CHAPTER XXIV.
LOST AGAIN.
While John Lebrenn was enlightening his companions on the probableevents of the coming day, Victoria, returning home close on half pastnine, had gone up to her room. Setting the lamp on the table, she tookoff her street cloak and sat down, sad and weary. Her head fell betweenher hands. Suddenly her glance rested on a sheet of paper, placedconspicuously in the center of the table, and the young woman read,almost mechanically, these lines, traced in Oliver's still inexperthand:
In daring to write you this letter, I put to use the little that I know, and which I owe to your generosity. You had pity on me, a poor orphan, you had compassion upon my ignorance. Thanks to you I can read, and form the letters. Thanks be to God, for at least I am able to write you what I would never have dared to tell you, for fear of incurring your anger or contempt. But at this hour what have I to fear?
What a change has come over me! A moment ago my hand trembled that I could not write, at the mere thought of acknowledging that I love you passionately. Now it seems to me that this acknowledgment will cause you neither contempt nor anger, for it is a sincere one.
You will not love me, you can never love me, because I am not worthy of you, and for that I am too young--I am a child, as you so often told me. I can not hope to win your affection.
This evening, about eight, I saw you go out. I was glad of it. I preferred to know that you were not here, and that I could thus in your absence place this letter on your table, to be read by you on your return.
I double-locked myself in. I looked at the roof gutter. The passage seemed practicable. To assure myself, I went as far as your window. It was open. I saw your table, your work-basket, your books. Ah, how I wept.
On returning to my chamber I began writing you this letter. I went at once to place it on your table, and then, thanks to some charcoal I have procured, I shall--put an end--to my existence--
"The poor child!" exclaimed Victoria, throwing the letter far from her;and rising, pale with apprehension, she ran to Oliver's door, cryingaloud for help as she went. But in vain she beat on the panels andsought to force an entrance. Gertrude, Madam Lebrenn and her motherhastened up at Victoria's summons. The latter's presence of mind wasonly increased by the impending danger; failing in all her attempts tobreak down the door, she returned to her own room, adventured the narrowgutter which had served Oliver for a pathway, and arrived thus beforethe window of his garret chamber. There it was but the work of a minuteto break one of the little panes, snap back the catch, leap into theroom, and unfasten the locked door from within. Immediately, assisted byMadam Desmarais, Charlotte and Gertrude, she hastened to take the firststeps for the resuscitation of the unfortunate boy stretched on thecouch. The apprentice no longer gave any signs of life. But soon thepure air, rushing in by the now opened door and window, dispelled thedeadly fumes of the charcoal. Oliver's breast heaved; he drew a faintbreath. Victoria and Madam Desmarais carried the almost suffocated ladto the window. There he was propped up in a chair; his ashen features,covered with icy sweat, slowly regained a slight color, and little bylittle life returned to his bosom.
Two hours later he had quite come to, and found himself in JohnLebrenn's parlor, alone with Victoria. One would have difficulty toframe in his imagination a countenance of more rare perfection than thatof the youth, who possessed a physiognomy of charming candor. On herpart, the young woman was grave. Her eyes, reddened with tears, and thefeverish color which replaced the habitual pallor of her beautifulfeatures, both bore witness to the painful emotions under which she waslaboring. After a few seconds' hesitation, she thus addressed the youthin a sweet and solemn voice:
"Oliver, you are now, I believe, in condition to listen to me. I haverequested my brother and his family to leave us to ourselves a while.Our interview will, I trust, exert a happy influence over your future,and give you complete satisfaction."
"I listen, Mademoiselle Victoria."
"I have read your letter," resumed the young woman, drawing Oliver'smissive from her corsage. "Frightened at your resolve of suicide, andthinking only of snatching you from death while there was yet time, Iwas not at first able to finish it. But now I have just read itthrough."
"What do I hear!" exclaimed the youth, clasping his hands in a transportof joy. "My letter caused you neither contempt nor anger?"
"Why should it? You yielded to the promptings of gratitude toward me,and sympathy for my character. So, I am not irritated, but touched, byyour affection."
"You are touched by my affection, Mademoiselle Victoria? My heaven, whatdo you say!"
"Now, my friend, answer me sincerely. The fear of seeing me insensibleto an avowal which timidity has for so long kept trembling on your lips,drove you to think of suicide--am I right?"
"Helas, yes, mademoiselle!"
"Now speak true, Oliver. Was it as a mistress, or a wife, that youdreamt of me?"
