XVI
The count told half a truth when he spoke to Jenny of his marriage.Sauvresy and he had discussed the subject, and if the matter was not asripe as he had represented, there was at least some prospect of such anevent. Sauvresy had proposed it in his anxiety to complete his work ofrestoring Hector to fortune and society.
One evening, about a month before the events just narrated, he had ledHector into the library, saying:
"Give me your ear for a quarter of an hour, and don't answer me hastily.What I am going to propose to you deserves serious reflection."
"Well, I can be serious when it is necessary."
"Let's begin with your debts. Their payment is not yet completed, butenough has been done to enable us to foresee the end. It is certain thatyou will have, after all debts are paid, from three to four hundredthousand francs."
Hector had never, in his wildest hopes, expected such success.
"Why, I'm going to be rich," exclaimed he joyously.
"No, not rich, but quite above want. There is, too, a mode in which youcan regain your lost position."
"A mode? what?"
Sauvresy paused a moment, and looked steadily at his friend.
"You must marry," said he at last.
This seemed to surprise Hector, but not disagreeably.
"I, marry? It's easier to give that advice than to follow it."
"Pardon me--you ought to know that I do not speak rashly. What would yousay to a young girl of good family, pretty, well brought up, so charmingthat, excepting my own wife, I know of no one more attractive, and whowould bring with her a dowry of a million?"
"Ah, my friend, I should say that I adore her! And do you know such anangel?"
"Yes, and you too, for the angel is Mademoiselle Laurence Courtois."
Hector's radiant face overclouded at this name, and he made adiscouraged gesture.
"Never," said he. "That stiff and obstinate old merchant, MonsieurCourtois, would never consent to give his daughter to a man who has beenfool enough to waste his fortune."
Sauvresy shrugged his shoulders.
"Now, there's what it is to have eyes, and not see. Know that thisCourtois, whom you think so obstinate, is really the most romantic ofmen, and an ambitious old fellow to boot. It would seem to him a grandgood speculation to give his daughter to the Count Hector de Tremorel,cousin of the Duke of Samblemeuse, the relative of the Commarins, eventhough you hadn't a sou. What wouldn't he give to have the deliciouspleasure of saying, Monsieur the Count, my son-in-law; or my daughter,Madame the Countess Hector! And you aren't ruined, you know, you aregoing to have an income of twenty thousand francs, and perhaps enoughmore to raise your capital to a million."
Hector was silent. He had thought his life ended, and now, all of asudden, a splendid perspective unrolled itself before him. He might thenrid himself of the patronizing protection of his friend; he would befree, rich, would have a better wife, as he thought, than Bertha; hishouse would outshine Sauvresy's. The thought of Bertha crossed his mind,and it occurred to him that he might thus escape a lover who althoughbeautiful and loving was proud and bold, and whose domineering temperbegan to be burdensome to him.
"I may say," said he, seriously to his friend, "that I have alwaysthought Monsieur Courtois an excellent and honorable man, andMademoiselle Laurence seems to me so accomplished a young lady, that aman might be happy in marrying her even without a dowry."
"So much the better, my dear Hector, so much the better. But you know,the first thing is to engage Laurence's affections; her father adoresher, and would not, I am sure, give her to a man whom she herself hadnot chosen."
"Don't disturb yourself," answered Hector, with a gesture of triumph,"she will love me."
The next day he took occasion to encounter M. Courtois, who invited himto dinner. The count employed all his practised seductions on Laurence,which were so brilliant and able that they were well fitted to surpriseand dazzle a young girl. It was not long before the count was the heroof the mayor's household. Nothing formal had been said, nor any directallusion or overture made; yet M. Courtois was sure that Hector wouldsome day ask his daughter's hand, and that he should freely answer,"yes;" while he thought it certain that Laurence would not say "no."
Bertha suspected nothing; she was now very much worried about Jenny, andsaw nothing else. Sauvresy, after spending an evening with the count atthe mayor's, during which Hector had not once quitted the whist-table,decided to speak to his wife of the proposed marriage, which he thoughtwould give her an agreeable surprise. At his first words, she grew pale.Her emotion was so great that, seeing she would betray herself, shehastily retired to her boudoir. Sauvresy, quietly seated in one of thebedroom arm-chairs, continued to expatiate on the advantages of such amarriage--raising his voice, so that Bertha might hear him in theneighboring room.
"Do you know," said he, "that our friend has an income of sixty thousandcrowns? We'll find an estate for him near by, and then we shall see himand his wife every day. They will be very pleasant society for us in theautumn months. Hector is a fine fellow, and you've often told me howcharming Laurence is."
Bertha did not reply. This unexpected blow was so terrible that shecould not think clearly, and her brain whirled.
"You don't say anything," pursued Sauvresy. "Don't you approve of myproject? I thought you'd be enchanted with it."
She saw that if she were silent any longer, her husband would go in andfind her sunk upon a chair, and would guess all. She made an effort andsaid, in a strangled voice, without attaching any sense to her words:
"Yes, yes; it is a capital idea."
"How you say that! Do you see any objections?"
She was trying to find some objection, but could not.
"I have a little fear of Laurence's future," said she at last.
"Bah! Why?"
