XIV
M. Plantat stopped. His companions had not suffered a gesture or a wordto interrupt him. M. Lecoq, as he listened, reflected. He asked himselfwhere M. Plantat could have got all these minute details. Who hadwritten Tremorel's terrible biography? As he glanced at the papers fromwhich Plantat read, he saw that they were not all in the samehandwriting.
The old justice of the peace pursued the story:
Bertha Lechaillu, though by an unhoped-for piece of good fortune she hadbecome Madame Sauvresy, did not love her husband. She was the daughterof a poor country school-master, whose highest ambition had been to bean assistant teacher in a Versailles school; yet she was not nowsatisfied. Absolute queen of one of the finest domains in the land,surrounded by every luxury, spending as she pleased, beloved, adored,she was not content. Her life, so well regulated, so constantly smooth,without annoyances and disturbance, seemed to her insipid. There werealways the same monotonous pleasures, always recurring each in itsseason. There were parties and receptions, horse rides, hunts,drives--and it was always thus! Alas, this was not the life she haddreamed of; she was born for more exciting pleasures. She yearned forunknown emotions and sensations, the unforeseen, abrupt transitions,passions, adventures. She had not liked Sauvresy from the first day shesaw him, and her secret aversion to him increased in proportion as herinfluence over him grew more certain. She thought him common, vulgar,ridiculous. She thought the simplicity of his manners, silliness. Shelooked at him, and saw nothing in him to admire. She did not listen tohim when he spoke, having already decided in her wisdom that he couldsay nothing that was not tedious or commonplace. She was angry that hehad not been a wild young man, the terror of his family.
He had, however, done as other young men do. He had gone to Paris andtried the sort of life which his friend Tremorel led. He had enough ofit in six months, and hastily returned to Valfeuillu, to rest after suchlaborious pleasures. The experience cost him a hundred thousand francs,but he said he did not regret purchasing it at this price.
Bertha was wearied with the constancy and adoration of her husband. Shehad only to express a desire to be at once obeyed, and this blindsubmission to all her wishes appeared to her servile in a man. A man isborn, she thought, to command, and not to obey; to be master, and notslave. She would have preferred a husband who would come in in themiddle of the night, still warm from his orgy, having lost at play, andwho would strike her if she upbraided him. A tyrant, but a man. Somemonths after her marriage she suddenly took it into her head to haveabsurd freaks and extravagant caprices. She wished to prove him, and seehow far his constant complacence would go. She thought she would tirehim out. It was intolerable to feel absolutely sure of her husband, toknow that she so filled his heart that he had room for no other, to havenothing to fear, not even the caprice of an hour. Perhaps there was yetmore than this in Bertha's aversion. She knew herself, and confessed toherself that had Sauvresy wished, she would have been his without beinghis wife. She was so lonely at her father's, so wretched in her poverty,that she would have fled from her home, even for this. And she despisedher husband because he had not despised her enough!
People were always telling her that she was the happiest of women.Happy! And there were days when she wept when she thought that she wasmarried. Happy! There were times when she longed to fly, to seekadventure and pleasure, all that she yearned for, what she had not hadand never would have. The fear of poverty--which she knewwell--restrained her. This fear was caused in part by a wise precautionwhich her father, recently dead, had taken. Sauvresy wished to insert inthe marriage-contract a settlement of five hundred thousand francs onhis affianced. The worthy Lechailin had opposed this generous act.
"My daughter," he said, "brings you nothing. Settle forty thousandfrancs on her if you will, not a sou more; otherwise there shall be nomarriage."
As Sauvresy insisted, the old man added:
"I hope that she will be a good and worthy wife; if so, your fortunewill be hers. But if she is not, forty thousand francs will be none toolittle for her. Of course, if you are afraid that you will die first,you can make a will."
Sauvresy was forced to yield. Perhaps the worthy school-master knew hisdaughter; if so he was the only one. Never did so consummate a hypocrisyminister to so profound a perversity, and a depravity so inconceivablein a young and seemingly innocent girl. If, at the bottom of her heart,she thought herself the most wretched of women, there was nothing of itapparent--it was a well-kept secret. She knew how to show to herhusband, in place of the love she did not feel, the appearance of apassion at once burning and modest, betraying furtive glances and aflush as of pleasure, when he entered the room.
All the world said:
"Bertha is foolishly fond of her husband."
Sauvresy was sure of it, and he was the first to say, not caring toconceal his joy:
"My wife adores me."
