Le crime d'Orcival. English

  XV

  On going to bed, that night, the count was less enchanted than ever withthe devotion of his friend Sauvresy. There is not a diamond on which aspot cannot be found with a microscope.

  "Here he is," thought he, "abusing his privileges as the saver of mylife. Can't a man do you a service, without continually making you feelit? It seems as though because he prevented me from blowing my brainsout, I had somehow become something that belongs to him! He came verynear upbraiding me for Jenny's extravagance. Where will he stop?"

  The next day at breakfast he feigned indisposition so as not to eat, andsuggested to Sauvresy that he would lose the train.

  Bertha, as on the evening before, crouched at the window to see them goaway. Her troubles during the past eight-and-forty hours had been sogreat that she hardly recognized herself. She scarcely dared to reflector to descend to the depths of her heart. What mysterious power did thisman possess, to so violently affect her life? She wished that he wouldgo, never to return, while at the same time she avowed to herself thatin going he would carry with him all her thoughts. She struggled underthe charm, not knowing whether she ought to rejoice or grieve at theinexpressible emotions which agitated her, being irritated to submit toan influence stronger than her own will.

  She decided that to-day she would go down to the drawing-room. He wouldnot fail--were it only for politeness--to go in there; and then, shethought, by seeing him nearer, talking with him, knowing him better, hisinfluence over her would vanish. Doubtless he would return, and so shewatched for him, ready to go down as soon as she saw him approaching.She waited with feverish shudderings, anxiously believing that thisfirst tete-a-tete in her husband's absence would be decisive. Timepassed; it was more than two hours since he had gone out with Sauvresy,and he had not reappeared. Where could he be?

  At this moment, Hector was awaiting Jenny at the Corbeil station. Thetrain arrived, and Jenny soon appeared. Her grief, joy, emotion had notmade her forget her toilet, and never had she been so rollickinglyelegant and pretty. She wore a green dress with a train, a velvetmantle, and the jauntiest little hat in the world. As soon as she sawHector standing near the door, she uttered a cry, pushed the peopleaside, and rushed into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.She spoke quite loud, with wild gestures, so that everyone could hearwhat she said.

  "You didn't kill yourself, after all," said she. "Oh, how I havesuffered; but what happiness I feel to-day!"

  Tremorel struggled with her as he could, trying to calm her enthusiasticexclamations, softly repelling her, charmed and irritated at once, andexasperated at all these eyes rudely fixed on him. For none of thepassengers had gone out. They were all there, staring and gazing. Hectorand Jenny were surrounded by a circle of curious folks.

  "Come along," said Hector, his patience exhausted. He drew her out ofthe door, hoping to escape this prying curiosity; but he did notsucceed. They were persistently followed. Some of the Corbeil people whowere on the top of the omnibus begged the conductor to walk his horses,that this singular couple might not be lost to view, and the horses didnot get into a trot until they had disappeared in the hotel.

  Sauvresy's foresight in recommending the place of meeting had thus beendisconcerted by Jenny's sensational arrival. Questions were asked; thehostess was adroitly interrogated, and it was soon known that thisperson, who waited for eccentric young ladies at the Corbeil station,was an intimate friend of the owner of Valfeuillu. Neither Hector norJenny doubted that they formed the general topic of conversation. Theybreakfasted gayly in the best room at the Belle Image, during whichTremorel recounted a very pretty story about his restoration to life, inwhich he played a part, the heroism of which was well calculated toredouble the little lady's admiration. Then Jenny in her turn unfoldedher plans for the future, which were, to do her justice, mostreasonable. She had resolved more than ever to remain faithful to Hectornow that he was ruined, to give up her elegant rooms, sell herfurniture, and undertake some honest trade. She had found one of her oldfriends, who was now an accomplished dressmaker, and who was anxious toobtain a partner who had some money, while she herself furnished theexperience. They would purchase an establishment in the Breda quarter,and between them could scarcely fail to prosper. Jenny talked with apretty, knowing, business-like air, which made Hector laugh. Theseprojects seemed very comic to him; yet he was touched by thisunselfishness on the part of a young and pretty woman, who was willingto work in order to please him.

  But, unhappily, they were forced to part. Jenny had gone to Corbeilintending to stay a week; but the count told her this was absolutelyimpossible. She cried bitterly at first, then got angry, and finallyconsoled herself with a plan to return on the following Tuesday.

  "Good-by," said she, embracing Hector, "think of me." She smilinglyadded, "I ought to be jealous; for they say your friend's wife isperhaps the handsomest woman in France. Is it true?"

