CHAPTER XVII.
THE FINAL PLOT
Three months had elapsed. Georges du Roy's divorce had been obtained.His wife had resumed the name of Forestier.
As the Walters were going to Trouville on the fifteenth of July, theydecided to spend a day in the country before starting.
The day chosen was Thursday, and they set out at nine o'clock in themorning in a large six-seated carriage drawn by four horses. They weregoing to lunch at Saint-Germain. Bel-Ami had requested that he might bethe only young man in the party, for he could not bear the presence ofthe Marquis de Cazolles. At the last moment, however, it was decidedthat Count de Latour-Ivelin should go, for he and Rose had beenbetrothed a month. The day was delightful. Georges, who was very pale,gazed at Suzanne as they sat in the carriage and their eyes met.
Mme. Walter was contented and happy. The luncheon was a long and merryone. Before leaving for Paris, Du Roy proposed a walk on the terrace.They stopped on the way to admire the view; as they passed on, Georgesand Suzanne lingered behind. The former whispered softly: "Suzanne, Ilove you madly."
She whispered in return: "I love you too, Bel-Ami."
He continued: "If I cannot have you for my wife, I shall leave thecountry."
She replied: "Ask papa. Perhaps he will consent."
He answered impatiently: "No, I repeat that it is useless; the door ofthe house would be closed against me. I would lose my position on thejournal, and we would not even meet. Those are the consequences aformal proposal would produce. They have promised you to the Marquis deCazolles; they hope you will finally say 'yes' and they are waiting."
"What can we do?"
"Have you the courage to brave your father and mother for my sake?"
"Yes."
"Truly?"
"Yes."
"Well! There is only one way. It must come from you and not from me.You are an indulged child; they let you say anything and are notsurprised at any audacity on your part. Listen, then! This evening onreturning home, go to your mother first, and tell her that you want tomarry me. She will be very much agitated and very angry."
Suzanne interrupted him: "Oh, mamma would be glad."
He replied quickly: "No, no, you do not know her. She will be morevexed than your father. But you must insist, you must not yield; youmust repeat that you will marry me and me alone. Will you do so?"
"I will."
"And on leaving your mother, repeat the same thing to your father verydecidedly."
"Well, and then--"
"And then matters will reach a climax! If you are determined to be mywife, my dear, dear, little Suzanne, I will elope with you."
She clapped her hands, as all the charming adventures in the romancesshe had read occurred to her, and cried:
"Oh, what bliss! When will you elope with me?"
He whispered very low: "To-night!"
"Where shall we go?"
"That is my secret. Think well of what you are doing. Remember thatafter that flight you must become my wife. It is the only means, but itis dangerous--very dangerous--for you."
"I have decided. Where shall I meet you?"
"Meet me about midnight in the Place de la Concorde."
"I will be there."
He clasped her hand. "Oh, how I love you! How brave and good you are!Then you do not want to marry Marquis de Cazolles?"
"Oh, no!"
Mme. Walter, turning her head, called out: "Come, little one; what areyou and Bel-Ami doing?"
They rejoined the others and returned by way of Chatou. When thecarriage arrived at the door of the mansion, Mme. Walter pressedGeorges to dine with them, but he refused, and returned home to lookover his papers and destroy any compromising letters. Then he repairedin a cab with feverish haste to the place of meeting. He waited theresome time, and thinking his ladylove had played him false, he was aboutto drive off, when a gentle voice whispered at the door of his cab:"Are you there, Bel-Ami?"
"Is it you, Suzanne?"
"Yes."
"Ah, get in." She entered the cab and he bade the cabman drive on.
He asked: "Well, how did it all pass off?"
She murmured faintly:
"Oh, it was terrible, with mamma especially."
"Your mamma? What did she say? Tell me!"
"Oh, it was frightful! I entered her room and made the little speech Ihad prepared. She turned pale and cried: 'Never!' I wept, I protestedthat I would marry only you; she was like a mad woman; she vowed Ishould be sent to a convent. I never saw her like that, never. Papa,hearing her agitated words, entered. He was not as angry as she was,but he said you were not a suitable match for me. As they had vexed me,I talked louder than they, and papa with a dramatic air bade me leavethe room. That decided me to fly with you. And here I am; where shallwe go?"
He replied, encircling her waist with his arm: "It is too late to takethe train; this cab will take us to Sevres where we can spend thenight, and to-morrow we will leave for La Roche-Guyon. It is a prettyvillage on the banks of the Seine between Mantes and Bonnieres."
The cab rolled on. Georges took the young girl's hand and kissed itrespectfully. He did not know what to say to her, being unaccustomed toPlatonic affection. Suddenly he perceived that she was weeping. Heasked in affright:
"What ails you, my dear little one?"
She replied tearfully: "I was thinking that poor mamma could not sleepif she had found out that I was gone!"
