XIV
Yes, Mlle. Gilberte had her secret--a very simple one, though,chaste, like herself, and one of those which, as the old women say,must cause the angels to rejoice.
The spring of that year having been unusually mild, Mme. Favoraland her daughter had taken the habit of going daily to breathe thefresh air in the Place Royale. They took their work with them,crotchet or knitting; so that this salutary exercise did not in anyway diminish the earnings of the week. It was during these walksthat Mlle. Gilberte had at last noticed a young man, unknown to her,whom she met every day at the same place.
Tall and robust, he had a grand look, notwithstanding his modestclothes, the exquisite neatness of which betrayed a sort ofrespectable poverty. He wore his full beard; and his proud andintelligent features were lighted up by a pair of large black eyes,of those eyes whose straight and clear look disconcerts hypocritesand knaves.
He never failed, as he passed by Mlle. Gilberte, to look down, orturn his head slightly away; and in spite of this, in spite of theexpression of respect which she had detected upon his face, shecould not help blushing.
"Which is absurd," she thought; "for after all, what on earth do Icare for that young man?"
The infallible instinct, which is the experience of inexperiencedyoung girls, told her that it was not chance alone that broughtthis stranger in her way. But she wished to make sure of it. Shemanaged so well, that each day of the following week, the hour oftheir walk was changed. Sometimes they went out at noon, sometimesafter four o'clock.
But, whatever the hour, Mlle. Gilberte, as she turned the corner ofthe Rue des Minimes, noticed her unknown admirer under the arcades,looking in some shop-window, and watching out of the corner of hiseye. As soon as she appeared, he left his post, and hurried fastenough to meet her at the gate of the Place.
"It is a persecution," thought Mlle. Gilberte.
How, then, had she not spoken of it to her mother? Why had she notsaid any thing to her the day, when, happening, to look out of thewindow, she saw her "persecutor" passing before the house, or,evidently looking in her direction?
"Am I losing my mind?" she thought, seriously irritated againstherself. "I will not think of him any more."
And yet she was thinking of him, when one afternoon, as her motherand herself were working, sitting upon a bench, she saw the strangercome and sit down not far from them. He was accompanied by anelderly man with long white mustaches, and wearing the rosetteof the Legion of Honor.
"This is an insolence," thought the young girl, whilst seeking apretext to ask her mother to change their seats.
But already had the young man and his elderly friend seatedthemselves, and so arranged their chairs, that Mlle. Gilberte couldnot miss a word of what they were about to say. It was the youngman who spoke first.
"You know me as well as I know myself, my dear count," he commenced--"you who were my poor father's best friend, you who dandled meupon your knees when I was a child, and who has never lost sight ofme."
"Which is to say, my boy, that I answer for you as for myself," putin the old man. "But go on."
"I am twenty-six years old. My name is Yves-Marius-Genost de Tregars.My family, which is one of the oldest of Brittany, is allied to allthe great families."
"Perfectly exact," remarked the old gentleman.
"Unfortunately, my fortune is not on a par with my nobility. Whenmy mother died, in 1856, my father, who worshiped her, could nolonger bear, in the intensity of his grief, to remain at the Chateaude Tregars where he had spent his whole life. He came to Paris,which he could well afford, since we were rich then, butunfortunately, made acquaintances who soon inoculated him with thefever of the age. They proved to him that he was mad to keep landswhich barely yielded him forty thousand francs a year, and which hecould easily sell for two millions; which amount, invested merelyat five per cent, would yield him an income of one hundred thousandfrancs. He therefore sold every thing, except our patrimonialhomestead on the road from Quimper to Audierne, and rushed intospeculations. He was rather lucky at first. But he was too honestand too loyal to be lucky long. An operation in which he becameinterested early in 1869 turned out badly. His associates becamerich; but he, I know not how, was ruined, and came near beingcompromised. He died of grief a month later."
The old soldier was nodding his assent.
"Very well, my boy," he said. "But you are too modest; and there'sa circumstance which you neglect. You had a right, when your fatherbecame involved in these troubles, to claim and retain your mother'sfortune; that is, some thirty thousand francs a year. Not only youdid not do so; but you gave up every thing to his creditors. Yousold the domain of Tregars, except the old castle and its park, andpaid over the proceeds to them; so that, if your father did dieruined, at least he did not owe a cent. And yet you knew, as wellas myself, that your father had been deceived and swindled by a lotof scoundrels who drive their carriages now, and who, perhaps, ifthe courts were applied to, might still be made to disgorge theirill-gotten plunder."
