CHAPTER IX.
The revelation which had just taken place, irritated much more thanit surprised the Count de Commarin. For twenty years, he had beenconstantly expecting to see the truth brought to light. He knew thatthere can be no secret so carefully guarded that it may not by somechance escape; and his had been known to four people, three of whom werestill living.
He had not forgotten that he had been imprudent enough to trust it topaper, knowing all the while that it ought never to have been written.How was it that he, a prudent diplomat, a statesman, full of precaution,had been so foolish? How was it that he had allowed this fatalcorrespondence to remain in existence! Why had he not destroyed, at nomatter what cost, these overwhelming proofs, which sooner or later mightbe used against him? Such imprudence could only have arisen from anabsurd passion, blind and insensible, even to madness.
So long as he was Valerie's lover, the count never thought of askingthe return of his letters from his beloved accomplice. If the idea hadoccurred to him, he would have repelled it as an insult to the characterof his angel. What reason could he have had to suspect her discretion?None. He would have been much more likely to have supposed her desirousof removing every trace, even the slightest, of what had taken place.Was it not her son who had received the benefits of the deed, who hadusurped another's name and fortune?
When eight years after, believing her to be unfaithful, the count hadput an end to the connection which had given him so much happiness hethought of obtaining possession of this unhappy correspondence. But heknew not how to do so. A thousand reasons prevented his moving in thematter.
The principal one was, that he did not wish to see this woman, once sodearly loved. He did not feel sufficiently sure either of his anger orof his firmness. Could he, without yielding, resist the tearful pleadingof those eyes, which had so long held complete sway over him?
To look again upon this mistress of his youth would, he feared, resultin his forgiving her; and he had been too cruelly wounded in his prideand in his affection to admit the idea of a reconciliation.
On the other hand, to obtain the letters though a third party wasentirely out of the question. He abstained, then, from all action,postponing it indefinitely. "I will go to her," said he to himself; "butnot until I have so torn her from my heart that she will have becomeindifferent to me. I will not gratify her with the sight of my grief."
So months and years passed on; and finally he began to say and believethat it was too late. And for now more than twenty years, he had neverpassed a day without cursing his inexcusable folly. Never had he beenable to forget that above his head a danger more terrible than the swordof Damocles hung, suspended by a thread, which the slightest accidentmight break.
And now that thread had broken. Often, when considering the possibilityof such a catastrophe, he had asked himself how he should avert it? Hehad formed and rejected many plans: he had deluded himself, like all menof imagination, with innumerable chimerical projects, and now he foundhimself quite unprepared.
Albert stood respectfully, while his father sat in his great armorialchair, just beneath the large frame in which the genealogical treeof the illustrious family of Rheteau de Commarin spread its luxuriantbranches. The old gentleman completely concealed the cruel apprehensionswhich oppressed him. He seemed neither irritated nor dejected; buthis eyes expressed a haughtiness more than usually disdainful, and aself-reliance full of contempt.
"Now viscount," he began in a firm voice, "explain yourself. I need saynothing to you of the position of a father, obliged to blush before hisson; you understand it, and will feel for me. Let us spare each other,and try to be calm. Tell me, how did you obtain your knowledge of thiscorrespondence?"
Albert had had time to recover himself, and prepare for the presentstruggle, as he had impatiently waited four days for this interview.
The difficulty he experienced in uttering the first words had now givenplace to a dignified and proud demeanor. He expressed himself clearlyand forcibly, without losing himself in those details which in seriousmatters needlessly defer the real point at issue.
"Sir," he replied, "on Sunday morning, a young man called here, statingthat he had business with me of the utmost importance. I receivedhim. He then revealed to me that I, alas! am only your natural son,substituted through your affection, for the legitimate child borne youby Madame de Commarin."
"And did you not have this man kicked out of doors?" exclaimed thecount.
"No, sir. I was about to answer him very sharply, of course; but,presenting me with a packet of letters, he begged me to read them beforereplying."
"Ah!" cried M. de Commarin, "you should have thrown them into the fire,for there was a fire, I suppose? You held them in your hands; and theystill exist! Why was I not there?"
"Sir!" said Albert, reproachfully. And, recalling the position Noel hadoccupied against the mantelpiece, and the manner in which he stood, headded,--"Even if the thought had occurred to me, it was impracticable.Besides, at the first glance, I recognised your handwriting. I thereforetook the letters, and read them."
"And then?"
"And then, sir, I returned the correspondence to the young man, andasked for a delay of eight days; not to think over it myself--therewas no need of that,--but because I judged an interview with youindispensable. Now, therefore, I beseech you, tell me whether thissubstitution really did take place.
"Certainly it did," replied the count violently, "yes, certainly. Youknow that it did, for you have read what I wrote to Madame Gerdy, yourmother."
