when the gray-haired magistrate,after hearing her story, said: "If I had a son, I should be proud tohave him beloved by you!"
It soon became apparent that Madame Ferailleur was deeply moved, andonce she even raised her glasses to wipe away a furtive tear which madePascal's heart leap with very joy. "These letters are admirable," shesaid at last; "and no young girl, reared by a virtuous mother, couldhave given better expression to nobler sentiments; but----" She paused,not wishing to wound her son's feelings, and as he insisted, she added:
"But, these letters have the irreparable fault of being addressed toyou, Pascal!"
This, however, was the expiring cry of her intractable obstinacy. "Now,"she resumed, "wait before you censure your mother." So saying, she rose,opened a drawer, and taking from it a torn and crumpled scrap of paper,she handed it to her son, exclaiming: "Read this attentively."
This proved to be the note in pencil which Madame Leon had given toPascal, and which he had divined rather than read by the light of thestreet-lamp; he had handed it to his mother on his return, and she hadkept it. He had scarcely been in his right mind the evening he receivedit, but now he was enjoying the free exercise of all his faculties.He no sooner glanced at the note than he sprang up, and in an excitedvoice, exclaimed, "Marguerite never wrote this!"
The strange discovery seemed to stupefy him. "I was mad, raving mad!" hemuttered. "The fraud is palpable, unmistakable. How could I have failedto discover it?" And as if he felt the need of convincing himself thathe was not deceived, he continued, speaking to himself rather than tohis mother: "The hand-writing is not unlike Marguerite's, it's true; butit's only a clever counterfeit. And who doesn't know that all writingsin pencil resemble each other more or less? Besides, it's certain thatMarguerite, who is simplicity itself, would not have made use of suchpretentious melodramatic phrases. How could I have been so stupid as tobelieve that she ever thought or wrote this: 'One cannot break a promisemade to the dying; I shall keep mine even though my heart break.' Andagain: 'Forget, therefore, the girl who has loved you so much: she isnow the betrothed of another, and honor requires she should forget evenyour name!'" He read these passages with an extravagant emphasis, whichheightened their absurdity. "And what shall I say of these mistakes inspelling?" he resumed. "You noticed them, of course, mother?--commandis written with a single 'm,' and supplicate with one 'p.' These arecertainly not mistakes that we can attribute to haste! Ignorance isproved since the blunder is always the same. The forger is evidently inthe habit of omitting one of the double letters."
Madame Ferailleur listened with an impassive face. "And these mistakesare all the more inexcusable since this letter is only a copy," sheobserved, quietly.
"What?"
"Yes; a verbatim copy. Yesterday evening, while I was examining it forthe twentieth time, it occurred to me that I had read some portions ofit before. Where, and under what circumstances? It was a puzzle whichkept me awake most of the night. But this morning I suddenly remembereda book which I had seen in the hands of the workmen at the factory,and which I had often laughed over. So, while I was out this morning Ientered a book-shop, and purchased the volume. That's it, there on thecorner of the mantel-shelf. Take it and see."
Pascal obeyed, and noticed with surprise that the work was entitled,"The Indispensable and Complete Letter-writer, for Both Sexes, in EveryCondition of Life."
"Now turn to the page I have marked," said Madame Ferailleur.
He did so, and read: "(Model 198). Letter from a young lady who haspromised her dying father to renounce the man she loves, and to bestowher h
and upon another." Doubt was no longer possible. Line for line andword for word, the mistakes in spelling excepted, the note was an exactcopy of the stilted prose of the "Indispensable Letter-writer."
It seemed to Pascal as if the scales had suddenly fallen from his eyes,and that he could now understand the whole intrigue which had beenplanned to separate him from Marguerite. His enemies had dishonored himin the hope that she would reject and scorn him, and, disappointedin their expectations, they had planned this pretended rupture of theengagement to prevent him from making any attempt at self-justification.So, in spite of some short-lived doubts, his love had been moreclear-sighted than reason, and stronger than appearances. He had beenquite right, then, in saying to his mother: "I can never believe thatMarguerite deserts me at a moment when I am so wretched--that shecondemns me unheard, and has no greater confidence in me than in myaccusers. Appearances may indicate the contrary, but I am right."Certain circumstances, which had previously seemed contradictory,now strengthened this belief. "How is it," he said to himself, "thatMarguerite writes to me that her father, on his death-bed, made herpromise to renounce me, while Valorsay declares the Count de Chalussedied so suddenly, that he had not even time to acknowledge his daughteror to bequeath her his immense fortune? One of these stories must befalse; and which of them? The one in this note most probably. As for theletter itself, it must have been the work of Madame Leon."
If he had not already possessed irrefutable proofs of this, the"Indispensable Letter-writer" would have shown it. The housekeeper'sperturbation when she met him at the garden gate was now explained. Shewas shuddering at the thought that she might be followed and watched,and that Marguerite might appear at any moment, and discover everything.
"I think it would be a good plan to let this poor young girl know thather companion is Valorsay's spy," remarked Madame Ferailleur.
Pascal was about to approve this suggestion, when a sudden thoughtdeterred him. "They must be watching Marguerite very closely," hereplied, "and if I attempt to see her, if I even venture to write toher, our enemies would undoubtedly discover it. And then, farewell tothe success of my plans."
"Then you prefer to leave her exposed to these dangers?"
"Yes, even admitting there is danger, which is by no means certain.Owing to her past life, Marguerite's experience is far in advance ofher years, and if some one told me that she had fathomed Madame Leon'scharacter, I should not be at all surprised."
It was necessary to ascertain what had become of Marguerite; and Pascalwas puzzling his brain to discover how this might be done, when suddenlyhe exclaimed: "Madame Vantrasson! We have her; let us make use of her.It will be easy to find some excuse for sending her to the Hotel deChalusse: she will gossip with the servants there, and in that way wecan discover the changes that have taken place."
This was a heroic resolution on Pascal's part, and one which he wouldhave recoiled from the evening before. But it is easy to be brave whenone is hopeful; and he saw his chances of success increase so rapidlythat he no longer feared the obstacles that had once seemed almostinsurmountable. Even his mother's opposition had ceased to alarm him.For why should he fear after the surprising proof she had given him ofher love of justice, proving that the pretended letter from MademoiselleMarguerite was really a forgery?
He slept but little that night and did not stir from the house on thefollowing day. He was busily engaged in perfecting his plan of attackagainst the marquis. His advantages were considerable, thanks to BaronTrigault, who had placed a hundred thousand francs at his disposal;but the essential point was to use this amount in such a way as to winValorsay's confidence, and induce him to betray himself. Pascal's hoursof meditation were not spent in vain, and when it became time for him torepair to his enemy's house, he said to his mother: "I've found a plan;and if the baron will let me follow it out, Valorsay is mine!"