CHAPTER LIII
How was it that Martial had failed to discover or to suspect this stateof affairs?
A moment's reflection will explain this fact which is so extraordinaryin appearance, so natural in reality.
The head of a family, whether he dwells in an attic or in a palace, isalways the last to know what is going on in his home. What everybodyelse knows he does not even suspect. The master often sleeps while hishouse is on fire. Some terrible catastrophe--an explosion--is necessaryto arouse him from his fancied security.
The life that Martial led was likely to prevent him from arriving at thetruth. He was a stranger to his wife. His manner toward her was perfect,full of deference and chivalrous courtesy; but they had nothing incommon except a name and certain interests.
Each lived their own life. They met only at dinner, or at theentertainments which they gave and which were considered the mostbrilliant in Paris society.
The duchess had her own apartments, her servants, her carriages, herhorses, her own table.
At twenty-five, Martial, the last descendant of the great house ofSairmeuse--a man upon whom destiny had apparently lavished everyblessing--the possessor of youth, unbounded wealth, and a brilliantintellect, succumbed beneath the burden of an incurable despondency and_ennui_.
The death of Marie-Anne had destroyed all his hopes of happiness; andrealizing the emptiness of his life, he did his best to fill the voidwith bustle and excitement. He threw himself headlong into politics,striving to find in power and in satisfied ambition some relief from hisdespondency.
It is only just to say that Mme. Blanche had remained superior tocircumstances; and that she had played the role of a happy, contentedwoman with consummate skill.
Her frightful sufferings and anxiety never marred the haughty serenityof her face. She soon won a place as one of the queens of Parisiansociety; and plunged into dissipation with a sort of frenzy. Was sheendeavoring to divert her mind? Did she hope to overpower thought byexcessive fatigue?
To Aunt Medea alone did Blanche reveal her secret heart.
"I am like a culprit who has been bound to the scaffold, and thenabandoned by the executioner, who says, as he departs: 'Live until theaxe falls of its own accord.'"
And the axe might fall at any moment. A word, a trifle, an unluckychance--she dared not say "a decree of Providence," and Martial wouldknow all.
Such, in all its unspeakable horror, was the position of the beautifuland envied Duchesse de Sairmeuse. "She must be perfectly happy," saidthe world; but she felt herself sliding down the precipice to the awfuldepths below.
Like a shipwrecked mariner clinging to a floating spar, she scannedthe horizon with a despairing eye, and saw only angry and threateningclouds.
Time, perhaps, might bring her some relief.
Once it happened that six weeks went by, and she heard nothing fromChupin. A month and a half! What had become of him? To Mme. Blanche thissilence was as ominous as the calm that precedes the storm.
A line in a newspaper solved the mystery.
Chupin was in prison.
The wretch, after drinking more heavily than usual one evening, hadquarrelled with his brother, and had killed him by a blow upon the headwith a piece of iron.
The blood of the betrayed Lacheneur was visited upon the heads of hismurderer's children.
Tried by the Court of Assizes, Chupin was condemned to twenty years ofhard labor, and sent to Brest.
But this sentence afforded the duchess no relief. The culprit hadwritten to her from his Paris prison; he wrote to her from Brest.
But he did not send his letters through the post. He confided them tocomrades, whose terms of imprisonment had expired, and who came to theHotel de Sairmeuse demanding an interview with the duchess.
And she received them. They told all the miseries they had endured "outthere;" and usually ended by requesting some slight assistance.
One morning, a man whose desperate appearance and manner frightened her,brought the duchess this laconic epistle:
"I am tired of starving here; I wish to make my escape. Come to Brest;you can visit the prison, and we will decide upon some plan. If yourefuse to do this, I shall apply to the duke, who will obtain my pardonin exchange of what I will tell him."
Mme. Blanche was dumb with horror. It was impossible, she thought, tosink lower than this.
"Well!" demanded the man, harshly. "What reply shall I make to mycomrade?"
"I will go--tell him that I will go!" she said, driven to desperation.
She made the journey, visited the prison, but did not find Chupin.
The previous week there had been a revolt in the prison, the troops hadfired upon the prisoners, and Chupin had been killed instantly.
Still the duchess dared not rejoice.
She feared that her tormentor had told his wife the secret of his power.
"I shall soon know," she thought.
The widow promptly made her appearance; but her manner was humble andsupplicating.
She had often heard her dear, dead husband say that madame was hisbenefactress, and now she came to beg a little aid to enable her to opena small drinking saloon.
Her son Polyte--ah! such a good son! just eighteen years old, and sucha help to his poor mother--had discovered a little house in a goodsituation for the business, and if they only had three or four hundredfrancs----
Mme. Blanche gave her five hundred francs.
"Either her humility is a mask," she thought, "or her husband has toldher nothing."
