Monsieur Faucheux's horses were serviceable animals, with thicksetknees, and legs that had some difficulty in moving. Like the carriage,they belonged to the earlier part of the century. They were not as fleetas the English horses of M. Fouquet, and consequently took two hoursto get to Saint-Mande. Their progress, it might be said, was majestic.Majesty, however, precludes hurry. The marquise stopped the carriage atthe door so well known to her, although she had seen it only once, undercircumstances, it will be remembered, no less painful than thosewhich brought her now to it again. She drew a key from her pocket, andinserted it in the lock, pushed open the door, which noiselessly yieldedto her touch, and directed the clerk to carry the chest upstairs to thefirst floor. The weight of the chest was so great that the clerk wasobliged to get the coachman to assist him with it. They placed it in asmall cabinet, anteroom, or boudoir rather, adjoining the saloon wherewe once saw M. Fouquet at the marquise's feet. Madame de Belliere gavethe coachman a louis, smiled gracefully at the clerk, and dismissed themboth. She closed the door after them, and waited in the room, aloneand barricaded. There was no servant to be seen about the rooms, buteverything was prepared as though some invisible genius had divined thewishes and desires of an expected guest. The fire was laid, candlesin the candelabra, refreshments upon the table, books scattered about,fresh-cut flowers in the vases. One might almost have imagined it anenchanted house. The marquise lighted the candles, inhaled the perfumeof the flowers, sat down, and was soon plunged in profound thought.Her deep musings, melancholy though they were, were not untinged with acertain vague joy. Spread out before her was a treasure, a million wrungfrom her fortune as a gleaner plucks the blue corn-flower from her crownof flowers. She conjured up the sweetest dreams. Her principal thought,and one that took precedence of all others, was to devise means ofleaving this money for M. Fouquet without his possibly learning fromwhom the gift had come. This idea, naturally enough, was the first topresent itself to her mind. But although, on reflection, it appeareddifficult to carry out, she did not despair of success. She would thenring to summon M. Fouquet and make her escape, happier than if, insteadof having given a million, she had herself found one. But, being there,and having seen the boudoir so coquettishly decorated that it mightalmost be said the least particle of dust had but the moment before beenremoved by the servants; having observed the drawing-room, so perfectlyarranged that it might almost be said her presence there had driven awaythe fairies who were its occupants, she asked herself if the glance orgaze of those whom she had displaced--whether spirits, fairies, elves,or human creatures--had not already recognized her. To secure success,it was necessary that some steps should be seriously taken, and it wasnecessary also that the superintendent should comprehend the seriousposition in which he was placed, in order to yield compliance withthe generous fancies of a woman; all the fascinations of an eloquentfriendship would be required to persuade him, and, should this beinsufficient, the maddening influence of a devoted passion, which, inits resolute determination to carry conviction, would not be turnedaside. Was not the superintendent, indeed, known for his delicacy anddignity of feeling? Would he allow himself to accept from any woman thatof which she had stripped herself? No! He would resist, and if any voicein the world could overcome his resistance, it would be the voice of thewoman he loved.
Another doubt, and that a cruel one, suggested itself to Madame deBelliere with a sharp, acute pain, like a dagger thrust. Did he reallylove her? Would that volatile mind, that inconstant heart, be likely tobe fixed for a moment, even were it to gaze upon an angel? Was it notthe same with Fouquet, notwithstanding his genius and his uprightness ofconduct, as with those conquerors on the field of battle who shed tearswhen they have gained a victory? "I must learn if it be so, and mustjudge of that for myself," said the marquise. "Who can tell whether thatheart, so coveted, is not common in its impulses, and full of alloy? Whocan tell if that mind, when the touchstone is applied to it, will notbe found of a mean and vulgar character? Come, come," she said, "thisis doubting and hesitating too much--to the proof." She looked at thetimepiece. "It is now seven o'clock," she said; "he must have arrived,it is the hour for signing his papers." With a feverish impatience sherose and walked towards the mirror, in which she smiled with a resolutesmile of devotedness; she touched the spring and drew out the handle ofthe bell. Then, as if exhausted beforehand by the struggle she had justundergone, she threw herself on her knees, in utter abandonment, beforea large couch, in which she buried her face in her trembling hands.Ten minutes afterwards she heard the spring of the door sound. The doormoved upon invisible hinges, and Fouquet appeared. He looked pale, andseemed bowed down by the weight of some bitter reflection. He did nothurry, but simply came at the summons. The pre-occupation of his mindmust indeed have been very great, that a man so devoted to pleasure,for whom indeed pleasure meant everything, should obey such a summonsso listlessly. The previous night, in fact, fertile in melancholy ideas,had sharpened his features, generally so noble in their indifferenceof expression, and had traced dark lines of anxiety around his eyes.Handsome and noble he still was, and the melancholy expression of hismouth, a rare expression with men, gave a new character to his features,by which his youth seemed to be renewed. Dressed in black, the lace infront of his chest much disarranged by his feverishly restless hand, thelooks of the superintendent, full of dreamy reflection, were fixedupon the threshold of the room which he had so frequently approachedin search of expected happiness. This gloomy gentleness of manner, thissmiling sadness of expression, which had replaced his former excessivejoy, produced an indescribable effect upon Madame de Belliere, who wasregarding him at a distance.
