CHAPTER XII.
A STARTLING REVELATION.
When Sabine de Mussidan told her lover that she would appeal to thegenerosity of M. de Breulh-Faverlay, she had not calculated on thenecessity she would have for endurance, but had rather listened to thedictates of her heart; and this fact came the more strongly before her,when in the solitude of her own chamber, she inquired of herself how shewas to carry out her promise. It seemed to her very terrible to have tolay bare the secrets of her soul to any one, but the more so to M. deBreulh-Faverlay, who had asked for her hand in marriage. She uttered noword on her way home, where she arrived just in time to take her placeat the dinner table, and never was a more dismal company assembled forthe evening meal. Her own miseries occupied Sabine, and her fatherand mother were suffering from their interviews with Mascarin and Dr.Hortebise. What did the liveried servants, who waited at table withsuch an affectation of interest, care for the sorrows of their masteror mistress? They were well lodged and well fed, and nothing save theirwages did they care for. By nine o'clock Sabine was in her own roomtrying to grow accustomed to the thoughts of an interview with M. deBreulh-Faverlay. She hardly closed her eyes all night, and felt worn outand dispirited by musing; but she never thought of evading the promiseshe had made to Andre, or of putting it off for a time. She had vowedto lose no time, and her lover was eagerly awaiting a letter from her,telling him of the result. In the perplexity in which she found herself,she could not confide in either father or mother, for she felt that acloud hung over both their lives, though she knew not what it was. Whenshe left the convent where she had been educated, and returned home, shefelt that she was in the way, and that the day of her marriage would beone of liberation to her parents from their cares and responsibilities.All this prayed terribly upon her mind, and might have driven a lesspure-minded girl to desperate measures. It seemed to her that itwould be less painful to fly from her father's house than to have thisinterview with M. de Breulh-Faverlay. Luckily for her, frail as shelooked, she possessed an indomitable will, and this carried her throughmost of her difficulties.
For Andre's sake, as well as her own, she did not wish to violate anyof the unwritten canons of society, but she longed for the hour to comewhen she could acknowledge her love openly to the world. At one momentshe thought of writing a letter, but dismissed the thought as the heightof folly. As the time passed Sabine began to reproach herself for hercowardice. All at once she heard the clang of the opening of the maingates. Peeping from her window, she saw a carriage drive up, and, to herinexpressible delight, M. de Breulh-Faverlay alighted from it.
"Heaven has heard my prayer, and sent him to me," murmured she.
"What do you intend to do, Mademoiselle?" asked the devoted Modeste;"will you speak to him now?"
"Yes, I will. My mother is still in her dressing-room, and no onewill venture to disturb my father in the library. If I meet M. deBreulh-Faverlay in the hall and take him into the drawing-room, I shallhave time for a quarter of an hour's talk, and that will be sufficient."
Calling up all her courage, she left her room on her errand. Had Andreseen the man selected by the Count de Mussidan for his daughter'shusband, he might well have been proud of her preference for him. M. deBreulh-Faverlay was one of the best known men in Paris, and fortunehad showered all her blessings on his head. He was not forty, of anextremely aristocratic appearance, highly educated, and witty; and, inaddition, one of the largest landholders in the country. He had alwaysrefused to enter public life. "For," he would say to those who spoke tohim on the matter, "I have enough to spend my money on without makingmyself ridiculous." He was a perfect type of what a French gentlemanshould be--courteous, of unblemished reputation, and full of chivalrousdevotion and generosity. He was, it is said, a great favorite with thefair sex; but, if report spoke truly, his discretion was as great ashis success. He had not always been wealthy, and there was a mysteriousromance in his life. When he was only twenty, he had sailed for SouthAmerica, where he remained twelve years, and returned no richer thanhe was before; but shortly afterward his aged uncle, the Marquis deFaverlay, died bequeathing his immense fortune to his nephew on thecondition that he should add the name of Faverlay to that of De Breulh.De Breulh was passionately fond of horses; but he was really a lover ofthem, and not a mere turfite, and this was all that the world knew ofthe man who held in his hands the fates of Sabine de Mussidan and Andre.As soon as he caught sight of Sabine he made a profound inclination.
