CHAPTER XIII
The Chateau de Courtornieu is, next to Sairmeuse, the most magnificenthabitation in the _arrondissement_ of Montaignac.
The approach to the castle was by a long and narrow road, badly paved.When the carriage containing Martial and his father turned from thepublic highway into this rough road, the jolting aroused the duke fromthe profound revery into which he had fallen on leaving Sairmeuse.
The marquis thought that he had caused this unusual fit of abstraction.
"It is the result of my adroit manoeuvre," he said to himself, notwithout secret satisfaction. "Until the restitution of Sairmeuse islegalized, I can make my father do anything I wish; yes, anything. Andif it is necessary, he will even invite Lacheneur and Marie-Anne to histable."
He was mistaken. The duke had already forgotten the affair; his mostvivid impressions lasted no longer than an indentation in the sand.
He lowered the glass in front of the carriage, and, after ordering thecoachman to drive more slowly:
"Now," said he to his son, "let us talk a little. Are you really in lovewith that little Lacheneur?"
Martial could not repress a start. "Oh! in love," said he, lightly,"that would perhaps be saying too much. Let me say that she has taken myfancy; that will be sufficient."
The duke regarded his son with a bantering air.
"Really, you delight me!" he exclaimed. "I feared that this love-affairmight derange, at least for the moment, certain plans that I haveformed--for I have formed certain plans for you."
"The devil!"
"Yes, I have my plans, and I will communicate them to you later indetail. I will content myself today by recommending you to examineMademoiselle Blanche de Courtornieu."
Martial made no reply. This recommendation was entirely unnecessary. IfMlle. Lacheneur had made him forget Mlle. de Courtornieu that morningfor some moments, the remembrance of Marie-Anne was now effaced by theradiant image of Blanche.
"Before discussing the daughter," resumed the duke, "let us speak of thefather. He is one of my strongest friends; and I know him thoroughly.You have heard men reproach me for what they style my prejudices, haveyou not? Well, in comparison with the Marquis de Courtornieu, I am onlya Jacobin."
"Oh! my father!"
"Really, nothing could be more true. If I am behind the age in whichI live, he belongs to the reign of Louis XIV. Only--for there is anonly--the principles which I openly avow, he keeps locked up in hissnuff-box--and trust him for not forgetting to open it at the opportunemoment. He has suffered cruelly for his opinions, in the sense of havingso often been obliged to conceal them. He concealed them, first, underthe consulate, when he returned from exile. He dissimulated them evenmore courageously under the Empire--for he played the part of a kind ofchamberlain to Bonaparte, this dear marquis. But, chut! do not remindhim of that proof of heroism; he has deplored it bitterly since thebattle of Lutzen."
This was the tone in which M. de Sairmeuse was accustomed to speak ofhis best friends.
"The history of his fortune," he continued, "is the history of hismarriages--I say _marriages_, because he has married a number of times,and always advantageously. Yes, in a period of fifteen years he has hadthe misfortune of losing three wives, each richer than the other. Hisdaughter is the child of his third and last wife, a Cisse Blossac--shedied in 1809. He comforted himself after each bereavement by purchasinga quantity of lands or bonds. So that now he is as rich as you are,Marquis, and his influence is powerful and widespread. I forgot onedetail, however, he believes, they tell me, in the growing power of theclergy, and has become very devout."
He checked himself; the carriage had stopped before the entrance ofthe Chateau de Courtornieu, and the marquis came forward to receive hisguests in person. A nattering distinction, which he seldom lavished uponhis visitors. The marquis was long rather than tall, and very solemnin deportment. The head that surmounted his angular form was remarkablysmall, a characteristic of his race, and covered with thin, glossy blackhair, and lighted by cold, round black eyes.
The pride that becomes a gentleman, and the humility that befits aChristian, were continually at war with each other in his countenance.
He pressed the hands of M. de Sairmeuse and Martial, overwhelming themwith compliments uttered in a thin, rather nasal voice, which, issuingfrom his immense body, was as astonishing as the sound of a fluteissuing from the pipes of an orphicleide would be.
"At last you have come," he said; "we were waiting for you beforebeginning our deliberations upon a very grave, and also very delicatematter. We are thinking of addressing a petition to His Majesty. Thenobility, who have suffered so much during the Revolution, have a rightto expect ample compensation. Our neighbors, to the number of sixteen,are now assembled in my cabinet, transformed for the time into a councilchamber."
Martial shuddered at the thought of all the ridiculous and tiresomeconversation he would probably be obliged to hear; and his father'srecommendation occurred to him.
"Shall we not have the honor of paying our respects to Mademoiselle deCourtornieu?"
"My daughter must be in the drawing-room with our cousin," repliedthe marquis, in an indifferent tone; "at least, if she is not in thegarden."
This might be construed into, "Go and look for her if you choose." Atleast Martial understood it in that way; and when they entered the hall,he allowed his father and the marquis to go upstairs without him.
A servant opened the door of the drawing-room for him--but it was empty.
"Very well," said he; "I know my way to the garden."
But he explored it in vain; no one was to be found.