* * * * * * *
Her mother indeed was not asleep.
When Suzanne left the room, Mine. Walter turned to her husband andasked in despair: "What does that mean?"
"It means that that intriguer has influenced her. It is he who has madeher refuse Cazolles. You have flattered and cajoled him, too. It wasBel-Ami here, Bel-Ami there, from morning until night. Now you are paidfor it!"
"I?"
"Yes, you. You are as much infatuated with him as Madeleine, Suzanne,and the rest of them. Do you think that I did not see that you couldnot exist for two days without him?"
She rose tragically: "I will not allow you to speak to me thus. Youforget that I was not brought up like you, in a shop."
With an oath, he left the room, banging the door behind him.
When he was gone, she thought over all that had taken place. Suzannewas in love with Bel-Ami, and Bel-Ami wanted to marry Suzanne! No, itwas not true! She was mistaken; he would not be capable of such anaction; he knew nothing of Suzanne's escapade. They would take Suzanneaway for six months and that would end it.
She rose, saying: "I cannot rest in this uncertainty. I shall lose myreason. I will arouse Suzanne and question her."
She proceeded to her daughter's room. She entered; it was empty; thebed had not been slept in. A horrible suspicion possessed her and sheflew to her husband. He was in bed, reading.
She gasped: "Have you seen Suzanne?"
"No--why?"
"She is--gone! she is not in her room."
With one bound he was out of bed; he rushed to his daughter's room; notfinding her there, he sank into a chair. His wife had followed him.
"Well?" she asked.
He had not the strength to reply: he was no longer angry; he groaned:"He has her--we are lost."
"Lost, how?"
"Why, he must marry her now!"
She cried wildly: "Marry her, never! Are you mad?"
He replied sadly: "It will do no good to yell! He has disgraced her.The best thing to be done is to give her to him, and at once, too; thenno one will know of this escapade."
She repeated in great agitation: "Never; he shall never have Suzanne."
Overcome, Walter murmured: "But he has her. And he will keep her aslong as we do not yield; therefore, to avoid a scandal we must do so atonce."
But his wife replied: "No, no, I will never consent."
Impatiently he returned: "It is a matter of necessity. Ah, thescoundrel--how he has deceived us! But he is shrewd at any rate. Shemight have
done better as far as position, but not intelligence andfuture, is concerned. He is a promising young man. He will be a deputyor a minister some day."
Mme. Walter, however, repeated wildly: "I will never let him marrySuzanne! Do you hear--never!"
In his turn he became incensed, and like a practical man defendedBel-Ami. "Be silent! I tell you he must marry her! And who knows?Perhaps we shall not regret it! With men of his stamp one never knowswhat may come about. You saw how he downed Laroche-Mathieu in threearticles, and that with a dignity which was very difficult to maintainin his position as husband. So, we shall see."
Mme. Walter felt a desire to cry aloud and tear her hair. But she onlyrepeated angrily: "He shall not have her!"
Walter rose, took up his lamp, and said: "You are silly, like allwomen! You only act on impulse. You do not know how to accommodateyourself to circumstances. You are stupid! I tell you he shall marryher; it is essential." And he left the room.
Mme. Walter remained alone with her suffering, her despair. If only apriest were at hand! She would cast herself at his feet and confess allher errors and her agony--he would prevent the marriage! Where couldshe find a priest? Where should she turn? Before her eyes floated, likea vision, the calm face of "Christ Walking on the Water," as she hadseen it in the painting. He seemed to say to her: "Come unto Me. Kneelat My feet. I will comfort and instruct you as to what to do."
She took the lamp and sought the conservatory; she opened the doorleading into the room which held the enormous canvas, and fell upon herknees before it. At first she prayed fervently, but as she raised hereyes and saw the resemblance to Bel-Ami, she murmured: "Jesus--Jesus--"while her thoughts were with her daughter and her lover. She uttered awild cry, as she pictured them together--alone--and fell into a swoon.When day broke they found Mme. Walter still lying unconscious beforethe painting. She was so ill, after that, that her life was almostdespaired of.
M. Walter explained his daughter's absence to the servants by saying tothem that she had been sent to a convent for a short time. Then hereplied to a long letter from Du Roy, giving his consent to hismarriage with his daughter. Bel-Ami had posted that epistle when heleft Paris, having prepared it the night of his departure. In it hesaid in respectful terms that he had loved the young girl a long time;that there had never been any understanding between them, but that asshe came to him to say: "I will be your wife," he felt authorized inkeeping her, in hiding her, in fact, until he had obtained a reply fromher parents, whose wishes were to him of more value than those of hisbetrothed.