The girl came straight up to him.
"Sir," said she, in a voice broken by conflicting emotions, "may Irequest the pleasure of a short private conversation with you?"
"Mademoiselle," answered De Breulh, concealing his surprise beneathanother bow, "I am at your disposal."
One of the footmen, at a word from Sabine, threw open the door of thedrawing-room in which the Countess had thrown down her arms in her duelwith Dr. Hortebise. Sabine did not ask her visitor to be seated, butleaning her elbow on the marble mantel-piece, she said, after a silenceequally trying to both,--
"This strange conduct on my part, sir, will show you, more than anyexplanation, my sincerity, and the perfect confidence with which youhave inspired me."
She paused, but De Breulh made no reply, for he was perfectly mystified.
"You are," she continued, "my parents' intimate friend, and must haveseen the discomforts of our domestic hearth, and that though both myfather and mother are living, I am as desolate as the veriest orphan."
Fearing that M. de Breulh might not understand her reason for speakingthus, she threw a shade of haughtiness into her manner as she resumed,--
"My reason, sir, for seeing you to-day is to ask,--nay, to entreatyou, to release me from my engagement to you, and to take the wholeresponsibility of the rupture on yourself."
Man of the world as he was, M. de Breulh could not conceal his surprise,in which a certain amount of wounded self-love was mingled.
"Mademoiselle!" commenced he--
Sabine interrupted him.
"I am asking a great favor, and your granting it will spare me manyhours of grief and sadness, and," she added, as a faint smile flickeredacross her pallid features, "I am aware that I am asking but a triflingsacrifice on your part. You know scarcely anything of me, and thereforeyou can only feel indifference toward me."
"You are mistaken," replied the young man gravely; "and you do not judgeme rightly. I am not a mere boy, and always consider a step before Itake it; and if I asked for your hand, it was because I had learned toappreciate the greatness both of your heart and intellect; and I believethat if you would condescend to accept me, we could be very happytogether."
The girl seemed about to speak, but De Breulh continued,--
"It seems, however, that I have in some way displeased you,--I do notknow how; but, believe me, it will be a source of sorrow to me for therest of my life."
De Breulh's sincerity was so evident, that Mademoiselle de Mussidan wasdeeply affected.
"You have not displeased me in any way," answered she softly, "and arefar too good for me. To have become your wife would have made me a proudand happy woman."
Here she stopped, almost choked by her tears, but M. de Breulh wished tofathom this mystery.
"Why then this resolve?" asked he.
"Because," replied Sabine faintly, as she hid her face,--"because I havegiven all my love to another."
The young man uttered an exclamation so full of angry surprise, thatSabine turned upon him at once.
"Yes, sir," answered she, "to another; one utterly unknown to myparents, yet one who is inexpressibly dear to me. This ought not toirritate you, for I gave him my love long before I met you. Besides, youhave every advantage over him. He is at the foot, while you are at thesummit, of the social ladder. You are of aristocratic lineage,--he isone of the people. You have a noble name,--he does not even know hisown. Your wealth is enormous,--while he works hard for his daily bread.He has all the fire of genius, but the cruel cares of life drag andfette
r him to the earth. He carries on a workman's trade to supply fundsto study his beloved art."
Incautiously, Sabine had chosen the very means to wound this noblegentleman most cruelly, for her whole beauty blazed out as, inflamed byher passion, she spoke so eloquently of Andre and drew such a parallelbetween the two young men.
"Now, sir," said she, "do you comprehend me? I know the terrible socialabyss which divides me from the man I love, and the future may hold instore some terrible punishment for my fidelity to him, but no one shallever hear a word of complaint from my lips, for----" she hesitated, andthen uttered these simple words--"for I love him."