Albert had foreseen, had expected this reply; but it crushed himnevertheless.
There are misfortunes so great, that one must constantly think of themto believe in their existence. This flinching, however, lasted but aninstant.
"Pardon me, sir," he replied. "I was almost convinced; but I had notreceived a formal assurance of it. All the letters that I read spokedistinctly of your purpose, detailed your plan minutely; but not onepointed to, or in any way confirmed, the execution of your project."
The count gazed at his son with a look of intense surprise. Herecollected distinctly all the letters; and he could remember, that,in writing to Valerie, he had over and over again rejoiced at theirsuccess, thanking her for having acted in accordance with his wishes.
"You did not go to the end of them, then, viscount," he said, "you didnot read them all?"
"Every line, sir, and with an attention that you may well understand.The last letter shown me simply announced to Madame Gerdy the arrivalof Claudine Lerouge, the nurse who was charged with accomplishing thesubstitution. I know nothing beyond that."
"These proofs amount to nothing," muttered the count. "A man may form aplan, cherish it for a long time, and at the last moment abandon it; itoften happens so."
He reproached himself for having answered so hastily. Albert had hadonly serious suspicions, and he had changed them to certainty. Whatstupidity!
"There can be no possible doubt," he said to himself; "Valerie hasdestroyed the most conclusive letters, those which appeared to her themost dangerous, those I wrote after the substitution. But why has shepreserved these others, compromising enough in themselves? and why,after having preserved them, has she let them go out of her possession?"
Without moving, Albert awaited a word from the count. What would it be?No doubt, the old nobleman was at that moment deciding what he shoulddo.
"Perhaps she is dead!" said M. de Commarin aloud.
And at the thought that Valerie was dead, without his having again seenher, he started painfully. His heart, after more than twenty years ofvoluntary separation, still suffered, so deeply rooted was this firstlove of his youth. He had cursed her; at this moment he pardoned her.True, she had deceived him; but did he not owe to her the only years ofhappiness he had ever known? Had she not formed all the poetry of hisyouth? Had he experienced, since leaving her, one single hour of joyor forgetfulness? In his present frame of mind, his heart retained onlyhappy memories, like a vase which, o
nce filled with precious perfumes,retains the odour until it is destroyed.
"Poor woman!" he murmured.
He sighed deeply. Three or four times his eyelids trembled, as if a tearwere about to fall. Albert watched him with anxious curiosity. This wasthe first time since the viscount had grown to man's estate that he hadsurprised in his father's countenance other emotion than ambition orpride, triumphant or defeated. But M. de Commarin was not the man toyield long to sentiment.
"You have not told me, viscount," he said, "who sent you that messengerof misfortune."
"He came in person, sir, not wishing, he told me to mix any others up inthis sad affair. The young man was no other than he whose place I haveoccupied,--your legitimate son, M. Noel Gerdy himself."
"Yes," said the count in a low tone, "Noel, that is his name, Iremember." And then, with evident hesitation, he added: "Did he speak toyou of his--of your mother?"
"Scarcely, sir. He only told me that he came unknown to her; that he hadaccidentally discovered the secret which he revealed to me."
M. de Commarin asked nothing further. There was more for him to learn.He remained for some time deep in thought. The decisive moment had come;and he saw but one way to escape.
"Come, viscount," he said, in a tone so affectionate that Albert wasastonished, "do not stand; sit down here by me, and let us discussthis matter. Let us unite our efforts to shun, if possible, this greatmisfortune. Confide in me, as a son should in his father. Have youthought of what is to be done? have you formed any determination?"
"It seems to me, sir, that hesitation is impossible."
"In what way?"
"My duty, father, is very plain. Before your legitimate son, I oughtto give way without a murmur, if not without regret. Let him come. Iam ready to yield to him everything that I have so long kept from himwithout a suspicion of the truth--his father's love, his fortune and hisname."
At this most praiseworthy reply, the old nobleman could scarcelypreserve the calmness he had recommended to his son in the earlier partof the interview. His face grew purple; and he struck the table with hisfist more furiously than he had ever done in his life. He, usually soguarded, so decorous on all occasions, uttered a volley of oaths thatwould not have done discredit to an old cavalry officer.
"And I tell you, sir, that this dream of yours shall never take place.No; that it sha'n't. I swear it. I promise you, whatever happens,understand, that things shall remain as they are; because it is my will.You are Viscount de Commarin, and Viscount de Commarin you shall remain,in spite of yourself, if necessary. You shall retain the title to yourdeath, or at least to mine; for never, while I live, shall your absurdidea be carried out."
"But, sir," began Albert, timidly.