Such were man and wife at Valfeuillu when Sauvresy found Tremorel on thebanks of the Seine with a pistol in his hand. Sauvresy missed his dinnerthat evening for the first time since his marriage, though he hadpromised to be prompt, and the meal was kept waiting for him. Berthamight have been anxious about this delay; she was only indignant at whatshe called inconsiderateness. She was asking herself how she shouldpunish her husband, when, at ten o'clock at night, the drawing-room doorwas abruptly thrown open, and Sauvresy stood smiling upon the threshold.
"Bertha," said he, "I've brought you an apparition."
She scarcely deigned to raise her head. Sauvresy continued:
"An apparition whom you know, of whom I have often spoken to you, whomyou will like because I love him, and because he is my oldest comrade,my best friend."
And standing aside, he gently pushed Hector into the room.
"Madame Sauvresy, permit me to present to you Monsieur the Count deTremorel."
Bertha rose suddenly, blushing, confused, agitated by an indefinableemotion, as if she saw in reality an apparition. For the first time inher life she was abashed, and did not dare to raise her large, clearblue eyes.
"Monsieur," she stammered, "you are welcome."
She knew Tremorel's name well. Sauvresy had often mentioned it, and shehad seen it often in the papers, and had heard it in the drawing-roomsof all her friends. He who bore it seemed to her, after what she hadheard a great personage. He was, according to his reputation, a hero ofanother age, a social Don Quixote, a terribly fast man of the world. Hewas one of those men whose lives astonish common people, whom thewell-to-do citizen thinks faithless and lawless, whose extravagantpassions overleap the narrow bounds of social prejudice; a man whotyrannizes over others, whom all fear, who fights on the slightestprovocation, who scatters gold with a prodigal hand, whose iron healthresists the most terrible excesses. She had often in her miserablereveries tried to imagine what kind of man this Count de Tremorel was.She awarded him with such qualities as she desired for her fancied hero,with whom she could fly from her husband in search of new adventures.And now, of a sudden, he appeared before her.
"Give Hector your hand, dear," said Sauvresy. She held out her hand,which Tremorel lightly pressed, and his touch seemed to give her anelectric shock.
Sauvresy threw himself into an arm-chair.
"You see, Bertha," said he, "our friend Hector is exhausted with thelife he has been leading. He has been advised to rest, and has come toseek it here, with us."
"But, dear," responded Bertha, "aren't you afraid that the count will bebored a little here?"
"Why?"
"Valfeuillu is very quiet, and we are but dull country folks."
Bertha talked for the sake of talking, to break a silence whichembarrassed her, to make Tremorel speak, and hear his voice. As shetalked she observed him, and studied the impression she made on him. Herradiant beauty usually struck those who saw her for the first time withopen admiration. He remained impassible. She recognized the worn-outrake of title, the fast man who has tried, experienced, exhausted allthings, in his coldness and superb i
ndifference. And because he did notadmire her she admired him the more.
"What a difference," thought she, "between him and that vulgar Sauvresy,who is surprised at everything, whose face shows all that he thinks,whose eye betrays what he is going to say before he opens his mouth."
Bertha was mistaken. Hector was not as cold and indifferent as sheimagined. He was simply wearied, utterly exhausted. He could scarcelysit up after the terrible excitements of the last twenty-four hours. Hesoon asked permission to retire. Sauvresy, when left alone with hiswife, told her all that happened, and the events which resulted inTremorel's coming to Valfeuillu; but like a true friend omittedeverything that would cast ridicule upon his old comrade.
"He's a big child," said he, "a foolish fellow, whose brain is weak butwe'll take care of him and cure him."
Bertha never listened to her husband so attentively before. She seemedto agree with him, but she really admired Tremorel. Like Jenny, she wasstruck with the heroism which could squander a fortune and then commitsuicide.
"Ah!" sighed she, "Sauvresy would not have done it!"
No, Sauvresy was quite a different man from the Count de Tremorel. Thenext day he declared his intention to adjust his friend's affairs.Hector had slept well, having spent the night on an excellent bed,undisturbed by pressing anxieties; and he appeared in the morning sleekand well-dressed, the disorder and desperation of the previous eveninghaving quite disappeared. He had a nature not deeply impressible byevents; twenty-four hours consoled him for the worst catastrophes, andhe soon forgot the severest lessons of life. If Sauvresy had bid himbegone, he would not have known where to go; yet he had already resumedthe haughty carelessness of the millionnaire, accustomed to bend men andcircumstances to his will. He was once more calm and cold, coollyjoking, as if years had passed since that night at the hotel, and as ifall the disasters to his fortune had been repaired. Bertha was amazed atthis tranquillity after such great reverses, and thought this childishrecklessness force of character.