  "Upon my word, I don't know. I've forgotten to look at her."

  Hector told the truth. Although he did not betray it, he was still underthe surprise of his chagrin at the failure of his attempt at suicide. Hefelt the dizziness which follows great moral crises as well as a heavyblow on the head, and which distracts the attention from exteriorthings. But Jenny's words, "the handsomest woman in France," attractedhis notice, and he could, that very evening, repair his forgetfulness.When he returned to Valfeuillu, his friend had not returned; Mme.Sauvresy was alone reading, in the brilliantly lighted drawing-room.Hector seated himself opposite her, a little aside, and was thus able toobserve her at his ease, while engaging her in conversation. His firstimpression was an unfavorable one. He found her beauty too sculpturaland polished. He sought for imperfections, and finding none, was almostterrified by this lovely, motionless face, these clear, cold eyes.Little by little, however, he accustomed himself to pass the greaterpart of the afternoon with Bertha, while Sauvresy was away arranging hisaffairs--selling, negotiating, using his time in cutting down interestsand discussing with agents and attorneys. He soon perceived that shelistened to him with pleasure, and he judged from this that she was adecidedly superior woman, much better than her husband. He had no wit,but possessed an inexhaustible fund of anecdotes and adventures. He hadseen so many things and known so many people that he was as interestingas a chronicle. He had a sort of frothy fervor, not wanting inbrilliancy, and a polite cynicism which, at first, surprised one. HadBertha been unimpassioned, she might have judged him at his value; butshe had lost her power of insight. She heard him, plunged in a foolishecstasy, as one hears a traveller who has returned from far anddangerous countries, who has visited peoples of whose language thehearer is ignorant, and lived in the midst of manners and customsincomprehensible to ourselves.

  Days, weeks, months passed on, and the Count de Tremorel did not findlife at Valfeuillu as dull as he had thought. He insensibly slippedalong the gentle slope of material well-being, which leads directly tobrutishness. A physical and moral torpor had succeeded the fever of thefirst days, free from disagreeable sensations, though wanting inexcitement. He ate and drank much, and slept twelve round hours. Therest of the time, when he did not talk with Bertha, he wandered in thepark, lounged in a rocking-chair, or took a jaunt in the saddle. He evenwent fishing under the willows at the foot of the garden; and grew fat.His best days were those which he spent at Corbeil with Jenny. He foundin her something of his past, and she always quarrelled with him, whichwoke him up. Besides, she brought him the gossip of Paris and the smalltalk of the boulevards. She came regularly every week, and her love forHector, far from diminishing, seemed to grow with each interview. Thepoor girl's affairs were in a troubled condition. She had bought herestablishment at too high a price, and her partner at the end of thefirst month decamped, carrying off three thousand francs. She knewnothing about the trade which she had undertaken, and she was robbedwithout mercy on all sides. She said nothing of these troubles toHector, but she intended to ask him to come to her assistance. It wasthe least that he could do.

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p; At first, the visitors to Valfeuillu were somewhat astonished at theconstant presence there of a young man of leisure; but they gotaccustomed to him. Hector assumed a melancholy expression ofcountenance, such as a man ought to have who had undergone unheard-ofmisfortunes, and whose life had failed of its promise. He appearedinoffensive; people said:

  "The count has a charming simplicity."

  But sometimes, when alone, he had sudden and terrible relapses. "Thislife cannot last," thought he; and he was overcome with childish ragewhen he contrasted the past with the present. How could he shake offthis dull existence, and rid himself of these stiffly good people whosurrounded him, these friends of Sauvresy? Where should he take refuge?He was not tempted to return to Paris; what could he do there? His househad been sold to an old leather merchant; and he had no money exceptthat which he borrowed of Sauvresy. Yet Sauvresy, to Hector's mind, wasa most uncomfortable, wearisome, implacable friend; he did notunderstand half-way measures in desperate situations.

  "Your boat is foundering," he said to Hector; "let us begin by throwingall that is superfluous into the sea. Let us keep nothing of the past;that is dead; we will bury it, and nothing shall recall it. When yoursituation is relieved, we will see."