Georges and Suzanne spent a week at La Roche-Guyon. Never had the younggirl enjoyed herself so thoroughly. As she passed for his sister, theylived in a chaste and free intimacy, a kind of living companionship. Hethought it wiser to treat her with respect, and when he said to her:"We will return to Paris to-morrow; your father has bestowed your handupon me" she whispered naively: "Already? This is just as pleasant asbeing your wife."
CHAPTER XVIII.
ATTAINMENT
It was dark in the apartments in the Rue de Constantinople, whenGeorges du Roy and Clotilde de Marelle, having met at the door, enteredthem. Without giving him time to raise the shades, the latter said:
"So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter?"
He replied in the affirmative, adding gently: "Did you not know it?"
She answered angrily: "So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter? Forthree months you have deceived me. Everyone knew of it but me. Myhusband told me. Since you left your wife you have been preparing forthat stroke, and you made use of me in the interim. What a rascal youare!"
He asked: "How do you make that out? I had a wife who deceived me; Isurprised her, obtained a divorce, and am now going to marry another.What is more simple than that?"
She murmured: "What a villain!"
He said with dignity: "I beg of you to be more careful as to what yousay."
She rebelled at such words from him: "What! Would you like me to handleyou with gloves? You have conducted yourself like a rascal ever since Ihave known you, and now you do not want me to speak of it. You deceiveeveryone; you gather pleasure and money everywhere, and you want me totreat you as an honest man."
He rose; his lips twitched: "Be silent or I will make you leave theserooms."
She cried: "Leave here--you will make me--you? You forget that it is Iwho have paid for these apartments from the very first, and youthreaten to put me out of them. Be silent, good-for-nothing! Do youthink I do not know how you stole a portion of Vaudrec's bequest fromMadeleine? Do you think I do not know about Suzanne?"
He seized her by her shoulders and shook her. "Do not speak of that; Iforbid you."
"I know you have ruined her!"
He would have taken anything else, but that lie exasperated him. Herepeated: "Be silent--take care"--and he shook her as he would haveshaken the bough of a tree. Still she continued; "You were her ruin, Iknow it." He rushed upon her and struck her as if she had been a man.Suddenly she ceased speaking, and groaned beneath his blows. Finally hedesisted, paced the room several times in order to regain hisself-possession, entered the bedroom, filled the basin with cold waterand bathed his head. Then he washed his hands and returned to see whatClotilde was doing. She had not moved. She lay upon the floor weepingsoftly. He asked harshly:
"Will you soon have done crying?"
She did not reply. He stood in the center of the room, somewhatembarrassed, somewhat ashamed, as he saw the form lying before him.Suddenly he seized his hat. "Good evening. You can leave the key withthe janitor when you are ready. I will not await your pleasure."
He left the room, closed the door, sought the porter, and said to him:"Madame is resting. She will go out soon. You can tell the proprietorthat I have given notice for the first of October."
His marriage was fixed for the twentieth; it was to take place at theMadeleine. There had been a great deal of gossip about the entireaffair, and many different reports were circulated. Mme. Walter hadaged greatly; her hair was gray and she sought solace in religion.
In the early part of September "La Vie Francaise" announced that Barondu Roy de Cantel had become its chief editor, M. Walter reserving thetitle of manager. To that announcement were subjoined the names of thestaff of art and theatrical critics, political reporters, and so forth.Journalists no longer sneered in speaking of "La Vie Francaise;" itssuccess had been rapid and complete. The marriage of its chief editorwas what was called a "Parisian event," Georges du Roy and the Waltershaving occasioned much comment for some time.
The ceremony took place on a clear, autumn day. At ten o'clock thecurious began to assemble; at eleven o'clock, detachments of officerscame to disperse the crowd. Soon after, the first guests arrived; theywere followed by others, women in rich costumes, men, grave anddignified. The church slowly began to fill. Norbert de Varenne espiedJacques Rival, and joined him.
"Well," said he, "sharpers always succeed."
His companion, who was not envious, replied: "So much the better forhim. His fortune is made."
Rival asked: "Do you know what has become of his wife?"
The poet smiled. "Yes and no--she lives a very retired life, I havebeen told, in the Montmartre quarter. But--there is a but--for sometime I have read political articles in 'La Plume,' which resemble thoseof Forestier and Du Roy. They are supposed to be written by a Jean LeDol, a young, intelligent, handsome man--something like our friendGeorges--who has become acquainted with Mme. Forestier. From that Ihave concluded that she likes beginners and that they like her. She is,moreover, rich; Vaudrec and Laroche-Mathieu were not attentive to herfor nothing."
Rival asked: "Tell me, is it true that Mme. Walter and Du Roy do notspeak?"
"Yes. She did not wish to give him her daughter's hand. But hethreatened the old man with shocking revelations. Walter rememberedLaroche-Mathieu's fate and yielded at once; but his wife, obstinatelike all women, vowed that she would never address a word to herson-in-law. It is comical to see them together! She looks like th
estatue of vengeance, and he is very uncomfortable, although he tries toappear at his ease."