M. de Breulh listened with an outwardly impassible face, but the venomedtooth of jealousy was gnawing at his heart. He had not told Sabine theentire truth, for he had studied her for a long time, and his love hadgrown firm and strong. Without an unkind thought the girl had shatteredthe edifice which he had built up with such care and pain. He would havegiven his name, rank, and title to have been in this unknown lover'splace, who, though he worked for his bread, and had no grand ancestralname, was yet so fondly loved. Many a man in his position would haveshrugged his shoulders and coldly sneered at the words, "I love him,"but he did not, for his nature was sufficiently noble to sympathizewith hers. He admired her courage and frankness, which disdaining allsubterfuges, went straight and unhesitatingly to the point she desiredto reach. She might be imprudent and reckless, but in his eyes theseseemed hardly to be faults, for it is seldom that convent-bred youngladies err in this way.
"But this man," said he, after a long pause,--"how do you manage ever tosee him?
"I meet him out walking," replied she, "and I sometimes go to hisstudio."
"To his studio?"
"Yes, I have sat to him several times for my portrait; but I havenever done anything that I need blush to own. You know all now, sir,"continued Sabine; "and it has been very hard for a young girl like meto say all this to you. It is a thing that ought to be confided to mymother."
Only those who have heard a woman that they are ardently attached tosay, "I do not love you," can picture M. de Breulh's frame of mind.Had any one else than Sabine made this communication he would not havewithdrawn, but would have contested the prize with his more fortunaterival. But now that Mademoiselle de Mussidan had, as it were, thrownherself upon his mercy, he could not bring himself to take advantage ofher confidence.
"It shall be as you desire," said he, with a faint tinge of bitternessin his tone. "To-night I will write to your father, and withdraw mydemand for your hand. It is the first time that I have ever gone backfrom my word; and I am sure that your father will be highly indignant."
Sabine's strength and firmness had now entirely deserted her. "Fromthe depth of my soul, sir," said she, "I thank you; for by this act ofgenerosity I shall avoid a contest that I dreaded."
"Unfortunately," broke in De Breulh, "you do not see how useless toyou will be the sacrifice that you exact from me. Listen! you have notappeared much in society; and when you did, it was in the character ofmy betrothed; as soon as I withdraw hosts of aspirants for your handwill spring up."
Sabine heaved a deep sigh, for Andre had foreseen the same result.
"Then," continued De Breulh, "your situation will become even a moretrying one; for if your noble qualities are not enough to exciteadmiration in the bosoms of the other sex, your immense wealth willarouse the cupidity of the fortune-hunters."
When De Breulh referred to fortune-hunters, was this a side blow atAndre? With this thought rushing through her brain, she gazed upon himeagerly, but read no meaning in his eyes.
"Yes," answered she dreamily, "it is true that I am very wealthy."
"And what will be your reply to the next suitor, and to the one afterthat?" asked De Breulh.
"I know not; but I shall find some loophole of escape when the timecomes; for if I act in obedience to the dictates of my heart andconscience, I cannot do wrong, for Heaven will come to my aid."
The phrase sounded like a dismissal; but De Breulh, man of the world ashe was, did not accept it.
"May I permit myself to offer you a word of advice?"
"Do so, sir."
"Very well, then; why not permit matters to remain as they now are? Solong as our rupture is not public property, so long will you be leftin peace. It would be the simplest thing in the world to postpone alldecisive steps for a twelvemonth, and I would withdraw as soon as younotified me that it was time."
Sabine put every confidence in this proposal, believing that everythingwas in good faith. "But," said she, "such a subterfuge would be unworthyof us all."
M. de Breulh did not urge this point; a feeling of deep sympathy hadsucceeded to his wounded pride; and, with all the chivalrous instinct ofhis race, he determined to do his best to assist these lovers.
"Might I be permitted," asked he, "now that you have placed so muchconfidence in me, to make the acquaintance of the man whom you havehonored with your love?"