Her head bent upon her tapestry, Mlle. Gilberte seemed to be workingwith incomparable zeal. The truth is, she knew not how to concealthe blushes on her cheeks, and the trembling of her hands. She hadsomething like a cloud before her eyes; and she drove her needle atrandom. She scarcely preserved enough presence of mind to reply toMme. Favoral, who, not noticing any thing, spoke to her from time totime.
Indeed, the meaning of this scene was too clear to escape her.
"They have had an understanding," she thought, "and it is for mealone that they are speaking."
Meantime, Marius de Tregars was going on:
"I should lie, my old friend, were I to say that I was indifferentto our ruin. Philosopher though one may be, it is not without somepangs that one passes from a sumptuous hotel to a gloomy garret.But what grieved me most of all was that I saw myself compelledto give up the labors which had been the joy of my life, and uponwhich I had founded the most magnificent hopes. A positive vocation,stimulated further by the accidents of my education, had led me tothe study of physical sciences. For several years, I had applied allI have of intelligence and energy to certain investigations inelectricity. To convert electricity into an incomparablemotive-power which would supersede steam,--such was the object Ipursued without pause. Already, as you know, although quite young,I had obtained results which had attracted some attention in thescientific world. I thought I could see the last of a problem, thesolution of which would change the face of the globe. Ruin was thedeath of my hopes, the total loss of the fruits of my labors; formy experiments were costly, and it required money, much money, topurchase the products which were indispensable to me, and toconstruct the machines which I contrived.
"And I was about being compelled to earn my daily bread.
"I was on the verge of despair, when I met a man whom I had formerlyseen at my father's, and who had seemed to take some interest in myresearches, a speculator named Marcolet. But it is not at the boursethat he operates. Industry is the field of his labors. Ever on thelookout for those obstinate inventors who are starving to death intheir garrets, he appears to them at the hour of supreme crisis: hepities them, encourages them, consoles them, helps them, and almostalways succeeds in becoming the owner of their discovery. Sometimeshe makes a mistake; and then all he has to do is to put a fewthousand francs to the debit of profit or loss. But, if he hasjudged right, then he counts his profits by hundreds of thousands;and how many patents does he work thus! Of how many inventions doeshe reap the results which are a fortune, and the inventors ofwhich have no shoes to wear! Every thing is good to him; and hedefends with the same avidity a cough-sirup, the formula ofwhich he has purchased of some poor devil of a druggist, and animprovement to the steam-engine, the patent for which has been soldto him by an engineer of genius. And yet Marcolet is not a bad man.Seeing my situation, he offered me a certain yearly sum to undertakesome studies of industrial chemistry which he indicated to me. Iaccepted; and
the very next day I hired a small basement in the Ruedes Tournelles, where I set up my laboratory, and went to work atonce. That was a year ago. Marcolet must be satisfied. I havealready found for him a new shade for dyeing silk, the cost priceof which is almost nothing. As to me, I have lived with thestrictest economy, devoting all my surplus earnings to theprosecution of the problem, the solution of which would give meboth glory and fortune."
Palpitating with inexpressible emotion, Mlle. Gilberte was listeningto this young man, unknown to her a few moments since, and whosewhole history she now knew as well as if she had always lived nearhim; for it never occurred to her to suspect his sincerity.
No voice had ever vibrated to her ear like this voice, whose gravesonorousness stirred within her strange sensations, and legions ofthoughts which she had never suspected. She was surprised at theaccent of simplicity with which he spoke of the illustriousness ofhis family, of his past opulence, of his obscure labors, and of hisexalted hopes.
She admired the superb disregard for money which beamed forth in hisevery word. Here was then one man, at least, who despised thatmoney before which she had hitherto seen all the people she knewprostrated in abject worship.
After a pause of a few moments, Marius de Tregars, still addressinghimself apparently to his aged companion, went on:
"I repeat it, because it is the truth, my old friend, this life oflabor and privation, so new to me, was not a burden. Calm, silence,the constant exercise of all the faculties of the intellect, havecharms which the vulgar can never suspect. I was happy to think,that, if I was ruined, it was through an act of my own will. I founda positive pleasure in the fact that I, the Marquis de Tregars, whohad had a hundred thousand a year--I must the next moment go out inperson to the baker's and the green-grocer's to purchase my suppliesfor the day. I was proud to think that it was to my labor alone, tothe work for which I was paid by Marcolet, that I owed the means ofprosecuting my task. And, from the summits where I was carried onthe wings of science, I took pity on your modern existence, on thatridiculous and tragical medley of passions, interests, and cravings;that struggle without truce or mercy, whose law is, woe to the weak,in which whosoever falls is trampled under feet.