Suddenly the beadle struck the floor three times with his staff. Allthe people turned to see what was coming, and the young bride appearedin the doorway leaning upon her father's arm. She looked like abeautiful doll, crowned with a wreath of orange blossoms. She advancedwith bowed head. The ladies smiled and murmured as she passed them. Themen whispered:
"Exquisite, adorable!"
M. Walter walked by her side with exaggerated dignity. Behind them camefour maids of honor dressed in pink and forming a charming court for sodainty a queen.
Mme. Walter followed on the arm of Count de Latour-Ivelin's agedfather. She did not walk; she dragged herself along, ready to faint atevery step. She had aged and grown thinner.
Next came Georges du Roy with an old lady, a stranger. He held his headproudly erect and wore upon his coat, like a drop of blood, the redribbon of the Legion of Honor.
He was followed by the relatives: Rose, who had been married six weeks,with a senator; Count de Latour-Ivelin with Viscountess de Percemur.Following them was a motley procession of associates and friends of DuRoy, country cousins of Mme. Walter's, and guests invited by herhusband.
The tones of the organ filled the church; the large doors at theentrance were closed, and Georges kneeled beside his bride in thechoir. The new bishop of Tangiers, cross in hand, miter on head,entered from the sacristy, to unite them in the name of the Almighty.He asked the usual questions, rings were exchanged, words pronouncedwhich bound them forever, and then he delivered an address to the newlymarried couple.
The sound of stifled sobs caused several to turn their heads. Mme.Walter was weeping, her face buried in her hands. She had been obligedto yield; but since the day on which she had told Du Roy: "You are thevilest man I know; never speak to me again, for I will not answer you,"she had suffered intolerable anguish. She hated Suzanne bitterly; herhatred was caused by unnatural jealousy. The bishop was marrying adaughter to her mother's lover, before her and two thousand persons,and she could say nothing; she could not stop him. She could not cry:"He is mine, that man is my lover. That union you are blessing isinfamous."
Several ladies, touched by her apparent grief, murmured: "How affectedthat poor mother is!"
The bishop said: "You are among the favored ones of the earth. You,sir, who are raised above others by your talent--you who write,instruct, counsel, guide the people, have a grand mission to fulfill--afine example to set."
Du Roy listened to him proudly. A prelate of the Roman Church spokethus to him. A number of illustrious people had come thither on hisaccount. It seemed to him that an invisible power was impelling him on.He would become one of the masters of the country--he, the son of thepoor peasants of Canteleu. He had given his parents five thousandfrancs of Count de Vaudrec's fortune and he intended sending them fiftythousand more; then they could buy a small estate and live happily.
The bishop had finished his harangue, a priest ascended the altar, andthe organ pealed forth. Suddenly the vibrating tones melted intodelicate, melodious ones, like the songs of birds; then again theyswelled into deep, full tones and human voices chanted over their bowedheads. Vauri and Landeck of the Opera were singing.
Bel-Ami, kneeling beside Suzanne, bowed his head. At that moment hefelt almost pious, for he was filled with gratitude for the blessingsshowered upon him. Without knowing just whom he was addressing, heoffered up thanks for his success. When the ceremony was over, he rose,and, giving his arm to his wife, they passed into the sacristy. Astream of people entered. Georges fancied himself a king whom thepeople were coming to greet. He shook hands, uttered words whichsignified nothing, and replied to congratulations with the words: "Youare very kind."
Suddenly he saw Mme. de Marelle, and the recollection of all the kisseshe had given her and which she had returned, of all their caresses, ofthe sound of her voice, possessed him with the mad desire to regainher. She was so pretty, with her bright eyes and roguish air! Sheadvanced somewhat timidly and offered him her hand. He took, retained,and pressed it as if to say: "I shall love you always, I am yours."
Their eyes met, smiling, bright, full of love. She murmured in her softtones: "Until we meet again, sir!" and he gaily repeated her words.
Others approached, and she passed on. Finally the throng dispersed.Georges placed Suzanne's hand upon his arm to pass through the churchwith her. It was filled with people, for all had resumed their seats inorder to see them leave the sacred edifice together. He walked alongslowly, with a firm step, his head erect. He saw no one. He onlythought of himself.
When they reached the threshold he saw a crowd gathered outside, cometo gaze at him, Georges du Roy. The people of Paris envied him. Raisinghis eyes, he saw beyond the Place de la Concorde, the chamber ofdeputies, and it seemed to him that it was only a stone's throw fromthe portico of the Madeleine to that of the Palais Bourbon.
Leisurely they descended the steps between two rows of spectators, butGeorges did not see them; his thoughts had returned to the past, andbefore his eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, floated the image ofMme. de Marelle, rearranging the curly locks upon her temples beforethe mirror in their apartments.
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