"You are very daring to interrupt me while I am speaking, sir,"exclaimed the count. "Do I not know all your objections beforehand? Youare going to tell me that it is a revolting injustice, a wicked robbery.I confess it, and grieve over it more than you possibly can. Do youthink that I now for the first time repent of my youthful folly? Fortwenty years, sir, I have lamented my true son; for twenty years I havecursed the wickedness of which he is the victim. And yet I learnt how tokeep silence, and to hide the sorrow and remorse which have covered mypillow with thorns. In a single instant, your senseless yielding wouldrender my long sufferings of no avail. No, I will never permit it!"
The count read a reply on his son's lips: he stopped him with awithering glance.
"Do you think," he continued, "that I have never wept over the thoughtof my legitimate son passing his life struggling for a competence? Doyou think that I have never felt a burning desire to repair the wrongdone him? There have been times, sir, when I would have given half of myfortune simply to embrace that child of a wife too tardily appreciated.The fear of casting a shadow of suspicion upon your birth prevented me.I have sacrificed myself to the great name I bear. I received it from myancestors without a stain. May you hand it down to your children equallyspotless! Your first impulse was a worthy one, generous and noble;but you must forget it. Think of the scandal, if our secret shouldbe disclosed to the public gaze. Can you not foresee the joy of ourenemies, of that herd of upstarts which surrounds us? I shudder at thethought of the odium and the ridicule which would cling to our name. Toomany families already have stains upon their escutcheons; I will havenone on mine."
M. de Commarin remained silent for several minutes, during which Albertdid not dare say a word, so much had he been accustomed since infancy torespect the least wish of the terrible old gentleman.
"There is no possible way out of it," continued the count. "Can Idiscard you to-morrow, and present this Noel as my son, saying, 'Excuseme, but there has been a slight mistake; this one is the viscount?' Andthen the tribunals will get hold of it. What does it matter who is namedBenoit, Durand, or Bernard? But, when one is called Commarin, even butfor a single day, one must retain that name through life. The samemoral does not do for everyone; because we have not the same duties toperform. In our position, errors are irreparable. Take courage, then,and show yourself worthy of the name you bear. The storm is upon you;raise your head to meet it."
Albert's impassibility contributed not a little to increase M. deCommarin's irritation. Firm in an unchangeable resolution, the viscountlistened like one fulfilling a duty: and his face reflected no emotion.The count saw that he was not shaken.
"What have you to reply?" he asked.
"It seems to me sir, that you have no idea of all the dangers which Iforesee. It is difficult to master the revolts of conscience."
"Indeed!" interrupted the count contemptuously; "your consciencerevolts, does it? It has chosen its time badly. Your scruples cometoo late. So long as you saw that your inheritance consisted of anillustrious title and a dozen or so of millions, it pleased you. To-daythe name appears to you laden with a heavy fault, a crime, if you will;and your conscience revolts. Renounce this folly. Children, sir, areaccountable to their fathers; and they should obey them. Willing orunwilling, you must be my accomplice; willing or unwilling, you mustbear the burden, as I have borne it. And, however much you may suffer,be assured your sufferings can never approach what I have endured for somany years."
"Ah, sir!" cried Albert, "is it then I, the dispossessor, who has madethis trouble? is it not, on the contrary, the dispossessed! It is not Iwho you have to convince, it is M. Noel Gerdy."
"Noel!" repeated the count.
"Your legitimate son, yes, sir. You act as if the issue of this unhappyaffair depended solely upon my will. Do you then, imagine that M. Gerdywill be so easily disposed of, so easily silenced? And, if he shouldraise his voice, do you hope to move him by the considerations you havejust mentioned?"
"I do not fear him."
"Then you are wrong, sir, permit me to tell you. Suppose for a momentthat this young man has a soul sufficiently noble to relinquish hisclaim upon your rank and your fortune. Is there not now the accumulatedrancour of years to urge him to oppose you? He cannot help feeling afierce resentment for the horrible injustice of which he has been thevictim. He must passionately long for vengeance, or rather reparation."
"He has no proofs."
"He has your letters, sir."
"They are not decisive, you yourself have told me so."
"That is true, sir; and yet they convinced me, who have an interest innot being convinced. Besides, if he needs witnesses, he will find them."
"Who? Yourself, viscount?"
"Yourself, sir. The day when he wishes it, you will betray us. Supposeyou were summoned before a tribunal, and that there, under oath, youshould be required to speak the truth, what answer would you make?"
M. de Commarin's face darkened at this very natural supposition. Hehesitated, he whose honour was usually so great.
"I would save the name of my ancestors," he said at last.
Albert shook his head doubtfully. "At the price of a lie, my father,"he said. "I never will believe it. But let us suppose even that. He willthen call Madame Gerdy." r />
"Oh, I will answer for her!" cried the count, "her interests are thesame as ours. If necessary, I will see her. Yes," he added with aneffort, "I will call on her, I will speak to her; and I will guaranteethat she will not betray us."
"And Claudine," continued the young man; "will she be silent, too?"
