CHAPTER XIII.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Ever since Mascarin's visit, the Count de Mussidan had been in adeplorable state of mind. Forgetting the injury to his foot, he passedthe night pacing up and down the library, cudgelling his brains for somemeans of breaking the meshes of the net in which he was entangled. Heknew the necessity for immediate action, for he felt sure that thisdemand would only be the forerunner of numerous others of a similarcharacter. He thought over and dismissed many schemes. Sometimes he hadalmost decided to go to the police authorities and make a clean breast;then the idea of placing the affair in the hands of a private detectiveoccurred to him; but the more he deliberated, the more he realized thestrength of the cord that bound him, and the scandal which exposurewould cause. This long course of thought had in some measure softenedthe bitterness of his wrath, and he was able to receive his oldfriend M. de Clinchain with some degree of calmness. He was not atall surprised at the receipt of the anonymous letter,--indeed, he hadexpected that a blow would be struck in that direction. Still immersedin thought, M. de Mussidan hardly took heed of his wife's presence,and he still paced the room, uttering a string of broken phrases. Thisexcited the attention of the Countess, for her own threatened positioncaused her to be on the alert.
"What is annoying you, Octave?" asked she. "Surely, not M. deClinchain's attack of indigestion?"
For many years the Count had been accustomed to that taunting andsarcastic voice, but this feeble joke at such a moment was more than hecould endure.
"Don't address me in that manner," said he angrily.
"What is the matter--are you not well?"
"Madame!"
"Will you have the kindness to tell me what has taken place?"
The color suffused the Count's face, and his rage burst forth the morefuriously from his having had to suppress it so long; and coming toa halt before the chair in which the Countess was lounging, his eyesblazing with hate and anger, he exclaimed,--
"All I wish to tell you is, that De Breulh-Faverlay shall not marry ourdaughter."
Madame de Mussidan was secretly delighted at this reply, for it showedher that half the task required of her by Dr. Hortebise had beenaccomplished without her interference; but in order to act cautiously,she began at once to object, for a woman's way is always at first tooppose what she most desires.
"You are laughing at me, Count!" said she. "Where can we hope to find sogood a match again?"
"You need not be afraid," returned the Count, with a sneer; "you shallhave another son-in-law."
These words sent a pang through the heart of the Countess. Was it anallusion to the past? or had the phrase dropped from her husband's lipsaccidentally? or had he any suspicion of the influence that had beenbrought to bear upon her? She, however, had plenty of courage, and wouldrather meet misfortune face to face than await its coming in dread.
"Of what other son-in-law are you speaking?" asked she negligently. "Hasany other suitor presented himself? May I ask his name? Do you intend tosettle my child's future without consulting me?"
"I do, madame."
A contemptuous smile crossed the face of the Countess, which goaded theCount to fury.
"Am I not the master here?" exclaimed he in accents of intense rage."Am I not driven to the exercise of my power by the menaces of a pack ofvillains who have wormed out the hidden secrets which have overshadowedmy life from my youth upward? They can, if they desire, drag my namethrough the mire of infamy."
Madame de Mussidan bounded to her feet, asking herself whether herhusband's intellect had not given way.
"You commit a crime!" gasped she.
"I, madame, I myself! Does that surprise you? Have you never had anysuspicion? Perhaps you have not forgotten a fatal accident which tookplace out shooting, and darkened the earlier years of our married life?Well, the thing was not an accident, but a deliberate murder committedby me. Yes, I murdered him, and this fact is known, and can be proved."
The Countess grew deadly pale, and extended her hand, as though to guardherself from some coming danger.
"You are horrified, are you?" continued the Count, with a sneer."Perhaps I inspire you with horror; but do not fear; the blood is nolonger on my hands, but it is here, and is choking me." And as he spokehe pressed his fingers upon his heart. "For twenty-three years I haveendured this hideous recollection and even now when I wake in the nightI am bathed in cold sweat, for I fancy I can hear the last gasps of theunhappy man."
"This is horrible, too horrible!" murmured Madame de Mussidan faintly.
"Ah, but you do not know why I killed him,--it was because the dead manhad dared to tell me that the wife I adored with all the passion of mysoul was unfaithful to me."
Words of eager denial rose to the lips of the Countess; but her husbandwent on coldly, "And it was all true, for I heard all later on.
"Poor Montlouis! _he_ was really loved. There was a little shop-girl,who toiled hard for daily bread, but she was a thousand times morehonorable than the haughty woman of noble race that I had just married."
"Have mercy, Octave."
"Yes, and she fell a victim to her love for Montlouis. Had he lived,he would have made her his wife. After his death, she could no longerconceal her fault. In small towns the people are without mercy; and whenshe left the hospital with her baby at her breast, the women peltedher with mud. But for me," continued the Count, "she would have died ofhunger. Poor girl! I did not allow her much, but with it she managedto give her son a decent education. He has now grown up, and whateverhappens, his future is safe."
Had M. de Mussidan and his wife been less deeply engaged in this hideousrecital, they would have heard the stifled sobs that came from theadjoining room.
The Count felt a certain kind of savage pleasure in venting the rage,that had for years been suppressed, upon the shrinking woman before him."Would it not be a cruel injustice, madame, to draw a comparison betweenyou and this unhappy girl? Have you always been deaf to the whisperingsof conscience? and have you never thought of the future punishmentwhich most certainly awaits you? for you have failed in the duties ofdaughter, wife, and mother."