"Sometimes, however, like a fire that has been smouldering underthe ashes, the flame of youthful passions blazed up within me. Ihad hours of madness, of discouragement, of distress, during whichsolitude was loathsome to me. But I had the faith which raisesmountains--faith in myself and my work. And soon, tranquilized, Iwould go to sleep in the purple of hope, beholding in the vista ofthe distant future the triumphal arches erected to my success.
"Such was my situation, when, one afternoon in the month of Februarylast, after an experiment upon which I had founded great hopes, andwhich had just miserably failed, I came here to breathe a littlefresh air.
"It was a beautiful spring day, warm and sunny. The sparrows werechirping on the branches, swelled with sap: bands of children wererunning along the alleys, filling the air with their joyous screams.
"I was sitting upon a bench, ruminating over the causes of my failure,when two ladies passed by me; one somewhat aged, the other quiteyoung. They were walking so rapidly, that I hardly had time tosee them.
"But the young lady's step, the noble simplicity of her carriage,had struck me so much, that I rose to follow her with the intentionof passing her, and then walking back to have a good view of herface. I did so; and I was fairly dazzled. At the moment when myeyes met hers, a voice rose within me, crying that it was all overnow, and that my destiny was fixed."
"I remember, my dear boy," remarked the old soldier in a tone offriendly raillery; "for you came to see me that night, and I hadnot seen you for months before."
Marius proceeded without heeding the remark.
"And yet you know that I am not the man to yield to first impression.I struggled: with determined energy I strove to drive off thatradiant image which I carried within my soul, which left me no more,which haunted me in the midst of my studies.
"Vain efforts. My thoughts obeyed me no longer--my will escapedmy control. It was indeed one of those passions that fill the wholebeing, overpower all, and which make of life an ineffable felicityor a nameless torture, according that they are reciprocated, or not.How many days I spent there, waiting and watching for her of whom Ihad thus had a glimpse, and who ignored my very existence! And whatinsane palpitations, when, after hours of consuming anxiety, I sawat the corner of the street the undulating folds of her dress! Isaw her thus often, and always with the same elderly person, hermother. They had adopted in this square a particular bench, wherethey sat daily, working at their sewing with an assiduity and zealwhich made me think that they lived upon the product of their labor."
Here he was suddenly interrupted by his companion. The old gentlemanfeared that Mme. Favoral's attention might at last be attracted bytoo direct allusions.
"Take care, boy!" he whispered, not so low, however, but whatGilberte overheard him.
But it would have required much more than this to draw Mme. Favoralfrom her sad thoughts. She had just finished her band of tapestry;and, grieving to lose a moment:
"It is perhaps time to go home," she said to her daughter. "I havenothing more to do."
Mlle. Gilberte drew from her basket a piece of canvas, and, handingit to her mother:
"Here is enough to go on with, mamma," she said in a troubled voice."Let us stay a little while longer."
And, Mme. Favoral having resumed her work, Marius proceeded:
"The thought that she whom I loved was poor delighted me. Was notthis similarity of positions a link between us? I felt a childishjoy to think that I would work for her and for her mother, and thatthey would be indebted to me for their ease and comfort in life.
"But I am not one of those dreamers who confide their destiny to thewings of a chimera. Before undertaking any thing, I resolved toinform myself. Alas! at the first words that I heard, all my finedreams took wings. I heard that she was rich, very rich. I wastold that her father was one of those men whose rigid probitysurrounds itself with austere and harsh forms. He owed his fortune,I was assured, to his sole labor, but also to prodigies of economyand the most severe privations. He professed a worship, they said,for that gold that had cost him so much; and he would never give thehand of his daughter to a man who had no money. This last commentwas useless. Above my actions, my thoughts, my hopes, higher thanall, soars my pride. Instantly I saw an abyss opening between meand her whom I love more than my life, but less than my dignity.When a man's name is Genost de Tregars, he must support his wife,were it by breaking stones. And the thought that I owed my fortuneto the woman I married would make me execrate her.