Sabine colored deeply. "I have no reason to conceal anything from you:his name is Andre, he is a painter, and lives in the Rue de la Tourd'Auvergne."
De Breulh made a mental note of the name, and continued,--
"Do not think that I ask this question from mere idle curiosity; my onlydesire is to aid you. I should be glad to be a something in your life. Ihave influential friends and connections----"
Sabine was deeply wounded. Did this man propose patronizing Andre, andthus place his position and wealth in contrast with that of the obscurepainter? In his eagerness de Breulh had made a false move.
"I thank you," answered she coldly; "but Andre is very proud, and anyoffer of assistance would wound him deeply. Forgive my scruples, whichare perhaps exaggerated and absurd. All he has of his own are hisself-respect and his natural pride."
As she spoke, Sabine rang the bell, to show her visitor that theconversation was at an end.
"Have you informed my mother of M. de Breulh-Faverlay's arrival?" askedshe, as the footman appeared at the door.
"I have not, mademoiselle; for both the Count and Countess gave thestrictest order that they were not to be disturbed on any pretextwhatsoever."
"Why did you not tell me that before?" demanded M. de Breulh; and,without waiting for any explanation, he bowed gravely to Sabine, andquitted the room, after apologizing for his involuntary intrusion, andby his manner permitted all the domestics to see that he was much putout.
"Ah!" sighed Sabine, "that man is worthy of some good and true woman'saffection."
As she was about to leave the room, she heard some one insisting uponseeing the Count de Mussidan. Not being desirous of meeting strangers,she remained where she was. The servant persisted in saying that hismaster could receive no one.
"What do I care for your orders?" cried the visitor; "your master wouldnever refuse to see his friend the Baron de Clinchain;" and, thrustingthe lackey on one side, he entered the drawing-room; and his agitationwas so great that he hardly noticed the presence of the young girl.
M. de Clinchain was a thoroughly commonplace looking personage in face,figure, and dress, neither tall nor short, handsome nor ill-looking. Theonly noticeable point in his attire was that he wore a coral hand on hiswatch chain; for the Baron was a firm believer in the evil eye. When ayoung man, he was most methodical in his habits; and, as he grew older,this became an absolute mania with him. When he was twenty, he recordedin his diary the pulsations of his heart, and at forty he added remarksregarding his digestion and general health.
"What a fearful blow!" murmured he; "and to fall at such a moment when Ihad indulged in a more hearty dinner than usual. I shall feel it for thenext six months, even if it does not kill me outright."
Just then M. de Mussidan entered the room, and the excited man ran up tohim, exclaiming,--
"For Heaven's sake, Octave, save us both, by cancelling your daughter'sengagement with M. de--"
The Count laid his hand upon his friend's lips.
"Are you mad?" said he; "my
daughter is here."
In obedience to a warning gesture, Sabine left the room; but shehad heard enough to fill her heart with agitation and terror. Whatengagement was to be cancelled, and how could such a rupture affect herfather or his friend? That there was some mystery, was proved by thequestion with which the Count had prevented his friend from saying anymore. She was sure that it was the name of M. de Breulh-Faverlay withwhich the Baron was about to close his sentence, and felt that thedestiny of her life was to be decided in the conversation about to takeplace between her father and his visitor. It was deep anxiety that shefelt, not mere curiosity; and while these thoughts passed through herbrain, she remembered that she could hear all from the card-room, thedoorway of which was only separated from the drawing-room by a curtain.With a soft, gliding step she gained her hiding-place and listenedintently. The Baron was still pouring out his lamentations.
"What a fearful day this has been!" groaned the unhappy man. "I ate muchtoo heavy a breakfast, I have been terribly excited, and came here agreat deal too fast. A fit of passion caused by a servant's insolence,joy at seeing you, then a sudden interruption to what I was going tosay, are a great deal more than sufficient to cause a serious illness atmy age."
But the Count, who was usually most considerate of his friend's foibles,was not in a humor to listen to him.