"For money, yes; and I will give her whatever she asks."
"And you would trust, father, to a paid silence, as if one could everbe sure of a purchased conscience? What is sold to you may be sold toanother. A certain sum may close her mouth; a larger will open it."
"I will frighten her."
"You forget, father, that Claudine Lerouge was Noel Gerdy's nurse, thatshe takes an interest in his happiness, that she loves him. How do youknow that he has not already secured her aid? She lives at Bougival. Iwent there, I remember, with you. No doubt, he sees her often; perhapsit is she who put him on the track of this correspondence. He spoke tome of her, as though he were sure of her testimony. He almost proposedmy going to her for information."
"Alas!" cried the count, "why is not Claudine dead instead of myfaithful Germain?"
"You see, sir," concluded Albert, "Claudine Lerouge would alone renderall your efforts useless."
"Ah, no!" cried the count; "I shall find some expedient."
The obstinate old gentleman was not willing to give in to this argument,the very clearness of which blinded him. The pride of his bloodparalyzed his usual practical good sense. To acknowledge that he wasconquered humiliated him, and seemed to him unworthy of himself. He didnot remember to have met during his long career an invincible resistanceor an absolute impediment. He was like all men of imagination, whofall in love with their projects, and who expect them to succeed on alloccasions, as if wishing hard was all that was necessary to change theirdreams into realities.
Albert this time broke the silence, which threatened to be prolonged.
"I see, sir," he said, "that you fear, above all things, the publicityof this sad history; the possible scandal renders you desperate. But,unless we yield, the scandal will be terrible. There will be a trialwhich will be the talk of all Europe. The newspapers will print thefacts, accompanied by heavens knows what comments of their own. Ourname, however the trial results, will appear in all the papers of theworld. This might be borne, if we were sure of succeeding; but we arebound to lose, my father, we shall lose. Then think of the exposure!think of the dishonour branded upon us by public opinion."
"I think," said the count, "that you can have neither respect noraffection for me, when you speak in that way."
"It is my duty, sir, to point out to you the evils I see threatening,and which there is yet time to shun. M. Noel Gerdy is your legitimateson, recognize him, acknowledge his just pretensions, and receive him.We can make the change very quietly. It is easy to account for it,through a mistake of the nurse, Claudine Lerouge, for instance. Allparties being agreeable, there can be no trouble about it. What isto prevent the new Viscount de Commarin from quitting Paris, anddisappearing for a time? He might travel about Europe for four or fiveyears; by the end of that time, all will be forgotten, and no one willremember me."
M. de Commarin was not listening; he was deep in thought.
"But instead of contesting, viscount," he cried, "we might compromise.We may be able to purchase these letters. What does this young fellowwant? A position and a fortune? I will give him both. I will make himas rich as he can wish. I will give him a million; if need be, two,three,--half of all I possess. With money, you see, much money--"
"Spare him, sir; he is your son."
"Unfortunately! and I wish him to the devil! I will see him, and he willagree to what I wish. I will prove to him the bad policy of the earthenpot struggling with the iron kettle; and, if he is not a fool, he willunderstand."
The count rubbed his hands while speaking. He was delighted with thisbrilliant plan of negotiation. It could not fail to result favorably. Acrowd of arguments occurred to his mind in support of it. He would buyback again his lost rest.
But Albert did not seem to share his father's hopes, "You will perhapsthink it unkind in me, sir," said he, sadly, "to dispel this lastillusion of yours; but I must. Do not delude yourself with the idea ofan amicable arrangement; the awakening will only be the more painful.I have seen M. Gerdy, my father, and he is not one, I assure you, to beintimidated. If there is an energetic will in the world, it is his.He is truly your son; and his expression, like yours, shows an ironresolution, that may be broken but never bent. I can still hear hisvoice trembling with resentment, while he spoke to me. I can still seethe dark fire of his eyes. No, he will never accept a compromise. Hewill have all or nothing; and I cannot say that he is wrong. If youresist, he will attack you without the slightest consideration. Strongin his rights, he will cling to you with stubborn animosity. He willdrag you from court to court; he will not stop short of utter defeat orcomplete triumph."
Accustomed to absolute obedience from his son, the old nobleman wasastounded at this unexpected obstinacy.
"What is your object in saying all this?" he asked.
"It is this, sir. I should utterly despise myself, if I did not spareyour old age this greatest of calamities. Your name does not belong tome; I will take my own. I am your natural son; I will give up my placeto your legitimate son. Permit me to withdraw with at least the honourof having freely done my duty. Do not force me to wait till I am drivenout in disgrace."
"What!" cried the count, stunned, "you will abandon me? You refuse tohelp me, you turn against me, you recognize the rights of this man inspite of my wishes?"
Albert bowed his head. He was much moved, but still remained firm.