  The settlement of Hector's affairs was very laborious. Creditors sprungup at every step, on every side, and the list of them seemed never to befinished. Some had even come from foreign lands. Several of them hadbeen already paid, but their receipts could not be found, and they wereclamorous. Others, whose demands had been refused as exorbitant,threatened to go to law, hoping to frighten Sauvresy into paying.Sauvresy wearied his friend by his incessant activity. Every two orthree days he went to Paris, and he attended the sales of the propertyin Burgundy and Orleans. The count at last detested and hated him;Sauvresy's happy, cheerful air annoyed him; jealousy stung him. Onethought--that a wretched one--consoled him a little. "Sauvresy'shappiness," said he to himself, "is owing to his imbecility. He thinkshis wife dead in love with him, whereas she can't bear him."

  Bertha had, indeed, permitted Hector to perceive her aversion to herhusband. She no longer studied the emotions of her heart; she lovedTremorel, and confessed it to herself. In her eyes he realized the idealof her dreams. At the same time she was exasperated to see in him nosigns of love for her. Her beauty was not, then, irresistible, as shehad often been told. He was gallant and courteous to her--nothing more.

  "If he loved me," thought she, "he would tell me so, for he is bold withwomen and fears no one."

  Then she began to hate the girl, her rival, whom Hector went to meet atCorbeil every week. She wished to see her, to know her. Who could shebe? Was she handsome? Hector had been very reticent about Jenny. Heevaded all questions about her, not sorry to let Bertha's imaginationwork on his mysterious visits.

  The day at last came when she could no longer resist the intensity ofher curiosity. She put on the simplest of her toilets, in black, threw athick veil over her head, and hastened to the Corbeil station at thehour that she thought the unknown girl would present herself there. Shetook a seat on a bench in the rear of the waiting-room. She had not longto wait. She soon perceived the count and a young girl coming along theavenue, which she could see from where she sat. They were arm in arm,and seemed to be in a very happy mood. They passed within a few steps ofher, and as they walked very slowly, she was able to scrutinize Jenny ather ease. She saw that she was pretty, but that was all. Having seenthat which she wished, and become satisfied that Jenny was not to befeared (which showed her inexperience) Bertha directed her stepshomeward. But she chose her time of departure awkwardly; for as she waspassing along behind the cabs, which concealed her, Hector came out ofthe station. They crossed each other's paths at the gate, and their eyesmet. Did he recognize her? His face expressed great surprise, yet he didnot bow to her. "Yes, he recognized me," thought Bertha, as she returnedhome by the river-road; and surprised, almost terrified by her boldness,she asked herself whether she ought to rejoice or mourn over thismeeting. What would be its result? Hector cautiously followed her at alittle distance. He was greatly astonished. His vanity, always on thewatch, had already apprised him of what was passing in Bertha's heart,but, though modesty was no fault of his, he was far from guessing thatshe was so much enamoured of him as to take such a step.

  "She loves me!" he repeated to himself, as he went along. "She lovesme!"

  He did not yet know what to do. Should he fly? Should he still appearthe same in his conduct toward her, pretending not to have seen her? Heought to fly that very evening, without hesitation, without turning hishead; to fly as if the house were about to tumble about his head. Thiswas his first thought. It was quickly stifled under the explosion of thebase passions which fermented in him. Ah, Sauvresy had saved him when hewas dying! Sauvresy, after saving him, had welcomed him, opened to himhis heart, purse, house; at this very moment he was making untiringefforts to restore his fortunes. Men like Tremorel can only receive suchservices as outrages. Had not his sojourn at Valfeuillu been a continualsuffering? Was not his self-conceit tortured from morning till night? Hemight count the days by their humiliations. What! Must he always submitto--if he was not grateful for--the superiority of a man whom he hadalways been wont to treat as his inferior?

  "Besides," thought he, judging his friend by himself, "he only acts thusfrom pride and ostentation. What am I at his house, but a living witnessof his generosity and devotion? He seems to live for me--it's Tremorelhere and Tremorel there! He triumphs over my misfortunes, and makes hisconduct a glory and title to the public admiration."

  He could not forgive his friend for being so rich, so happy, so highlyrespected, for having known how to regulate his life, while he hadexhausted his own fortune at thirty. And should he not seize so good anopportunity to avenge himself for the favors which overwhelmed him?

  "Have I run after his wife?" said he to himself, trying to imposesilence on his conscience. "She comes to me of her own will, herself,without the least temptation from me. I should be a fool if I repelledher."

  Conceit has irresistible arguments. Hector, when he entered the house,had made up his mind. He did not fly. Yet he had the excuse neither ofpassion nor of temptation; he did not love her, and his infamy wasdeliberate, coldly premeditated. Between her and him a chain more solidthan mutual attraction was riveted; their common hatred of Sauvresy.They owed too much to him. His hand had held both from degradation.