"I only say what I've heard you say. You told me that Monsieur Tremorelhas been a libertine, a gambler, a prodigal--"
"All the more reason for trusting him. His past follies guarantee hisfuture prudence. He has received a lesson which he will not forget.Besides, he will love his wife."
"How do you know?"
"Parbleu, he loves her already."
"Who told you so?"
"Himself."
And Sauvresy began to laugh about Hector's passion, which he said wasbecoming quite pastoral.
"Would you believe," said he, laughing, "that he thinks our worthyCourtois a man of wit? Ah, what spectacles these lovers look through! Hespends two or three hours every day with the mayor. What do you supposehe does there?"
Bertha, by great effort, succeeded in dissembling her grief; shereappeared with a smiling face. She went and came, apparently calm,though suffering the bitterest anguish a woman can endure. And she couldnot run to Hector, and ask him if it were true!
For Sauvresy must be deceiving her. Why? She knew not. No matter. Shefelt her hatred of him increasing to disgust; for she excused andpardoned her lover, and she blamed her husband alone. Whose idea wasthis marriage? His. Who had awakened Hector's hopes, and encouragedthem? He, always he. While he had been harmless, she had been able topardon him for having married her; she had compelled herself to bearhim, to feign a love quite foreign to her heart. But now he becamehateful; should she submit to his interference in a matter which waslife or death to her?
She did not close her eyes all night; she had one of those horriblenights in which crimes are conceived. She did not find herself alonewith Hector until after breakfast the next day, in the billiard-hall.
"Is it true?" she asked.
The expression of her face was so menacing that he quailed before it. Hestammered:
"True--what?"
"Your marriage."
He was silent at first, asking himself whether he should tell the truthor equivocate. At last, irritated by Bertha's imperious tone, hereplied:
"Yes."
She was thunderstruck at this response. Till then, she had a glimmer ofhope. She thought that
he would at least try to reassure her, to deceiveher. There are times when a falsehood is the highest homage. But no--heavowed it. She was speechless; words failed her.
Tremorel began to tell her the motives which prompted his conduct. Hecould not live forever at Valfeuillu. What could he, with his habits andtastes, do with a few thousand crowns a year? He was thirty; he must,now or never, think of the future. M. Courtois would give his daughter amillion, and at his death there would be a great deal more. Should helet this chance slip? He cared little for Laurence, it was the dowry hewanted. He took no pains to conceal his meanness; he rather gloried init, speaking of the marriage as simply a bargain, in which he gave hisname and title in exchange for riches. Bertha stopped him with a lookfull of contempt.
"Spare yourself," said she. "You love Laurence."
He would have protested; he really disliked her.
"Enough," resumed Bertha. "Another woman would have reproached you; Isimply tell you that this marriage shall not be; I do not wish it.Believe me, give it up frankly, don't force me to act."
She retired, shutting the door violently; Hector was furious.
"How she treats me!" said he to himself. "Just as a queen would speak toa serf. Ah, she don't want me to marry Laurence!" His coolness returned,and with it serious reflections. If he insisted on marrying, would notBertha carry out her threats? Evidently; for he knew well that she wasone of those women who shrink from nothing, whom no consideration couldarrest. He guessed what she would do, from what she had said in aquarrel with him about Jenny. She had told him, "I will confesseverything to Sauvresy, and we will be the more bound together by shamethan by all the ceremonies of the church."
This was surely the mode she would adopt to break a marriage which wasso hateful to her; and Tremorel trembled at the idea of Sauvresy knowingall.
"What would he do," thought he, "if Bertha told him? He would kill meoff-hand--that's what I would do in his place. Suppose he didn't; Ishould have to fight a duel with him, and if I killed him, quit thecountry. Whatever would happen, my marriage is irrevocably broken, andBertha seems to be on my hands for all time."
He saw no possible way out of the horrible situation in which he had puthimself.
"I must wait," thought he.
And he waited, going secretly to the mayor's, for he really lovedLaurence. He waited, devoured by anxiety, struggling between Sauvresy'surgency and Bertha's threats. How he detested this woman who held him,whose will weighed so heavily on him! Nothing could curb her ferociousobstinacy. She had one fixed idea. He had thought to conciliate her bydismissing Jenny. It was a mistake. When he said to her:
"Bertha, I shall never see Jenny again."
She answered, ironically:
"Mademoiselle Courtois will be very grateful to you!"
That evening, while Sauvresy was crossing the court-yard, he saw abeggar at the gate, making signs to him.
"What do you want, my good man?"
The beggar looked around to see that no one was listening.
"I have brought you a note," said he, rapidly, and in a low tone. "I wastold to give it, only to you, and to ask you to read it when you arealone."
He mysteriously slipped a note, carefully sealed, into Sauvresy's hand.
"It comes from pretty girl," added he, winking.
Sauvresy, turning his back to the house, opened it and read:
"SIR--You will do a great favor to a poor and unhappy girl, if you willcome to-morrow to the Belle Image, at Corbeil, where you will be awaitedall day.
"Your humble servant, "JENNY F---."
There was also a postscript.
"Please, sir, don't say a word of this to the Count de Tremorel."
"Ah ha," thought Sauvresy, "there's some trouble about Hector, that'sbad for the marriage."
"I was told, sir," said the beggar, "there would be an answer."
"Say that I will come," answered Sauvresy, throwing him a franc piece.