"You must remember, my old friend, that I told you all this at thetime. You thought, too, that it was singularly impertinent, on mypart, thus to flare up in advance, because, certainly a millionairedoes not give his daughter to a ruined nobleman in the pay ofMarcolet, the patent-broker, to a poor devil of an inventor, who isbuilding the castles of his future upon the solution of a problemwhich has been given up by the most brilliant minds.
"It was then that I determined upon an extreme resolution, afoolish one, no doubt, and yet to which you, the Count de Villegre,my father's old friend, you have consented to lend yourself.
"I thought that I would address myself to her, to her alone, andthat she would at least know what great, what immense love she hadinspired. I thought I would go to her and tell her, 'This is whoI am, and what I am. For mercy's sake, grant me a respite of threeyears. To a love such as mine there is nothing impossible. Inthree years I shall be dead, or rich enough to ask your hand. Fromthis day forth, I give up my task for work of more immediate profit.The arts of industry have treasures for successful inventors. Ifyou could only read in my soul, you would not refuse me the delay Iam asking. Forgive me! One word, for mercy's sake, only one! Itis my sentence that I am awaiting.'"
Mlle. Gilberte's thoughts were in too gre
at a state of confusionto permit her to think of being offended at this extraordinaryproceeding. She rose, quivering, and addressing herself to Mme.Favoral:
"Come, mother," she said, "come: I feel that I have taken cold.I must go home and think. To-morrow, yes, to-morrow, we will comeagain."
Deep as Mme. Favoral was plunged in her meditations, and a thousandmiles as she was from the actual situation, it was impossible thatshe should not notice the intense excitement under which her daughterlabored, the alteration of her features, and the incoherence of herwords.
"What is the matter?" she asked, somewhat alarmed. "What are yousaying?"
"I feel unwell," answered her daughter in a scarcely audible voice,"quite unwell. Come, let us go home."
As soon as they reached home, Mlle. Gilberte took refuge in her ownroom. She was in haste to be alone, to recover her self-possession,to collect her thoughts, more scattered than dry leaves by a stormwind.
It was a momentous event which had just suddenly fallen in her lifeso monotonous and so calm--an inconceivable, startling event, theconsequences of which were to weigh heavily upon her entire future.
Staggering still, she was asking herself if she was not the victimof an hallucination, and if really there was a man who had dared toconceive and execute the audacious project of coming thus under theeyes of her mother, of declaring his love, and of asking her inreturn a solemn engagement. But what stupefied her more still, whatconfused her, was that she had actually endured such an attempt.
Under what despotic influence had she, then, fallen? To whatundefinable sentiments had she obeyed? And if she had onlytolerated! But she had done more: she had actually encouraged.By detaining her mother when she wished to go home (and she haddetained her), had she not said to this unknown?--"Go on, I allowit: I am listening."
And he had gone on. And she, at the moment of returning home, shehad engaged herself formally to reflect, and to return the next dayat a stated hour to give an answer. In a word, she had made anappointment with him.
It was enough to make her die of shame. And, as if she had neededthe sound of her own words to convince herself of the reality of thefact, she kept repeating loud,
"I have made an appointment--I, Gilberte, with a man whom my parentsdo not know, and of whose name I was still ignorant yesterday."
And yet she could not take upon herself to be indignant at theimprudent boldness of her conduct. The bitterness of the reproacheswhich she was addressing to herself was not sincere. She felt it sowell, that at last:
"Such hypocrisy is unworthy of me," she exclaimed, "since now,still, and without the excuse of being taken by surprise, I wouldnot act otherwise."
The fact is, the more she pondered, the less she could succeed indiscovering even the shadow of any offensive intention in all thatMarius de Tregars had said. By the choice of his confidant, an oldman, a friend of his family, a man of the highest respectability,he had done all in his power to make his step excusable. It wasimpossible to doubt his sincerity, to suspect the fairness ofhis intentions.
Mlle. Gilberte, better than almost any other young girl, couldunderstand the extreme measure resorted to by M. de Tregars. By herown pride she could understand his. No more than he, in his place,would she have been willing to expose herself to a certain refusal.What was there, then, so extraordinary in the fact of his comingdirectly to her, in his exposing to her frankly and loyally hissituation, his projects, and his hopes?
"Good heavens!" she thought, horrified at the sentiments which shediscovered in the deep recesses of her soul, "good heavens! Ihardly know myself any more. Here I am actually approving what hehas done!"