  The first hours of their mutual understanding were spent in angry words,rather than the cooings of love. They perceived too clearly the disgraceof their conduct not to try to reassure each other against theirremorse. They tried to prove to each other that Sauvresy was ridiculousand odious; as if they were absolved by his deficiencies, ifdeficiencies he had. If indeed trustfulness is foolishness, Sauvresy wasindeed a fool, because he could be deceived under his own eyes, in hisown house, because he had perfect faith in his wife and his friend. Hesuspected nothing, and every day he rejoiced that he had been able tokeep Tremorel by him. He often repeated to his wife:

  "I am too happy."

  Bertha employed all her art to encourage these joyous illusions. She whohad before been so capricious, so nervous, wilful, became little bylittle submissive to the degree of an angelic softness. The future ofher love depended on her husband, and she spared no pains to prevent theslightest suspicion from ruffling his calm confidence. Such was theirprudence that no one in the house suspected their state. And yet Berthawas not happy. Her love did not yield her the joys she had expected. Shehoped to be transported to the clouds, and she remained on the earth,hampered by all the miserable ties of a life of lies and deceit.

  Perhaps she perceived that she was Hector's revenge on her husband, andthat he only loved in her the dishonored wife of an envied friend. Andto crown all, she was jealous. For several months she tried to persuadeTremorel to break with Jenny. He always had the same reply, which,though it might be prudent, was irritating.

  "Jenny is our security--you must think of that."
br />   The fact was, however, that he was trying to devise some means ofgetting rid of Jenny. It was a difficult matter. The poor girl, havingfallen into comparative poverty, became more and more tenacious ofHector's affection. She often gave him trouble by telling him that hewas no longer the same, that he was changed; she was sad, and wept, andhad red eyes.

  One evening, in a fit of anger, she menaced him with a singular threat.

  "You love another," she said. "I know it, for I have proofs of it. Takecare! If you ever leave me, my anger will fall on her head, and I willnot have any mercy on her."

  The count foolishly attached no importance to these words; they onlyhastened the separation.

  "She is getting very troublesome," thought he. "If some day I shouldn'tgo when she was expecting me, she might come up to Valfeuillu, and makea wretched scandal."

  He armed himself with all his courage, which was assisted by Bertha'stears and entreaties, and started for Corbeil resolved to break off withJenny. He took every precaution in declaring his intentions, giving thebest reasons for his decision that he could think of.

  "We must be careful, you know, Jenny," said he, "and cease to meet for awhile. I am ruined, you know, and the only thing that can save me ismarriage."

  Hector had prepared himself for an explosion of fury, piercing cries,hysterics, fainting-fits. To his great surprise, Jenny did not answer aword. She became as white as her collar, her ruddy lips blanched, hereyes stared.

  "So," said she, with her teeth tightly shut to contain herself, "so youare going to get married?"

  "Alas, I must," he answered with a hypocritical sigh. "You know thatlately I have only been able to get money for you by borrowing from myfriend; his purse will not be at my service forever."

  Jenny took Hector by the hand, and led him to the window. There, lookingintently at him, as if her gaze could frighten the truth out of him, shesaid, slowly:

  "It is really true, is it, that you are going to leave me to getmarried?"

  Hector disengaged one of his hands, and placed it on his heart.

  "I swear it on my honor," said he.

  "I ought to believe you, then."

  Jenny returned to the middle of the room. Standing erect before themirror, she put on her hat, quietly disposing its ribbons as if nothinghad occurred. When she was ready to go, she went up to Tremorel. "Forthe last time," said she, in a tone which she forced to be firm, andwhich belied her tearful, glistening eyes. "For the last time, Hector,are we really to part?"

  "We must."

  Jenny made a gesture which Tremorel did not see; her face had amalicious expression; her lips parted to utter some sarcastic response;but she recovered herself almost immediately.

  "I am going, Hector," said she, after a moment's reflection; "If you arereally leaving me to get married, you shall never hear of me again."

  "Why, Jenny, I hope I shall still remain your friend."

  "Well, only if you abandon me for another reason, remember what I tellyou; you will be a dead man, and she, a lost woman."

  She opened the door; he tried to take her hand; she repulsed him.

  "Adieu!"

  Hector ran to the window to assure himself of her departure. She wasascending the avenue leading to the station.

  "Well, that's over," thought he, with a sigh of relief. "Jenny was agood girl."