"Now," said Sauvresy, "as I've become your man of business, give me myinstructions, and some valuable hints. What is, or was, the amount ofyour fortune?"
"I haven't the least idea."
Sauvresy provided himself with a pencil and a large sheet of paper,ready to set down the figures. He seemed a little surprised.
"All right," said he, "we'll put x down as the unknown quantity of theassets: now for the liabilities."
Hector made a superbly disdainful gesture.
"Don't know, I'm sure, what they are."
"What, can't you give a rough guess?"
"Oh, perhaps. For instance, I owe between five and six hundred thousandfrancs to Clair & Co., five hundred thousand to Dervoy; about as much toDubois, of Orleans--"
"Well?"
"I can't remember any more."
"But you must have a memorandum of your loans somewhere?"
"No."
"You have at least kept your bonds, bills, and the sums of your variousdebts?"
"None of them. I burnt up all my papers yesterday."
Sauvresy jumped up from his chair in astonishment; such a method ofdoing business seemed to him monstrous; he could not suppose that Hectorwas lying. Yet he was lying, and this affectation of ignorance was aconceit of the aristocratic man of the world. It was very noble, verydistingue, to ruin one's self without knowing how!
"But, my dear fellow," cried Sauvresy, "how can we clear up youraffairs?"
"Oh, don't clear them up at all; do as I do--let the creditors act asthey please, they will know how to settle it all, rest assured; let themsell out my property."
"Never! Then you would be ruined, indeed!"
"Well, it's only a little more or a little less."
"What splendid disinterestedness!" thought Bertha; "what coolness, whatadmirable contempt of money, what noble disdain of the petty detailswhich annoy common people! Was Sauvresy capable of all this?"
She could not at least accuse him of avarice, since for her he was asprodigal as a thief; he had never refused her anything; he anticipatedher most extravagant fancies. Still he had a strong appetite for gain,and despite his large fortune, he retained the hereditary respect formoney. When he had business with one of his farmers, he would rise veryearly, mount his horse, though it were mid-winter, and go severalleagues in the snow to get a hundred crowns. He would have ruinedhimself for her if she had willed it, this she was convinced of; but hewould have ruined himself economically, in an orderly way.
Sauvresy reflected.
"You are right," said he to Hector, "your creditors ought to know yourexact position. Who knows that they are not acting in concert? Theirsimultaneous refusal to lend you a hundred thousand makes me suspect it.I will go and see them."
"Clair & Co., from whom I received my first loans, ought to be the bestinformed."
"Well, I will see Clair & Co. But look here, do you know what you woulddo if you were reasonable?"
"What?"
"You would go to Paris with me, and both of us--"
Hector turned very pale, and his eyes shone.
"Never!" he interrupted, violently, "never!"
His "dear friends" still terrified him. What! Reappear on the theatre ofhis glory, now that he was fallen, ruined, ridiculous by hisunsuccessful suicide? Sauvresy had held out his arms to him. Sauvresywas a noble fellow, and loved Hector sufficiently not to perceive thefalseness of his position, and not to judge him a coward because heshrank from suicide. But the others!--
"Don't talk to me about Paris," said he in a calmer tone. "I shall neverset my foot in it again."
"All right--so much the better; stay with us; I sha'n't complain of it,nor my wife either. Some fine day we'll find you a pretty heiress in theneighborhood. But," added Sauvresy, consulting his watch, "I must go ifI don't want to lose the train."
"I'll go to the station with you," said Tremorel.
This was not solely from a friendly impulse. He wanted to ask Sauvresyto look after the articles left at the pawnbroker's in the Rue de Condo,and to call on Jenny. Bertha, from her window, followed with her eyesthe two friends; who, with arms interlocked, ascended the road towardOrcival. "What a difference," thought she, "between these two men! Myhusband said he wished to be his friend's steward; truly he has the airof a steward. What a noble gait the count has, what youthful ease, whatreal distinction! And yet I'm sure that my husband despises him, becausehe has ruined himself by dissipation. He affected--I saw it--an air ofprotection. Poor youth! But everything about the count betrays an innateor acquired superiority; even his name, Hector--how it sounds!" And sherepeated "Hector" several times, as if it pleased her, adding,contemptuously, "My husband's name is Clement!"