"My resolution is irrevocably taken," he replied. "I can never consentto despoil your son."
"Cruel, ungrateful boy!" cried M. de Commarin. His wrath was such,that, when he found he could do nothing by abuse, he passed at once tojeering. "But no," he continued, "you are great, you are noble, you aregenerous; you are acting after the most approved pattern of chivalry,viscount, I should say, my dear M. Gerdy; after the fashion ofPlutarch's time! So you give up my name and my fortune, and you leaveme. You will shake the dust from your shoes upon the threshold of myhouse; and you will go out into the world. I see only one difficulty inyour way. How do you expect to live, my stoic philosopher? Have you atrade at your fingers' ends, like Jean Jacques Rousseau's Emile? Or,worthy M. Gerdy, have you learned economy from the four thousand francsa month I allow you for waxing your moustache? Perhaps you have mademoney on the Bourse! Then my name must have seemed very burdensome toyou to bear, since you so eagerly introduced it into such a place! Hasdirt, then, so great an attraction for you that you must jump fromyour carriage so quickly? Say, rather, that the company of my friendsembarrasses you, and that you are anxious to go where you will be amongyour equals."
"I am very wretched, sir," replied Albert to this avalanche of insults,"and you would crush me!"
"You wretched! Well, whose fault is it? But let us get back to myquestion. How and on what will you live?"
"I am not so romantic as you are pleased to say, sir. I must confessthat, as regards the future, I have counted upon your kindness. You areso rich, that five hundred thousand francs would not materially affectyour fortune; and, on the interest of that sum, I could live quietly, ifnot happily."
"And suppose I refuse you this money?"
"I know you well enough, sir, to feel sure that you will not do so. Youare too just to wish that I alone should expiate wrongs that are not ofmy making. Left to myself, I should at my present age have achieved aposition. It is late for me to try and make one now; but I will do mybest."
"Superb!" interrupted the count; "you are really superb! One never heardof such a hero of romance. What a character! But tell me, what do youexpect from all this astonishing disinterestedness?"
"Nothing, sir."
The count shrugged his shoulders, looked sarcastically at his son, andobserved: "The compensation is very slight. And you expect
me to believeall this! No, sir, mankind is not in the habit of indulging in such fineactions for its pleasure alone. You must have some reason for acting sograndly; some reason which I fail to see."
"None but what I have already told you."
"Therefore it is understood you intend to relinquish everything;you will even abandon your proposed union with Mademoiselle Claired'Arlange? You forget that for two years I have in vain constantlyexpressed my disappointment of this marriage."
"No, sir. I have seen Mademoiselle Claire; I have explained my unhappyposition to her. Whatever happens, she has sworn to be my wife."
"And do you think that Madame d'Arlange will give her granddaughter toM. Gerdy?"
"We hope so, sir. The marchioness is sufficiently infected witharistocratic ideas to prefer a nobleman's bastard to the son of somehonest tradesman; but should she refuse, we would await her death,though without desiring it."
The calm manner in which Albert said this enraged the count.
"Can this be my son?" he cried. "Never! What blood have you then in yourveins, sir? Your worthy mother alone might tell us, provided, however,she herself knows."
"Sir," cried Albert menacingly, "think well before you speak! She ismy mother, and that is sufficient. I am her son, not her judge. No oneshall insult her in my presence, I will not permit it, sir; and I willsuffer it least of all from you."
The count made great efforts to keep his anger within bounds, butAlbert's behavior thoroughly enraged him. What, his son rebelled, hedared to brave him to his face, he threatened him! The old fellow jumpedfrom his chair, and moved towards the young man as if he would strikehim.
"Leave the room," he cried, in a voice choking with rage, "leave theroom instantly! Retire to your apartments, and take care not to leavethem without my orders. To-morrow I will let you know my decision."
Albert bowed respectfully, but without lowering his eyes and walkedslowly to the door. He had already opened it, when M. de Commarinexperienced one of those revulsions of feeling, so frequent in violentnatures.
"Albert," said he, "come here and listen to me."
The young man turned back, much affected by this change.
"Do not go," continued the count, "until I have told you what I think.You are worthy of being the heir of a great house, sir. I may be angrywith you; but I can never lose my esteem for you. You are a noble man,Albert. Give me your hand."
It was a happy moment for these two men, and such a one as they hadscarcely ever experienced in their lives, restrained as they had been bycold etiquette. The count felt proud of his son, and recognised inhim himself at that age. For a long time their hands remained clasped,without either being able to utter a word.
At last, M. de Commarin resumed his seat.
"I must ask you to leave me, Albert," he said kindly. "I must be aloneto reflect, to try and accustom myself to this terrible blow."
And, as the young man closed the door, he added, as if giving vent tohis inmost thoughts, "If he, in whom I have placed all my hope, desertsme, what will become of me? And what will the other one be like?"