He decided to return to the house and march bravely into the presence ofthe dreaded enemy. He had turned to retrace his steps when, through thefoliage of a bower of jasmine, he thought he could distinguish a whitedress.
He advanced softly, and his heart quickened its throbbing when he sawthat he was right.
Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu was seated on a bench beside an old lady,and was engaged in reading a letter in a low voice.
She must have been greatly preoccupied, since she had not heardMartial's footsteps approaching.
He was only ten paces from her, so near that he could distinguishthe shadow of her long eyelashes. He paused, holding his breath, in adelicious ecstasy.
"Ah! how beautiful she is!" he thought. Beautiful? no. But pretty, yes;as pretty as heart could desire, with her great velvety blue eyesand her pouting lips. She was a blonde, but one of those dazzling andradiant blondes found only in the countries of the sun; and from herhair, drawn high upon the top of her head, escaped a profusion ofravishing, glittering ringlets, which seemed almost to sparkle in theplay of the light breeze.
One might, perhaps, have wished her a trifle larger. But she had thewinning charm of all delicate and _mignonnes_ women; and her figure wasof exquisite roundness, and her dimpled hands were those of an infant.
Alas! these attractive exteriors are often deceitful, as much and evenmore so, than the appearances of a man like the Marquis de Courtornieu.
The apparently innocent and artless young girl possessed the parched,hollow soul of an experienced woman of the world, or of an old courtier.She had been so petted at the convent, in the capacity of only daughterof a _grand seigneur_ and millionnaire; she had been surrounded by somuch adulation, that all her good qualities had been blighted in the budby the poisonous breath of flattery.
She was only nineteen; and still it was impossible for any person tohave been more susceptible to the charms of wealth and of satisfiedambition. She dreamed of a position at court as a school-girl dreams ofa lover.
If she had deigned to notice Martial--for she had remarked him--it wasonly because her father had told her that this young man would lift hiswife to the highest sphere of power. Thereupon she had uttered a "verywell, we will see!" that would have changed an enamoured suitor's loveinto disgust.
Martial advanced a few steps, and Mlle. Blanche, on seeing him, sprangup with a pre
tty affectation of intense timidity.
Bowing low before her, he said, gently, and with profound deference:
"Monsieur de Courtornieu, Mademoiselle, was so kind as to tell me whereI might have the honor of finding you. I had not courage to brave thoseformidable discussions inside; but----"
He pointed to the letter the young girl held in her hand, and added:
"But I fear that I am _de trop_."
"Oh! not in the least, Monsieur le Marquis, although this letter whichI have just been reading has, I confess, interested me deeply. It waswritten by a poor child in whom I have taken a great interest--whom Ihave sent for sometimes when I was lonely--Marie-Anne Lacheneur."
Accustomed from his infancy to the hypocrisy of drawing-rooms, the youngmarquis had taught his face not to betray his feelings.
He could have laughed gayly with anguish at his heart; he could havepreserved the sternest gravity when inwardly convulsed with merriment.
And yet, this name of Marie-Anne upon the lips of Mlle. de Courtornieu,caused his glance to waver.
"They know each other!" he thought.
In an instant he was himself again; but Mlle. Blanche had perceived hismomentary agitation.
"What can it mean?" she wondered, much disturbed.
Still, it was with the perfect assumption of innocence that shecontinued:
"In fact, you must have seen her, this poor Marie-Anne, Monsieur leMarquis, since her father was the guardian of Sairmeuse?"
"Yes, I have seen her, Mademoiselle," replied Martial, quietly.
"Is she not remarkably beautiful? Her beauty is of an unusual type, itquite takes one by surprise."
A fool would have protested. The marquis was not guilty of this folly.
"Yes, she is very beautiful," said he.
This apparent frankness disconcerted Mlle. Blanche a trifle; and it waswith an air of hypocritical compassion that she murmured:
"Poor girl! What will become of her? Here is her father, reduced todelving in the ground."
"Oh! you exaggerate, Mademoiselle; my father will always preserveLacheneur from anything of that kind."
"Of course--I might have known that--but where will he find a husbandfor Marie-Anne?"
"One has been found already. I understand that she is to marry a youthin the neighborhood, who has some property--a certain Chanlouineau."
The artless school-girl was more cunning than the marquis. She hadsatisfied herself that she had just grounds for her suspicions; and sheexperienced a certain anger on finding him so well informed in regard toeverything that concerned Mlle. Lacheneur.
"And do you believe that this is the husband of whom she had dreamed?Ah, well! God grant that she may be happy; for we were very fond of her,very--were we not, Aunt Medea?"
Aunt Medea was the old lady seated beside Mlle. Blanche.
"Yes, very," she replied.
This aunt, or cousin, rather, was a poor relation whom M. de Courtornieuhad sheltered, and who was forced to pay dearly for her bread; sinceMlle. Blanche compelled her to play the part of echo.
"It grieves me to see these friendly relations, which were so dearto me, broken," resumed Mlle. de Courtornieu. "But listen to whatMarie-Anne has written."
