The Romance of a Poor Young Man

"A gentleman, if you please," Mlle. de Porhoët interrupted severely.

"A gentleman," continued M. Laubépin, accepting the correction, "but it is a kind of gentlemanI don't care for."

"Nor I," said Mlle. de Porhoët. "There are curious specimens of the kind. Dissipated stablemen, such as those whom we saw last century deserting their English stables under the direction of the Duc de Chartres to come over here and prepare the Revolution."

"Oh, if they had only prepared the Revolution," said M. Laubépin, sententiously, "we should forgive them."

"A million apologies, my dear sir; but – speak for yourself! Besides, that is not the question; will you go on?"

"So," continued M. Laubépin, "seeing that every one was approaching this wedding as if it were a funeral, I searched for some honourable and legal means, not to break the engagement with M. de Bévallan, but to get him to withdraw voluntarily. This proceeding was the more justifiable, as in my absence M. de Bévallan had profited by the inexperience of my excellent friend, Mme. Laroque, and the weakness of my colleague in the neighbouring town, to make the most exorbitant demand in his own interests. Without departing from the wording of the agreements, I succeeded in materially altering their spirit. But there were limits which honour and the engagements already entered into forbade me to pass. And the contract remained favourable enough to be accepted with confidence by any high-minded man who had a sincere affection for his betrothed. Was M. de Bévallan such a man? We had to take that risk. I confess that I was not free from emotion when I began to read the irrevocable document before an imposing audience this morning."

"As for me," interrupted Mlle. de Porhoët, "I hadn't a drop of blood left in my veins. The first part of the contract conceded so much to the enemy that I thought all was lost."

"No doubt, mademoiselle; but, as we augurs say among ourselves, 'the sting is in the tail,' in cauda venenum.

"It was comical, my friend, to see the faces of M. de Bévallan and my confrère from Rennes, who assisted him, when I suddenly unmasked my batteries. At first they looked at each other in silence; then they whispered together; at last they rose, and, coming to the table where I sat, asked me in a low voice for an explanation.

"'Speak up, gentlemen, if you please,' I said to them. 'We must have no mysteries here. What have you to say?'

"The company began to prick up their ears. Without raising his voice, M. de Bévallan suggested to me that the contract showed mistrust.

"'Mistrust, sir!' I replied, in my most impressive tone. 'What do you intend to convey by that? Do you make that strange imputation against Mme. Laroque, or against me, or against my confrère here present?'

"'S-s-sh! Silence! No wrangling!' said the Rennes notary discreetly; 'But listen: it was agreed in the first place that the legal system of dotation should not be insisted on.'

"'The legal system? And where do you find that mentioned?'

"'Oh, my dear sir, you know that you have practically reconstituted it by a subterfuge.'

"'Subterfuge, monsieur? Allow me, as your senior, to advise you to withdraw that word from your vocabulary.'

"'But, after all,' murmured M. de Bévallan, 'I'm tied hand and foot, and treated like a school-boy.'

"'Indeed, sir! What, in your opinion, are we here for at this moment – a contract or a will? You forget that Mme. Laroque is living; that her father is living, and that it is a question of marriage, not of inheritance – at least, not yet… Really, you must have a little patience; you must wait a little.'

"At these words Mlle. Marguerite rose.

"'That is enough,' she said. – 'M. Laubépin, throw that contract into the fire. Mother, let this gentleman's presents be returned.'

"Then she rose and left us like an outraged queen. Mme. Laroque followed her, and at the same time I threw the contract into the fireplace.

"'Sir,' said M. de Bévallan in a threatening tone, 'there's some trickery in this, and I will find it out.'

"'Sir,' I replied, 'allow me to explain it to you. A young lady, who, with a just pride, values herself very highly, feared that your offer might have been influenced by her wealth; she wished to be certain; she has no longer any doubts. I have the honour to wish you good-day!'

"Thereupon, my friend, I went after the ladies, and – upon my honour – they embraced me.

"A quarter of an hour later, M. de Bévallan left the château with my colleague from Rennes. His departure and disgrace have naturally loosened the servants' tongues, and very soon his imprudent intrigue with Mlle. Hélouin was revealed. The young lady, already suspected on other grounds for some time past, has asked to be released from her duties, and the request has been granted. It is needless to say that our ladies will secure her future.

"Well, my dear fellow, what do you say to all this? Are you worse? You're as pale as death!"

This unexpected news had aroused so many emotions – pleasant and painful – that I felt myself on the point of losing consciousness.