Albert's features, when he left the count's study, bore traces of theviolent emotions he had felt during the interview. The servants whom hemet noticed it the more, as they had heard something of the quarrel.
"Well," said an old footman who had been in the family thirty years,"the count has had another unhappy scene with his son. The old fellowhas been in a dreadful passion."
"I got wind of it at dinner," spoke up a valet de chambre: "the countrestrained himself enough not to burst out before me; but he rolled hiseyes fiercely."
"What can be the matter?"
"Pshaw! that's more than they know themselves. Why, Denis, beforewhom they always speak freely, says that they often wrangle for hourstogether, like dogs, about things which he can never see through."
"Ah," cried out a young fellow, who was being trained to service, "ifI were in the viscount's place, I'd settle the old gent prettyeffectually!"
"Joseph, my friend," said the footman pointedly, "you are a fool. Youmight give your father his walking ticket very properly, because younever expect five sous from him; and you have already learned how toearn your living without doing any work at all. But the viscount, praytell me what he is good for, what he knows how to do? Put him in thecentre of Paris, with only his fine hands for capital, and you willsee."
"Yes, but he has his mother's property in Normandy," replied Joseph.
"I can't for the life of me," said the valet de chambre, "see whatthe count finds to complain of; for his son is a perfect model, andI shouldn't be sorry to have one like him. There was a very differentpair, when I was in the Marquis de Courtivois's service. He was onewho made it a point never to be in good humor. His eldest son, who isa friend of the viscount's, and who comes here occasionally, is a pitwithout a bottom, as far as money is concerned. He will fritter away athousand-franc note quicker than Joseph can smoke a pipe."
"But the marquis is not rich," said a little old man, who himself hadperhaps the enormous wages of fifteen francs; "he can't have more thansixty thousand francs' income at the most."
"That's why he gets angry. Every day there is some new story abouthis son. He had an apartment in the house; he went in and out when hepleased; he passed his nights in gaming and drinking; he cut up so withthe actresses that the police had to interfere. Besides all this, I havemany a time had to help him up to his room, and put him to bed, when thewaiters from the restaurants brought him home in a carriage, so drunkthat he could scarcely say a word."
"Ha!" exclaimed Joseph enthusiastically, "this fellow's service must bemighty profitable."
"That was according to circumstances. When he was at play, he was lavishwith his money; but he always lost: and, when he was drunk, he had aquick temper, and didn't spare the blows. I must do him the justice tosay, though, that his cigars were splendid. But he was a ruffian; whilethe viscount here is a true child of wisdom. He is severe upon ourfaults, it is true; but he is never harsh nor brutal to his servants.Then he is uniformly generous; which in the long run pays us best. Imust say that he is better than the majority, and that the count is veryunreasonable."
Such was the judgment of the servants. That of society was perhaps lessfavorable.
The Viscount de Commarin was not one of those who possess the ratherquestionable and at times unenviable accomplishment of pleasing everyone. He was wise enough to distrust those astonishing personages whoare always praising everybody. In looking about us, we often see men ofsuccess and reputation, who are simply dolts, without any merit excepttheir perfect insignificance. That stupid propriety which offendsno one, that uniform politeness which shocks no one's vanity, havepeculiarly the gift of pleasing and of succeeding.
One cannot meet certain persons without saying, "I know that face; Ihave seen it somewhere, before;" because it has no individuality, butsimply resembles faces seen in a common crowd. It is precisely so withthe minds of certain other people. When they speak, you know exactlywhat they are going to say; you have heard the same thing so many timesalready from them, you know all their ideas by heart. These people arewelcomed everywhere: because they have nothing peculiar about them; andpeculiarity, especially in the upper classes, is always irritating andoffensive; they detest all innovations.
Albert was peculiar; consequently much discussed, and very differentlyestimated. He was charged with sins of the most opposite character, withfaults so contradictory that they were their own defence. Some accusedhim, for instance, of entertaining ideas entirely too liberal for oneof his rank; and, at the same time, others complained of his excessivearrogance. He was charged with treating with insulting levity the mostserious questions, and was then blamed for his affectation of gravity.People knew him scarcely well enough to love him, while they werejealous of him and feared him.
He wore a bored look in all fashionable reunions, which was consideredvery bad taste. Forced by his relations, by his father, to go intosociety a great deal, he was b
ored, and committed the unpardonable sinof letting it be seen. Perhaps he had been disgusted by the constantcourt made to him, by the rather coarse attentions which were neverspared the noble heir of one of the richest families in France. Havingall the necessary qualities for shining, he despised them. Dreadful sin!He did not abuse his advantages; and no one ever heard of his gettinginto a scrape.