A woman's eye can read the face of the man she loves, its every feelingof pride, its every expression of suffering; it might almost be saidthat Heaven has graciously granted to women, on account of their veryweakness, more than it has accorded to other creatures. They can concealtheir own feelings from a man, but from them no man can conceal his. Themarquise divined in a single glance the whole weight of the unhappinessof the superintendent. She divined a night passed without sleep, a daypassed in deceptions. From that moment she was firm in her own strength,and she felt that she loved Fouquet beyond everything else. She aroseand approached him, saying, "You wrote to me this morning to say youwere beginning to forget me, and that I, whom you had not seen lately,had no doubt ceased to think of you. I have come to undeceive you,monsieur, and the more completely so, because there is one thing I canread in your eyes."
"What is that, madame?" said Fouquet, astonished.
"That you have never loved me so much as at this moment; in the samemanner you can read, in my present step towards you, that I have notforgotten you."
"Oh! madame," said Fouquet, whose face was for a moment lighted up bya sudden gleam of joy, "you are indeed an angel, and no man cansuspect you. All he can do is to humble himself before you and entreatforgiveness."
"Your forgiveness is granted, then," said the marquise. Fouquet wasabout to throw himself upon his knees. "No, no," she said, "sit here bymy side. Ah! that is an evil thought which has just crossed your mind."
"How do you detect it, madame?"
"By the smile that has just marred the expression of your countenance,Be candid, and tell me what your thought was--no secrets betweenfriends."
"Tell me, then, madame, why have you been so harsh these three or fourmonths past?"
"Harsh?"
"Yes; did you not forbid me to visit you?"
"Alas!" said Madame de Belliere, sighing, "because your visit to mewas the cause of your being visited with a great misfortune; because myhouse is watched; because the same eyes that have seen you already mightsee you again; because I think it less dangerous for you that I shouldcome here than that you should come to my house; and, lastly, becauseI know you to be already unhappy enough not to wish to increase yourunhappiness further."
Fouquet started, for these words recalled all the anxieties connectedwith his office of superintendent--he who, for t
he last few minutes, hadindulged in all the wild aspirations of the lover. "I unhappy?" he said,endeavoring to smile: "indeed, marquise, you will almost make me believeI am so, judging from your own sadness. Are your beautiful eyes raisedupon me merely in pity? I was looking for another expression from them."
"It is not I who am sad, monsieur; look in the mirror, there--it isyourself."
"It is true I am somewhat pale, marquise; but it is from overwork; theking yesterday required a supply of money from me."
"Yes, four millions, I am aware of it."
"You know it?" exclaimed Fouquet, in a tone of surprise; "how can youhave learnt it? It was after the departure of the queen, and in thepresence of one person only, that the king----"
"You perceive that I do know it; is not that sufficient? Well, go on,monsieur, the money the king has required you to supply----"
"You understand, marquise, that I have been obliged to procure it, thento get it counted, afterwards registered--altogether a long affair.Since Monsieur de Mazarin's death, financial affairs occasion somelittle fatigue and embarrassment. My administration is somewhatovertaxed, and this is the reason why I have not slept during the pastnight."
"So that you have the amount?" inquired the marquise, with some anxiety.
"It would indeed be strange, marquise," replied Fouquet, cheerfully, "ifa superintendent of finances were not to have a paltry four millions inhis coffers."
"Yes, yes, I believe you either have, or will have them."
"What do you mean by saying I shall have them?"