M. de Tremorel returned alone from the station, as gayly as aconvalescent taking his first airing. As soon as Bertha saw him she leftthe window. She wished to remain alone, to reflect upon this event whichhad happened so suddenly, to analyze her sensations, listen to herpresentiments, study her impressions and decide, if possible, upon herline of conduct. She only reappeared when the tea was set for herhusband, who returned at eleven in the evening. Sauvresy was faint fromhunger, thirst, and fatigue, but his face glowed with satisfaction.
"Victory!" exclaimed he, as he ate his soup. "We'll snatch you from thehands of the Philistines yet. Parbleu! The finest feathers of yourplumage will remain, after all, and you will be able to save enough fora good cosey nest."
Bertha glanced at her husband.
"How is that?" said she.
"It's very simple. At the very first, I guessed the game of our friend'screditors. They reckoned on getting a sale of his effects; would havebought them in a lump dirt cheap, as it always happens, and then soldthem in detail, dividing the profits of the operation."
"And can you prevent that?" asked Tremorel, incredulously.
"Certainly. Ah, I've completely checkmated these gentlemen. I'vesucceeded by chance--I had the good luck to get them all together thisevening. I said to them, you'll let us sell this prop
erty as we please,voluntarily, or I'll outbid you all, and spoil your cards. They lookedat me in amazement. My notary, who was with me, remarked that I wasMonsieur Sauvresy, worth two millions. Our gentlemen opened their eyesvery wide, and consented to grant my request."
Hector, notwithstanding what he had said, knew enough about his affairsto see that this action would save him a fortune--a small one, ascompared with what he had possessed, yet a fortune.
The certainty of this delighted him, and moved by a momentary andsincere gratitude, he grasped both of Sauvresy's hands in his.
"Ah, my friend," cried he, "you give me my honor, after saving my life!How can I ever repay you?"
"By committing no imprudences or foolishnesses, except reasonable ones.Such as this," added Sauvresy, leaning toward Bertha and embracing her.
"And there is nothing more to fear?"
"Nothing! Why I could have borrowed the two millions in an hour, andthey knew it. But that's not all. The search for you is suspended. Iwent to your house, took the responsibility of sending away all yourservants except your valet and a groom. If you agree, we'll send thehorses to be sold to-morrow, and they'll fetch a good price; your ownsaddle-horse shall be brought here."
These details annoyed Bertha. She thought her husband exaggerated hisservices, carrying them even to servility.
"Really," thought she, "he was born to be a steward."
"Do you know what else I did?" pursued Sauvresy. "Thinking that perhapsyou were in want of a wardrobe, I had three or four trunks filled withyour clothes, sent them out by rail, and one of the servants has justgone after them."
Hector, too, began to find Sauvresy's services excessive, and thought hetreated him too much like a child who could foresee nothing. The idea ofhaving it said before a woman that he was in want of clothes irritatedhim. He forgot that he had found it a very simple thing in the morningto ask his friend for some linen.
Just then a noise was heard in the vestibule. Doubtless the trunks hadcome. Bertha went out to give the necessary orders.
"Quick!" cried Sauvresy. "Now that we are alone, here are your trinkets.I had some trouble in getting them. They are suspicious at thepawnbroker's. I think they began to suspect that I was one of a band ofthieves."
"You didn't mention my name, did you?"
"That would have been useless. My notary was with me, fortunately. Onenever knows how useful one's notary may be. Don't you think society isunjust toward notaries?"
Tremorel thought his friend talked very lightly about a serious matter,and this flippancy vexed him.
"To finish up, I paid a visit to Miss Jenny. She has been abed sincelast evening, and her chambermaid told me she had not ceased sobbingbitterly ever since your departure."
"Had she seen no one?"
"Nobody at all. She really thought you dead, and when I told her youwere here with me, alive and well, I thought she would go mad for joy.Do you know, Hector, she's really pretty."
"Yes--not bad."
"And a very good little body, I imagine. She told me some very touchingthings. I would wager, my friend, that she don't care so much for yourmoney as she does for yourself."
Hector smiled superciliously.
"In short, she was anxious to follow me, to see and speak to you. I hadto swear with terrible oaths that she should see you to-morrow, beforeshe would let me go; not at Paris, as you said you would never go there,but at Corbeil."
"Ah, as for that--"
"She will be at the station to-morrow at twelve. We will go downtogether, and I will take the train for Paris. You can get into theCorbeil train, and breakfast with Miss Jenny at the hotel of the BelleImage."
Hector began to offer an objection. Sauvresy stopped him with a gesture.
"Not a word," said he. "Here is my wife."