He had had once, it was said, a very decided liking for Madame Prosny,perhaps the naughtiest, certainly the most mischievous woman in Paris;but that was all. Mothers who had daughters to dispose of upheld him;but, for the last two years, they had turned against him, when his lovefor Mademoiselle d'Arlange became well known.
At the club they rallied him on his prudence. He had had, like others,his run of follies; but he had soon got disgusted with what it is thefashion to call pleasure. The noble profession of bon vivant appearedto him very tame and tiresome. He did not enjoy passing his nights atcards; nor did he appreciate the society of those frail sisters, who inParis give notoriety to their lovers. He affirmed that a gentlemanwas not necessarily an object of ridicule because he would not exposehimself in the theatre with these women. Finally, none of his friendscould ever inoculate him with a passion for the turf.
As doing nothing wearied him, he attempted, like the parvenu, to givesome meaning to life by work. He purposed, after a while, to take partin public affairs; and, as he had often been struck with the grossignorance of many men in power, he wished to avoid their example. Hebusied himself with politics; and this was the cause of all his quarrelswith his father. The one word of "liberal" was enough to throw the countinto convulsions; and he suspected his son of liberalism, ever sincereading an article by the viscount, published in the "Revue des DeuxMondes."
His ideas, however, did not prevent his fully sustaining his rank. Hespent most nobly on the world the revenue which placed his father andhimself a little above it. His establishment, distinct from the count's,was arranged as that of a wealthy young gentleman's ought to be. Hisliveries left nothing to be desired; and his horses and equipages werecelebrated. Letters of invitation were eagerly sought for to the grandhunting parties, which he formed every year towards the end of Octoberat Commarin,--an admirable piece of property, covered with immensewoods.
Albert's love for Claire--a deep, well-considered love--had contributednot a little to keep him from the habits and life of the pleasant andelegant idleness indulged in by his friends. A noble attachment isalways a great safeguard. In contending against it, M. de Commarin hadonly succeeded in increasing its intensity and insuring its continuance.This passion, so annoying to the count, was the source of the mostvivid, the most powerful emotions in the viscount. Ennui was banishedfrom his existence.
All his thoughts took the same direction; all his actions had but oneaim. Could he look to the right or the left, when, at the end of hisjourney, he perceived the reward so ardently desired? He resolved thathe would never have any wife but Claire; his father absolutely refusedhis consent. The effort to change this refusal had long been thebusiness of his life. Finally, after three years of perseverance, hehad triumphed; the count had given his consent. And now, just as he wasreaping the happiness of success, Noel had arrived, implacable as fate,with his cursed letters.
On leaving M. de Commarin, and while slowly mounting the stairs whichled to his apartments, Albert's thoughts reverted to Claire. What wasshe doing at that moment? Thinking of him no doubt. She knew that thecrisis would come that very evening, or the next day at the latest. Shewas probably praying. Albert was thoroughly exhausted; his head feltdizzy, and seemed ready to burst. He rang for his servant, and orderedsome tea.
"You do wrong in not sending for the doctor, sir," said Lubin, hisvalet. "I ought to disobey you, and send for him myself."
"It would be useless," replied Albert sadly; "he could do nothing forme."
As the valet was leaving the room, he added,--"Say nothing about mybeing unwell to any one, Lubin; it is nothing at all. If I should feelworse, I will ring."
At that moment, to see any one, to hear a voice, to have to reply, wasmore than he could bear. He longed to be left entirely to himself.
After the painful emotions arising from his explanations with the count,he could not sleep. He opened one of the library windows, and lookedout. It was a beautiful night: and there was a lovely moon. Seen at thishour, by the mild, tremulous evening light, the gardens attached tothe mansion seemed twice their usual size. The moving tops of the greattrees stretched away like an immense plain, hiding the neighbouringhouses; the flower-beds, set off by the green shrubs, looked like greatblack patches, while particles of shell, tiny pieces of glass, andshining pebbles sparkled in the carefully kept walks. The horses stampedin the stable and the rattling of their halter chains against the barsof the manger could be distinctly heard. In the coach-house the men wereputting away for the night the carriage, always kept ready throughoutthe evening, in case the count should wish to go out.
Albert was reminded by these surroundings, of the magnificence of hispast life. He sighed deeply.
"Must I, then, lose all this?" he murmured. "I can scarcely, even formyself, abandon so much splendour without regret; and thinking ofClaire makes it hard indeed. Have I not dreamed of a life of exceptionalhappiness for her, a result almost impossible to realise withoutwealth?"
Midnight sounded from the neighbouring church of St. Clotilde, and asthe night was chilly, he closed the window, and sat down near the fire,which he stirred. In the hope of obtaining a respite from histhoughts, he took up the evening paper, in which was an account of theassassination at La Jonchere; but he found it impossible to read: thelines danced before his eyes. Then he thought of writing to Claire. Hesat down at his desk, and wrote, "My dearly loved Claire," but he couldgo no further; his distracted brain could not furnish him with a singlesentence.