"It is not very long since you were required to furnish two millions."
"On the contrary, to me it seems almost an age; but do not let us talkof money matters any longer."
"On the contrary, we will continue to speak of them, for that is my onlyreason for coming to see you."
"I am at a loss to compass your meaning," said the superintendent, whoseeyes began to express an anxious curiosity.
"Tell me, monsieur, is the office of superintendent a permanentposition?"
"You surprise me, marchioness, for you speak as if you had some motiveor interest in putting the question."
"My reason is simple enough; I am desirous of placing some money in yourhands, and naturally I wish to know if you are certain of your post."
"Really, marquise, I am at a loss what to reply; I cannot conceive yourmeaning."
"Seriously, then, dear M. Fouquet, funds which somewhat embarrass me. Iam tired of investing my money in land, and am anxious to intrust it tosome friend who will turn it to account."
"Surely it does not press," said M. Fouquet.
"On the contrary, it is very pressing."
"Very well, we will talk of that by and by."
"By and by will not do, for my money is there," returned the marquise,pointing out the coffer to the superintendent, and showing him, as sheopened it, the bundles of notes and heaps of gold. Fouquet, who hadrisen from his seat at the same moment as Madame de Belliere, remainedfor a moment plunged in thought; then suddenly starting back, he turnedpale, and sank down in his chair, concealing his face in his hands."Madame, madame," he murmured, "what opinion can you have of me, whenyou make me such an offer?"
"Of you!" returned the marquise. "Tell me, rather, what you yourselfthink of the step I have taken."
"You bring me this money for myself, and you bring it because you knowme to be embarrassed. Nay, do not deny it, for I am sure of it. Can Inot read your heart?"
"If you know my heart, then, can you not see that it is my heart I offeryou?"
"I have guessed rightly, then," exclaimed Fouquet. "In truth, madame, Ihave never yet given you the right to insult me in this manner."
"Insult you," she said, turning pale, "what singular delicacy offeeling! You tell me you love me; in the name of that affection you wishme to sacrifice my reputation and my honor, yet, when I offer you moneywhich is my own, you refuse me."
"Madame, you are at liberty to preserve what you term your reputationand your honor. Permit me to preserve mine. Leave me to my ruin, leaveme to sink beneath the weight of the hatreds which surround me, beneaththe faults I have committed, beneath the load even, of my remorse,but, for Heaven's sake, madame, do not overwhelm me with this lastinfliction."
"A short time since, M. Fouquet, you were wanting in judgment; now youare wanting in feeling."
Fouquet pressed his clenched hand upon his breast, heaving with emotion,saying: "Overwhelm me, madame for I have nothing to reply."
"I offered you my friendship, M. Fouquet."
"Yes, madame, and you limited yourself to that."
"And what I am now doing is the act of a friend."
"No doubt it is."
"And you reject this mark of my friendship?"
"I do reject it."
"Monsieur Fouquet, look at me," said the marquise, with glistening eyes,"I now offer you my love."
"Oh, madame," exclaimed Fouquet.
"I have loved you for a long while past; women, like men, have a falsedelicacy at times. For a long time past I have loved you, but would notconfess it. Well, then, you have implored this love on your knees, and Ihave refused you; I was blind, as you were a little while since; but asit was my love that you sought, it is my love I now offer you."
"Oh! madame, you overwhelm me beneath a load of happiness."
"Will you be happy, then, if I am yours--entirely?"
"It will be the supremest happiness for me."
"Take me, then. If, however, for your sake I sacrifice a prejudice, doyou, for mine, sacrifice a scruple."
"Do not tempt me."
"Do not refuse me."
"Think seriously of what you are proposing."
"Fouquet, but one word. Let it be 'No,' and I open this door," and shepointed to the door which led into the streets, "and you will never seeme again. Let that word be 'Yes,' and I am yours entirely."
"Elsie! Elsie! But this coffer?"
"Contains my dowry."
"It is your ruin," exclaimed Fouquet, turning over the gold and papers;"there must be a million here."
"Yes, my jewels, for which I care no longer if you do not love me, andfor which, equally, I care no longer if you love me as I love you."
"This is too much," exclaimed Fouquet. "I yield, I yield, even were itonly to consecrate so much devotion. I accept the dowry."
"And take the woman with it," said the marquise, throwing herself intohis arms.
CHAPTER 104. Le Terrain de Dieu