Five days later Polyte Chupin presented himself.
They needed three hundred francs more before they could commencebusiness, and he came on behalf of his mother to entreat the kind ladyto advance them.
Determined to discover exactly where she stood, the duchess shortlyrefused, and the young man departed without a word.
Evidently the mother and son were ignorant of the facts. Chupin's secrethad died with him.
This happened early in January. Toward the last of February, Aunt Medeacontracted inflammation of the lungs on leaving a fancy ball, which sheattended in an absurd costume, in spite of all the attempts which herniece made to dissuade her.
Her passion for dress killed her. Her illness lasted only three days;but her sufferings, physical and mental, were terrible.
Constrained by her fear of death to examine her own conscience, shesaw plainly that by profiting by the crime of her niece she had beenas culpable as if she had aided her in committing it. She had been verydevout in former years, and now her superstitious fears were reawakenedand intensified. Her faith returned, accompanied by a _cortege_ ofterrors.
"I am lost!" she cried; "I am lost!"
She tossed to and fro upon her bed; she writhed and shrieked as if shealready saw hell opening to engulf her.
She called upon the Holy Virgin and upon all the saints to protect her.She entreated God to grant her time for repentance and for expiation.She begged to see a priest, swearing she would make a full confession.
Paler than the dying woman, but implacable, Blanche watched over her,aided by that one of her personal attendants in whom she had mostconfidence.
"If this lasts long, I shall be ruined," she thought. "I shall beobliged to call for assistance, and she will betray me."
It did not last long.
The patient's delirium was succeeded by such utter prostration that itseemed each moment would be her last.
But toward midnight she appeared to revive a little, and in a voice ofintense feeling, she said:
"You have had no pity, Blanche. You have deprived me of all hope inthe life to come. God will punish you. You, too, shall die like a dog;alone, without a word of Christian counsel or encouragement. I curseyou!"
And she died just as the clock was striking two.
The time when Blanche would have given almost anything to know that AuntMedea was beneath the sod, had long since passed.
Now, the death of the poor old woman affected her deeply.
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She had lost an accomplice who had often consoled her, and she hadgained nothing, since one of her maids was now acquainted with thesecret of the crime at the Borderie.
Everyone who was intimately acquainted with the Duchesse de Sairmeuse,noticed her dejection, and was astonished by it.
"Is it not strange," remarked her friends, "that the duchess--such avery superior woman--should grieve so much for that absurd relative ofhers?"
But the dejection of Mme. Blanche was due in great measure to thesinister prophecies of the accomplice to whom she had denied the lastconsolations of religion.
And as her mind reviewed the past she shuddered, as the peasants atSairmeuse had done, when she thought of the fatality which had pursuedthe shedders of innocent blood.
What misfortune had attended them all--from the sons of Chupin, themiserable traitor, up to her father, the Marquis de Courtornieu, whosemind had not been illumined by the least gleam of reason for ten longyears before his death.
"My turn will come!" she thought.
The Baron and the Baroness d'Escorval, and old Corporal Bavois haddeparted this life within a month of each other, the previous year,mourned by all.
So that of all the people of diverse condition who had been connectedwith the troubles at Montaignac, Blanche knew only four who were stillalive.
Maurice d'Escorval, who had entered the magistracy, and was now a judgein the tribunal of the Seine; Abbe Midon, who had come to Paris withMaurice, and Martial and herself.
There was another person, the bare recollection of whom made hertremble, and whose name she dared not utter.
Jean Lacheneur, Marie-Anne's brother.
An inward voice, more powerful than reason, told her that thisimplacable enemy was still alive, watching for his hour of vengeance.
More troubled by her presentiments now, than she had been by Chupin'spersecutions in days gone by, Mme. de Sairmeuse decided to apply toChelteux in order to ascertain, if possible, what she had to expect.
Fouche's former agent had not wavered in his devotion to the duchess.Every three months he presented his bill, which was paid withoutdiscussion; and to ease his conscience, he sent one of his men to prowlaround Sairmeuse for a while, at least once a year.
Animated by the hope of a magnificent reward, the spy promised hisclient, and--what was more to the purpose--promised himself, that hewould discover this dreaded enemy.
He started in quest of him, and had already begun to collect proofs ofJean's existence, when his investigations were abruptly terminated.
One morning the body of a man literally hacked in pieces was found in anold well. It was the body of Chelteux.
"A fitting close to the career of such a wretch," said the _Journal desDebats_, in noting the event.
When she read this news, Mme. Blanche felt as a culprit would feel onreading his death-warrant.
"The end is near," she murmured. "Lacheneur is coming!"
The duchess was not mistaken.
Jean had told the truth when he declared that he was not disposing ofhis sister's estate for his own benefit. In his opinion, Marie-Anne'sfortune must be consecrated to one sacred purpose; he would not divertthe slightest portion of it to his individual needs.