She drew from her belt where she had placed it, Mlle. Lacheneur's letterand read:
"'My dear blanche--You know that the Duc de Sairmeuse has returned. Thenews fell upon us like a thunder-bolt. My father and I had becometoo much accustomed to regard as our own the deposit which had beenintrusted to our fidelity; we have been punished for it. At least, wehave done our duty, and now all is ended. She whom you have called yourfriend, will be, hereafter, only a poor peasant girl, as her mother wasbefore her.'"
The most subtle observer would have supposed that Mlle. Blanche wasexperiencing the keenest emotion. One would have sworn that it was onlyby intense effort that she succeeded in restraining her tears--that theywere even trembling behind her long lashes.
The truth was, that she was thinking only of discovering, upon Martial'sface, some indication of his feelings. But now that he was on guard, hisfeatures might have been marble for any sign of emotion they betrayed.So she continued:
"'I should utter an untruth if I said that I have not suffered onaccount of this sudden change. But I have courage; I shall learn how tosubmit. I shall, I hope, have strength to forget, for I _must_ forget!The remembrances of past felicity would render my present miseryintolerable.'"
Mlle. de Courtornieu suddenly folded up the letter.
"You have heard it, Monsieur," said she. "Can you understand such prideas that? And they accuse us, daughters of the nobility, of being proud!"
Martial made no response. He felt that his altered voice would betrayhim. How much more would he have been moved, if he had been allowed toread the concluding lines:
"One must live, my dear Blanche!" added Marie-Anne, "and I feel no falseshame in asking you to aid me. I sew very nicely, as you know, and Icould earn my livelihood by embroidery if I knew more people. I willcall to-day at Courtornieu to ask you to give me a list of ladies towhom I can present myself on your recommendation."
But Mlle. de Courtornieu had taken good care not to allude to thetouching request. She had read the letter to Martial as a test. Shehad not succeeded; so much the worse. She rose and accepted his arm toreturn to the house.
She seemed to have forgotten her friend, and she was chatting gayly.When they approached the chateau, she was interrupted by a sound ofvoices raised to the highest pitch.
It was the address to the King which was agitating the council convenedin M. de Courtornieu's cabinet.
Mlle. Blanche paused.
"I am trespassing upon your kindness, Monsieur. I am boring you with mysilly chat when you should undoubtedly be up there."
"Certainly not," he replied, laughing. "What should I do there? The roleof men of action does not begin until the orators have concluded."
He spoke so energetically, in spite of his jesting tone, that Mlle. deCourtornieu was fascinated. She saw before her, she believed, a manwho, as her father had said, would rise to the highest position in thepolitical world.
Unfortunately, her admiration was disturbed by a ring of the great bellthat always announces visitors.
She trembled, let go her hold on Martial's arm, and said, veryearnestly:
"Ah, no matter. I wish very much to know what is going on up there. IfI ask my father, he will laugh at my curiosity, while you, Monsieur, ifyou are present at the conference, you will tell me all."
A wish thus expressed was a command. The marquis bowed and obeyed.
"She dismisses me," he said to himself as he ascended the staircase,"nothing could be more evident; and that without much ceremony. Why thedevil does she wish to get rid of me?"
Why? Because a single peal of the bell announced a visitor for Mlle.Blanche; because she was expecting a visit from her friend; andbecause she wished at any cost to prevent a meeting between Martial andMarie-Anne.
She did not love him, and yet an agony of jealousy was torturing her.Such was her nature.
Her presentiments were realized. It was, indeed, Mlle. Lacheneur who wasawaiting her in the drawing-room.
The poor girl was paler than usual; but nothing in her manner betrayedthe frightful anguish she had suffered during the past two or threedays.
And her voice, in asking from her former friend a list of "customers,"was as calm and as natural as in other days, when she was asking her tocome and spend an afternoon at Sairmeuse.
So, when the two girls embraced each other, their roles were reversed.
It was Marie-Anne who had been crushed by misfortune; it was Mlle.Blanche who wept.
But, while writing a list of the names of persons in the neighborhoodwith whom she was acquainted, Mlle. de Courtornieu did not neglectthis favorable opportunity for verifying the suspicions which had beenaroused by Martial's momentary agitation.
"It is inconceivable," she remarked to her friend, "that the Duc deSairmeus
e should allow you to be reduced to such an extremity."
Marie-Anne's nature was so royal, that she did not wish an unjustaccusation to rest even upon the man who had treated her father socruelly.
"The duke is not to blame," she replied, gently; "he offered us a veryconsiderable sum, this morning, through his son."
Mlle. Blanche started as if a viper had stung her.
"So you have seen the marquis, Marie-Anne?"
"Yes."
"Has he been to your house?"
"He was going there, when he met me in the grove on the waste."
She blushed as she spoke; she turned crimson at the thought of Martial'simpertinent gallantry.
This girl who had just emerged from a convent was terribly experienced;but she misunderstood the cause of Marie-Anne's confusion. She coulddissimulate, however, and when Marie-Anne went away, Mlle. Blancheembraced her with every sign of the most ardent affection. But she wasalmost suffocated with rage.
"What!" she thought; "they have met but once, and yet they are sostrongly impressed with each other. Do they love each other already?"