Well, yes, she did approve him, attracted, fascinated, by the verystrangeness of the situation. Nothing seemed to her more admirablethan the conduct of Marius de Tregars sacrificing his fortune andhis most legitimate aspirations to the honor of his name, andcondemning himself to work for his living.
"That one," she thought, "is a man; and his wife will have justcause to be proud of him."
Involuntarily she compared him to the only men she knew: to M.Favoral, whose miserly parsimony had made his whole family wretched;to Maxence, who did not blush to feed his disorders with the fruitsof his mother's and his sister's labor.
How different was Marius! If he was poor, it was of his own will.Had she not seen what confidence he had in himself. She shared itfully. She felt certain that, within the required delay, he wouldconquer that indispensable fortune. Then he might present himselfboldly. He would take her, away from the miserable surroundingsamong which she seemed fated to live: she would become theMarchioness de Tregars.
"Why, then, not answer, Yes!" thought she, with the harrowingemotions of the gambler who is about to stake his all upon one card.And what a game for Mlle. Gilberte, and what a stake!
Suppose she had been mistaken. Suppose that Marius should be oneof those villains who make of seduction a science. Would she stillbe her own mistress, after answering? Did she know to what hazardssuch an engagement would expose her? Was she not about rushingblindfolded towards those deceiving perils where a young girlleaves her reputation, even when she saves her honor?
She thought, for a moment, of consulting her mother. But she knewMme. Favoral's shrinking timidity, and that she was as incapableof giving any advice as to make her will prevail. She would befrightened; she would approve all; and, at the first alarm, shewould confess all.
"Am I, then, so weak and so foolish," she thought, "that I cannottake a determination which affects me personally?"
She could not close her eyes all night; but in the morning herresolution was settled.
And toward one o'clock:
"Are we not going out mother?" she said.
Mme. Favoral was hesitating.
"These early spring days are treacherous," she objected: "youcaught cold yesterday."
"My dress was too thin. To-day I have taken my precautions."
They started, taking their work with them, and came to occupy theiraccustomed seats.
Before they had even passed the gates, Mlle. Gilberte had recognizedMarius de Tregars and the Count de Villegre, walking in one of theside alleys. Soon, as on the day before, they took two chairs, andsettled themselves within hearing.
Never had the young girl's heart beat with such violence. It iseasy enough to take a resolution; but it is not always quite so easyto execute it, and she was asking herself if she would have strengthenough to articulate a word. At last, gathering her whole courage:
"You don't believe in dreams, do you mother?" she asked.
Upon this subject, as well as upon many others, Mme. Favoral had noparticular opinion.
"Why do you ask the question?" said she.
"Because I have had such a strange one."
"Oh!"
"It seemed to me that suddenly a young man, whom I did not know,stood before me. He would have been most happy, said he to me, toask my hand, but he dared not, being very poor. And he begged meto wait three years, during which he would make his fortune."
Mme. Favoral smiled.
"Why it's quite a romance," said she.
"But it wasn't a romance in my dream," interrupted Mlle. Gilberte."This young man spoke in a tone of such profound conviction, thatit was impossible for me, as it were, to doubt him. I thought tomyself that he would be incapable of such an odious villainy as toabuse the confiding credulity of a poor girl."
"And what did you answer him?"
Moving her seat almost imperceptibly, Mlle. Gilberte could, fromthe corner of her eye, have a glimpse of M. de Tregars. Evidentlyhe was not missing a single one of the words which she was addressingto her mother. He was whiter than a sheet; and his face betrayed themost intense anxiety.
This gave her the energy to curb the last revolts of her conscience.
"To answer was painful," she uttered; "and yet I--dared to answerhim. I said to him, 'I believe you, and I have faith in you.Loyally and faithfully I shall await your
success; but until thenwe must be strangers to one another. To resort to ruse, deceit,and falsehood would be unworthy of us. You surely would not exposeto a suspicion her who is to be your wife.'"
"Very well," approved Mme. Favoral; "only I did not know you wereso romantic."
She was laughing, the good lady, but not loud enough to preventGilberte from hearing M. de Tregars' answer.
"Count de Villegre," said he, "my old friend, receive the oath whichI take to devote my life to her who has not doubted me. It is to-daythe 4th of May, 1870--on the 4th of May, 1873, I shall havesucceeded: I feel it, I will it, it must be!"