Generally the Countess cared little for her husband's reproaches, welldeserved as they might be, but to-day she quailed before him.
"With your entrance into my life," continued the Count, "came shame andmisfortune. When people saw you so gay and careless under the oak-treesof your ancestral home, who could have suspected that your heartcontained a dark secret? When my only wish was to win you for my wife,how did I know that you were weaving a hideous conspiracy against me?Even when so young, you were a monster of dissimulation and hypocrisy.Guilt never overshadowed your brow, nor did falsehood dim the franknessof your eyes. On the day of our marriage I mentally reproached myselffor any unworthiness. Wretched fool that I was, I was happy beyond allpower of expression, when you, madame, completed the measure of yourguilt by adding infidelity to it."
"It is false," murmured the Countess. "You have been deceived."
M. de Mussidan laughed a grim and terrible laugh.
"Not so," answered he; "I have every proof. This seems strange to you,does it? You have always looked upon me as one of those foolish husbandsthat may be duped without suspicion on their parts. You thought thatyou had placed a veil over my eyes, but I could see through it when youlittle suspected that I could do so. Why did I not tell you this before?Because I had not ceased to love you, and this fatal love was strongerthan all honor, pride, and even self-respect." He poured out thistirade with inconceivable rapidity, and the Countess listened to it inawe-struck silence. "I kept silence," continued the Count, "because Iknew that on the day I uttered the truth you would be entirely lost tome. I might have killed you; I had every right to do so, but I could notlive apart from you. You will never know how near the shadow of deathhas been to you. When I have kissed you, I have fancied that your lipswere soiled with the kisses of others, and I could hardly keep myhands from clutching your ivory neck until life was exti
nct, and failedutterly to decide whether I loved you or hated you the most."
"Have mercy, Octave! have mercy!" pleaded the unhappy woman.
"You are surprised, I can see," answered he, with a dark smile; "yetI could give you further food for wonder if I pleased, but I have saidenough now."
A tremor passed over the frame of the Countess. Was her husbandacquainted with the existence of the letters? All hinged upon this.He could not have read them, or he would have spoken in very differentterms, had he known the mystery contained in them.
"Let me speak," began she.
"Not a word," replied her husband.
"On my honor--"
"All is ended; but I must not forget to tell you of one of my youthfulfollies. You may laugh at it, but that signifies nothing. I actuallybelieved that I could gain your affection. I said to myself that one dayyou would be moved by my deep passion for you. I was a fool. As if loveor affection could ever penetrate the icy barriers that guarded yourheart."
"You have no pity," wailed she.
He gazed upon her with eyes in which the pent-up anger of twenty yearsblazed and consumed slowly. "And you, what are you? I drained to thebottom the poisoned cup held out to a deceived husband by an unfaithfulwife. Each day widened the breach between us, until at last we sank intothis miserable existence which is wearing out my life. I kept no watchon you; I was not made for a jailer. What I wanted was your soul andheart. To imprison the body was easy, but your soul would still havebeen free to wander in imagination to the meeting-place where your loverexpected you. I know not how I had the courage to remain by your side.It was not to save an honor that had already gone, but merely to keepup appearances; for as long as we were nominally together the tongue ofscandal was forced to remain silent."
Again the unhappy woman attempted to protest her innocence, and againthe Count paid no heed to her. "I wished too," resumed he, "to save someportion of our property, for your insatiable extravagance swallowed upall like a bottomless abyss. At last your trades-people, believing me tobe ruined, refused you credit, and this saved me. I had my daughter tothink of, and have gathered together a rich dowry for her, and yet----"he hesitated, and ceased speaking for a moment.
"And yet," repeated Madame de Mussidan.
"I have never kissed her," he burst forth with a fresh and terribleexplosion of wrath, "without feeling a hideous doubt as to whether shewas really my child."
This was more than the Countess could endure.
"Enough," she cried, "enough! I have been guilty, Octave; but not soguilty as you imagine."
"Why do you venture to defend yourself?"
"Because it is my duty to guard Sabine."
"You should have thought of this earlier," answered the Count with asneer. "You should have moulded her mind--have taught her what was nobleand good, and have perused the unsullied pages of the book of her youngheart."
In the deepest agitation the Countess answered,--
"Ah, Octave, why did you not speak of this sooner, if you knew all; butI will now tell you everything."
By an inconceivable error of judgment the Count corrected her speech."Spare us both," said he. "If I have broken through the silence that Ihave maintained for many a year, it is because I knew that no word youcould utter would touch my heart."
Feeling that all hope had fled, Madame de Mussidan fell backwardupon the couch, while Sabine, unable to listen to any more terriblerevelations, had crept into her own chamber. The Count was about toleave the drawing-room, when a servant entered, bearing a letter ona silver salver. De Mussidan tore it open; it was from M. deBreulh-Faverlay, asking to be released from his engagement to Sabine deMussidan. This last stroke was almost too much for the Count's nerves,for in this act he saw the hand of the man who had come to him withsuch deadly threats, and terror filled his soul as he thought of thefar-stretching arm of him whose bondslave he found himself to be; butbefore he could collect his thoughts, his daughter's maid went into theroom crying with all her might, "Help, help; my poor mistress is dying!"