"Come, let us talk sense," said he sharply; "tell me what has occurred."
"Occurred!" groaned De Clinchain; "oh, nothing, except that the wholetruth is known regarding what took place in the little wood so manyyears back. I had an anonymous letter this morning, threatening me withall sorts of terrible consequences if I do not hinder you frommarrying your daughter to De Breulh. The rogues say that they can proveeverything."
"Have you the letter with you?"
De Clinchain drew the missive from his pocket. It was to the full asthreatening as he had said; but M. de Mussidan knew all its contentsbeforehand.
"Have you examined your diary, and are the three leaves really missing?"
"They are."
"How were they stolen? Are you sure of your servants?"
"Certainly; my valet has been sixteen years in my service. You knowLorin? The volumes of my diary are always locked up in the escritoire,the key of which never leaves me. And none of the other servants everenter my room."
"Some one must have done so, however."
Clinchain struck his forehead, as though an idea had suddenly flashedacross his brain.
"I can partly guess," said he. "Some time ago Lorin went for a holiday,and got drunk with some fellows he picked up in the train. Drink broughton fighting, and he was so knocked about that he was laid up forsome weeks. He had a severe knife wound in the shoulder and was muchbruised."
"Who took his place?"
"A young fellow that my groom got at a servants' registry office."
M. de Mussidan felt that he was on the right track, for he rememberedthat the man who had called on him had had the audacity to leave a card,on which was marked:
"B. MASCARIN,
"Servants' Registry Office,"Rue Montorgueil."
"Do you know where this place is?" asked he.
"Certainly; in the Rue du Dauphin nearly opposite to my house."
The Count swore a deep oath. "The rogues are very wily; but, my dearfellow if you are ready, we will defy the storm together."
De Clinchain felt a cold tremor pass through his whole frame at thisproposal.
"Not I," said he; "do not try and persuade me. If you have come to thisdecision, let me know at once, and I will go home and finish it all witha pistol bullet."
He was just the sort of nervous, timorous man to do exactly as he said,and would sooner have killed himself than endure all kinds of annoyance,which might impair his digestion.
"Very well," answered his friend, with sullen resignation, "then I willgive in."
De Clinchain heaved a deep sigh of relief, for he, not knowing what hadpassed before, had expected to have had a much more difficult task inpersuading his friend.
"You are acting like a reasonable man for once in your life," said he.
"You think so, because I give ear to your timorous advice. A thousandcurses on that idiotic habit of yours of putting on paper not only yourown secrets, but those of others."
But at this remark Clinchain mounted his hobby.
"Do not talk like that," said he. "Had you not committed the act, itwould not have appeared in my diary."
Chilled to the very bone, and quivering like an aspen leaf, Sabine hadlistened to every word. The reality was even more dreadful than shehad dreamed of. There was a hidden sorrow, a crime in her father's pastlife.
Again the Count spoke. "There is no use in recrimination. We cannot wipeout the past, and must, therefore, submit. I promise you, on my honor,that this day I will write to De Breulh, and tell him this marriage mustbe given up."
These words threw the balm of peace and safety into De Clinchain's soul,but the excess of joy was too much for him, and murmuring, "Too muchbreakfast, and the shock of too violent an emotion," he sank back,fainting, on a couch.
The Count de Mussidan was terrified, he pulled the bell furiously, andthe domestics rushed in, followed by the Countess. Restoratives wereapplied, and in ten minutes the Baron opened one eye, and raised himselfon his elbow.
"I am better now," said he, with a faint smile. "It is weakness anddizziness. I know what I ought to take--two spoonfuls of _eau descarmes_ in a glass of sugar and water, with perfect repose of both mindand body. Fortunately, my carriage is here. Pray, be prudent, Mussidan."And, leaning upon the arm of one of the lackeys, he staggered feeblyout, leaving the Count and Countess alone, and Sabine still listeningfrom her post of espial in the card-room.