He was absolutely penniless when the manager of a travelling theatricalcompany engaged him for a consideration of forty-five francs per month.
From that day he lived the precarious life of a strolling player. He waspoorly paid, and often reduced to abject poverty by lack of engagements,or by the impecuniosity of managers.
His hatred had lost none of its virulence; but to wreak the desiredvengeance upon his enemy, he must have time and money at his disposal.
But how could he accumulate money when he was often too poor to appeasehis hunger?
Still he did not renounce his hopes. His was a rancor which was onlyintensified by years. He was biding his time while he watched from thedepths of his misery the brilliant fortunes of the house of Sairmeuse.
He had waited sixteen years, when one of his friends procured him anengagement in Russia.
The engagement was nothing; but the poor comedian was afterwardfortunate enough to obtain an interest in a theatrical enterprise, fromwhich he realized a fortune of one hundred thousand francs in less thansix years.
"Now," said he, "I can give up this life. I am rich enough, now, tobegin the warfare."
And six weeks later he arrived in his native village.
Before carrying any of his atrocious designs into execution, he wentto Sairmeuse to visit Marie-Anne's grave, in order to obtain there anincrease of animosity, as well as the relentless _sang-froid_ of a sternavenger of crime.
That was his only motive in going, but, on the very evening of hisarrival, he learned through a garrulous old peasant woman that eversince his departure--that is to say, for a period of twenty years--twoparties had been making persistent inquiries for a child which had beenplaced somewhere in the neighborhood.
Jean knew that it was Marie-Anne's child they were seeking. Why they hadnot succeeded in finding it, he knew equally well.
But why were there two persons seeking the child? One was Mauriced'Escorval, of course, but who was the other?
Instead of remaining at Sairmeuse a week, Jean Lacheneur tarried there amonth; and by the expiration of that month he had traced these inquiriesconcerning the child to the agent of Chelteux. Through him, he reachedFouche's former spy; and, finally, succeeded in discovering that thesearch had been instituted by no less a person than the Duchesse deSairmeuse.
This discovery bewildered him. How could Mme. Blanche have known thatMarie-Anne had given birth to a child; and knowing it, what possibleinterest could she have had in finding it?
These two questions tormented Jean's mind continually; but he coulddiscover no satisfactory answer.
"Chupin's son could tell me, perhaps," he thought. "I must pretend to bereconciled to the sons of the wretch who betrayed my father."
But the traitor's children had been dead for several years, and after along search, Jean found only the Widow Chupin and her son, Polyte.
They were keeping a drinking-saloon not far from theChateau-des-Rentiers; and their establishment, known as the Poivriere,bore anything but an enviable reputation.
Lacheneur questioned the widow and her son in vain; they could give himno information whatever on the subject. He told them his name, but eventhis did not awaken the slightest recollection in their minds.
Jean was about to take his departure when Mother Chupin, probably in thehope of extracting a few pennies, began to deplore her present misery,which was, she declared, all the harder to bear since she had wanted fornothing during the life of her poor husband, who had always obtainedas much money as he wanted from a lady of high degree--the Duchesse deSairmeuse, in short.
Lacheneur uttered such a terrible oath that the old woman and her sonstarted back in affright.
He saw at once the close connection between the researches of Mme.Blanche and her generosity to Chupin.
"It was she who poisoned Marie-Anne," he said to himself. "It wasthrough my sister that she became aware of the existence of thechild. She loaded Chupin with favors because he knew the crime she hadcommitted--that crime in which his father had been only an accomplice."
He remembered Martial's oath at the bedside of the murdered girl, andhis heart overflowed with savage exultation. He saw his two enemies, thelast of the Sairmeuse and the last of the Courtornieu take in their ownhands his work of vengeance.
But this was mere conjecture; he desired to be assured of thecorrectness of his suppositions.
He drew from his pocket a handful of gold, and, throwing it upon thetable, he said:
"I am very rich; if you will obey me and keep my secret, your fortune ismade."
A shrill cry of delight from mother and son outweighed any protestationsof obedience.
The Widow Chupin knew how to write, and Lacheneur dictated this letter:
"Madame la Duchesse--I shall
expect you at my establishment to-morrowbetween twelve and four o'clock. It is on business connected with theBorderie. If at five o'clock I have not seen you, I shall carry to thepost a letter for the duke."
"And if she comes what am I to say to her?" asked the astonished widow.
"Nothing; you will merely ask her for money."
"If she comes, it is as I have guessed," he reflected.
She came.
Hidden in the loft of the Poivriere, Jean, through an opening in thefloor, saw the duchess give a banknote to Mother Chupin.
"Now, she is in my power!" he thought exultantly. "Through what sloughsof degradation will I drag her before I deliver her up to her husband'svengeance!"