At last, at break of day, he threw himself on to a sofa, and fell into aheavy sleep peopled with phantoms.
At half-past nine in the morning, he was suddenly awakened, by the noiseof the door being hastily opened. A servant entered, with a scared lookon his face, and so out of breath from having come up the stairs four ata time, that he could scarcely speak.
"Sir," said he, "viscount, be quick, fly and hide, save yourself, theyare here, it is the--"
A commissary of police, wearing his sash, appeared at the door. Hewas followed by a number of men, among whom M. Tabaret could be seen,keeping as much out of sight as possible.
The commissary approached Albert.
"You are," he asked, "Guy Louis Marie Albert de Rheteau de Commarin?"
"Yes, sir."
The commissary placed his hand upon him, while pronouncing the usualformula: "M. de Commarin, in the name of the law I arrest you."
"Me, sir? me?"
Albert, aroused suddenly from his painful dreams, seemed hardly tocomprehend what was taking place, seemed to ask himself,--"Am I reallyawake? Is not this some hideous nightmare?"
He threw a stupid, astonished look upon the commissary of police, hismen, and M. Tabaret, who had not taken his eyes off him.
"Here is the warrant," added the commissary, unfolding the paper.
Mechanically Albert glanced over it.
"Claudine assassinated!" he cried.
Then very low, but distinct enough to be heard by the commissary, by oneof his officers, and by old Tabaret, he added,--"I am lost!"
While the commissary was making inquiries, which immediately followall arrests, the police officers spread through the apartments, andproceeded to a searching examination of them. They had received ordersto obey M. Tabaret, and the old fellow guided them in their search,made them ransack drawers and closets, and move the furniture to lookunderneath or behind. They seized a number of articles belonging to theviscount,--documents, manuscripts, and a very voluminous correspondence;but it was with especial delight that M. Tabaret put his hands oncertain articles, which were carefully described in their proper orderin the official report:
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sp; 1. In the ante-room, hung with all sorts of weapons, a broken foil wasfound behind a sofa. This foil has a peculiar handle, and is unlikethose commonly sold. It is ornamented with the count's coronet, andthe initials A. C. It has been broken at about the middle; and the endcannot be found. When questioned, the viscount declared that he did notknow what had become of the missing end.
2. In the dressing-room, a pair of black cloth trousers was discoveredstill damp, and bearing stains of mud or rather of mould. All one sideis smeared with greenish moss, like that which grows on walls. On thefront are numerous rents; and one near the knee is about four incheslong. These trousers had not been hung up with the other clothes; butappear to have been hidden between two large trunks full of clothing.
3. In the pocket of the above mentioned trousers was found a pair oflavender kid gloves. The palm of the right hand glove bears a largegreenish stain, produced by grass or moss. The tips of the fingershave been worn as if by rubbing. Upon the backs of both gloves are somescratches, apparently made by finger-nails.
4. There were also found in the dressing-room two pairs of boots, one ofwhich, though clean and polished, was still very damp; and an umbrellarecently wetted, the end of which was still covered with a lightcoloured mud.
5. In a large room, called the library, were found a box of cigars ofthe trabucos brand, and on the mantel-shelf a number of cigar-holders inamber and meerschaum.
The last article noted down, M. Tabaret approached the commissary ofpolice.
"I have everything I could desire," he whispered.
"And I have finished," replied the commissary. "Our prisoner does notappear to know exactly how to act. You heard what he said. He gave in atonce. I suppose YOU will call it lack of experience."
"In the middle of the day," replied the amateur detective in a whisper,"he would not have been quite so crestfallen. But early in the morning,suddenly awakened, you know--Always arrest a person early in themorning, when he's hungry, and only half awake."
"I have questioned some of the servants. Their evidence is ratherpeculiar."
"Very well; we shall see. But I must hurry off and find theinvestigating magistrate, who is impatiently expecting me."
Albert was beginning to recover a little from the stupor into which hehad been plunged by the entrance of the commissary of police.
"Sir," he asked, "will you permit me to say a few words in your presenceto the Count de Commarin? I am the victim of some mistake, which will bevery soon discovered."
"It's always a mistake," muttered old Tabaret.
"What you ask is impossible," replied the commissary. "I have specialorders of the strictest sort. You must not henceforth communicate witha living soul. A cab is in waiting below. Have the goodness to accompanyme to it."
In crossing the vestibule, Albert noticed a great stir among theservants; they all seemed to have lost their senses. M. Denis gave someorders in a sharp, imperative tone. Then he thought he heard that theCount de Commarin had been struck down with apoplexy. After that, heremembered nothing. They almost carried him to the cab which drove offas fast as the two little horses could go. M. Tabaret had just hastenedaway in a more rapid vehicle.