"Good heavens! Do you think--?"
"You thought of me as the future companion of your life? Ah, me, Ideclare that I am unworthy to become your wife. Cruelly as this avowalwounds my heart, Oliver, I must make it to you, in order that you retainno illusion, and no hope. But I offer you in their place a devotedattachment, the affection of a mother for her child. That is all I cangive you."
Oliver, who so far had held his hands clasped over his face, now letthem drop upon his knees. He replied with not a single word, but fixingupon Victoria a dark and foreboding look, rose with difficulty from hisseat, and with a step that still wavered, moved towards the door.
The apprentice's silence and the expression on his face bore evidence toso profound a despair that Victoria presaged some new misfortune. Shehastened to Oliver's side, took his hand, and asked:
"Where are you going?"
"To my room. I need rest."
"You shall not stay alone in your room. Gertrude and I will watch overyou. We will remain there all night."
"Good night, Mademoiselle Victoria," returned the apprentice, movinganew towards the door. But Victoria, still holding him by the hand,replied:
"Oliver, I know what you are thinking of. You are not in your rightmind."
"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Victoria; I am fully in possession ofmy senses; and if you have read my thoughts, you ought to realize thatno power in the world can balk my resolution."
"You would have the cruelty to leave me under the weight of the horriblethought that I--I who love you as a son--was the cause of your death?"
"Your heart is compassionate, Mademoiselle Victoria, and your charactergenerous. I wish to leave this world because you do not wish, or are notable, to love me."
"Unhappy child, even were I not sufficiently old to be your mother, Irepeat to you with a blushing forehead, I am not worthy of being yourwife. You can not be my husband. Such a union would be the shame of yourlife and the eternal remorse of mine."
"In your eyes, perhaps, but not in mine, Mademoiselle Victoria. Whatevera past of which I am ignorant may hold, a past in which I am in no wayconcerned, you are now for me the one creature in the world most worthyof respect and love. Life without you will be insupportable. I haveresolved to die--"
"What a crazy thought! I do not love you with a lover's love. Why do youpersist thus in a struggle for the impossible, poor foolish lad?"
"I have no thought of a struggle. I am resigned--and shall put myselfout of the way."
These final words of Oliver's, pronounced without emphasis orbitterness, could not but remove from Victoria's mind her last doubts asto the unfortunate boy's resolution. She had been used long enough toread to the bottom of his open and childlike soul, to recognize there ablending of gentleness and strength of will. Hardly escaped from onealmost certain death, the apprentice was all the more determined to seekin self-destruction the end of his torments. Victoria communed long withherself, and after an extended silence, began again:
"Oliver, you are resolved to die. I do not wish at any price to reawakenyour hopes by entering into any engagement with you whatsoever. I do notwish to revive your illusions--they must be destroyed, and forever. Butin the name of the interest I have always borne you, in the name even ofyour attachment for me, I ask of you only to promise me not to attemptto destroy your life until to-morrow at midnight. At that hour, you willmeet me here again, or if not you will receive a letter from me. If theinterview I shall then have with you, or if the reading of my letterdoes not change your sad designs, you may put them into execution, asyou please. Let your destiny then run its course."
"To die twenty-four hours later, or twenty-four hours earlier, itmatters little. I promise not to go before the hour you have set,"replied the apprentice with such marked indifference that it was clearthe poor boy entertained no hope of his suicide's being obviated. Againturning to the door, he added:
"Mademoiselle Victoria, to-morrow, then, shall decide my fate."
"Oliver, we have a full day to reflect on the grave matter which thuslinks both our existences."
Hardly had Oliver left the parlor when Victoria rose, and running to thedoor of an ante-room where John Lebrenn and his wife were concealed,said to them in a shaking voice:
"You heard everything?"
"Ah, the unfortunate boy," exclaimed John. "He is out of his mind. It iscertain to me that he will carry out his fatal threat."
"Oh, heaven," added Madam Lebrenn, drying her eyes, "to think thatto-day we saved him from death, and that to-morrow--oh, it is horrible!But what can one do in such an extremity? What can we make up our mindson? What is your idea?"
"We can and ought at least to put to profit the twenty-four hours andover which you have succeeded in winning from him, dear sister," repliedLebrenn. "I have before now not wished to intrude in this painfulaffair. But Oliver has a great affection for me. I have some influenceover him; his heart is good, his spirit unblemished, his character open.I can appeal to his good parts, I can endeavor to exalt his already soardent patriotism, which even his mad passion has not been able to cool.I shall prove to Oliver that he would commit a crime against theRepublic, against his mother country, in sacrificing his life instead ofdevoting it to her protection when she is menaced by foreign invasion."
"Ah, brother, do you then believe that I have not thought ofresurrecting that soul, now crushed and disheartened? Alas, my effortswere unavailing. I know the child better than you, my friends. Listen tome--this is the hour of a cruel confession, brother. You know what partMaurice, the sergeant in the French Guards, the unfortunate victim ofMonsieur Plouernel, played in my life."
"Aye, and I know further, or I believe I know, that Oliver is Maurice'sbrother." Then, in answer to a gesture of surprise on Victoria's part,"It is to Charlotte's penetration that I owe the discovery."
"Oliver is, indeed, the brother of Maurice, and by one of thoseinexplicable mysteries of nature, the physical resemblance between thetwo is even perhaps less remarkable than their mental resemblance. Myknowledge of Maurice's nature has given me the key to Oliver's. Woe isme!" cried Victoria in heartrending tones. "In seeing, in hearing theone, I thought I saw and heard the other! The same voice, the same look!How many times, entranced in memories, have I surprised myself moved, myheart beating for this living phantom of the only man I ever loved in mysad life!"
"You love Oliver--or rather in him you continue to love Maurice. Unhappysister!"
"Sister, dear," said Charlotte, warmly seizing the two hands ofVictoria, who stood mute and overcome, bowing her face which wasempurpled with shame and flooded with tears, "do you suppose that wecould breathe one word of censure against you? Your new agonies inspirebut the tenderest compassion. Ah, if our sisterly affection were capableof any growth, it would increase before this touching proof of thepersistence of the single love of your life. Do we not know, alas, thatfor you to love Oliver is but for you to continue faithful to Maurice?"
"And still this love, although as pure as the former one, would beshameful, revolting," murmured Victoria.
"Victoria," interposed John, unable to restrain his tears, "do notabandon yourself to despair. Let us face the reality coolly, andregulate our conduct accordingly."
"Helas, the reality!" broke from Victoria. "This it is: No human powercan prevent the suicide of Oliver, if I do not promise to be hiswife--or his mistress. The only alternatives are my shame or his death."
Victoria's words were followed by silence for several minutes.
"Woe is us," at length resumed John, the first to speak. "Aye, fate hasshut us in an iron circle. And still, despite myself, some dim hopesupports me. Some inspiration will come to us."
"Yes," replied Charlotte, "I also hope, because our sister Victoria is anoble creature; because Oliver is gifted with generous qualities. Ibelieve it will be possible to discover a solution honorable for all ofus."
"Oh, dear wife," exclaimed John, "how your words do comfort me. Aye,aye, every situation, desperate as it may seem, is capable of anhonorable solution. Beloved sister, raise that bowed forehead. Let ushave faith in the unison of noble hearts."
Suddenly Victoria lifted her head, transfigured, radiant; andpassionately embracing her brother's wife, she cried:
"You spoke sooth, Charlotte. We shall come out of this situation withhonor." Then, clasping John with redoubled ardor, she continued: "Ah,brother, what a weight of fear has been lifted from my heart! To-morrowyou shall know all. To-morrow that circle of iron shall be broken whichnow hems us in. A happy path opens itself before me."
The following morning, as John Lebrenn was leaving his house for theshop, he was met in the courtyard by the servant Gertrude, who drew fromher pocket an addressed envelope.
"Mademoiselle Victoria gave me this letter for you, Monsieur John."
"My sister has gone out, then?"
"Yes, sir. She left at daybreak with Oliver. He had a traveling-case onhis shoulder."
"My sister has left us!" stammered John, in amazement. Then he hastilybroke the envelope he had just received from Gertrude, and read asfollows:
Adieu, brother! Embrace your wife tenderly for me.
I have taken Oliver away. I may not at present let you into my plans; but of one thing be assured, the solution is honorable for all. I am and shall remain worthy of your esteem and affection. Do not seek for the present to fathom what has become of me, and have no uneasiness over my fate. You shall receive a letter from me every week, until the day, close at hand, it may be, or perhaps far away, when I can return to you, dear brother, dear sister, never to leave you again.
While awaiting that day so much to be desired, continue, both of you, to love me--for never shall I have so much needed your affection.
VICTORIA.