M. Laubépin, who has to leave at daybreak to-morrow, came back this evening to wish me farewell. After some embarrassed remarks from us both, he said:

"Never mind, my dear boy, I'll not cross-examine you on what is going on here; but if you should require a confidant and a counsellor, I ask you to give me the preference."

As a matter of fact, I could not confide in a heart more sympathetic or more friendly. I gave the worthy old gentleman the particulars of my relations with Mlle. Marguerite. I even read some pages of this journal to him to show him more exactly the state of affairs, and also the state of my heart. I hid nothing from him save M. Laroque's secret.

When I had finished, M. Laubépin, who had suddenly become very thoughtful, began:

"It is useless to conceal from you, my friend, that when I sent you here I intended you to marry Mlle. Laroque. At first everything went as I wished. Your hearts, which I believe are worthy of one another, could not associate without sympathizing, but this strange event, of which the tower of Elven was the romantic scene, entirely disconcerts me, I must confess. Allow me to tell you, my young friend, that to jump out of window at the risk of breaking your neck was in itself a more than sufficient proof of your disinterestedness. It was quite superfluous to add to this honourable and considerate proceeding a solemn oath never to marry this poor girl except in contingencies we cannot possibly expect to see realized. I pride myself on being a man of resource – but I fully recognise that I cannot give you two hundred thousand francs, or take them away from Mlle. Laroque."

"Then tell me what to do, sir. I have more confidence in you than in myself, for I see that misfortune, which is always exposed to suspicion, has made me excessively susceptible on questions of honour. Speak. Do you counsel me to forget the imprudent but still solemn oath which alone at this moment separates me from the happiness you had imagined for your adopted son?"

M. Laubépin rose; his thick eyebrows drawn down over his eyes, he strode about the room for some minutes, then, stopping in front of me and seizing my hand, he said:

"Young man, it is true that I love you like my own child; but, even at the cost of breaking your heart and my own, I will not be false to my principles. It is better in matters of honour do too much than too little, and as regards oaths, all those that are not extorted at the point of the knife or the mouth of a pistol, should either not be taken or should be kept. That is my opinion."

"It is mine too. I will leave with you to-morrow morning."

"No, Maxime, stay here a little longer. I do not believe in miracles, but I believe in God, who seldom allows us to be ruined by our virtues. Give Providence more time. I know that I am asking a very courageous effort from you, but I claim it formally from your friendship. If within a month you do not hear from me – well – then you can leave."

He embraced me and left me to my quiet conscience and my desolate heart.

October 12th.

It is now two days since I have been able to leave my retirement and appear at the château. I had not seen Mlle. Marguerite since we separated at the tower of Elven. She was alone in the salon when I entered. Recognising me, she made – involuntarily – an effort to rise. Then she sat motionless, and a flood of burning crimson dyed her face. It was infectious, for I felt that I was blushing to the forehead.

"How are you, M. Odiot?" she said, holding out her hand, and she spoke these simple words so gently, so humbly – alas! so tenderly too – that I longed to throw myself on my knees before her. But I had to answer in a tone of icy politeness. She looked sadly at me, lowered her great eyes with an air of resignation, and went on with her work.

Almost at the same moment her mother called to her to come to her grandfather, whose condition had become most alarming. For some days now he had lost voice and movement; the paralysis was almost total. The last gleams of mental life were extinguished; only physical sensibility and the capacity for suffering remained. The end was not far off, but in this energetic heart life was too deeply rooted to be relinquished without an obstinate struggle. The doctor had foretold that his agony would last a long time. Still, at the first appearance of danger, Mme. Laroque and her daughter had tended him with the passionate self-sacrifice and utter devotion which are the special virtue and glory of their sex. The day before yesterday they broke down exhausted. M. Desmarets and I offered to take their places by M. Laroque to-night, and they agreed to have a few hours' rest. The doctor, who was very much fatigued, soon told me that he was going to throw himself on the bed in the next room.

"I am no use here," he said; "the thing is over. You see the poor old fellow doesn't suffer any more. That lethargic state is not painful. The awakening will be death. So we can be quiet. Call me if you see any change, but I think it won't come till to-morrow. I'm dying for a sleep."

He gave a great yawn and went out. His language and his conduct before the dying man had shocked me. He is an excellent man; but to render to death the respect that is due to it, one must not see only the brute matter it dissolves, but believe in the immortal essence it releases.

Left alone in the chamber of death, I sat near the foot of the bed, where the curtains had been withdrawn, and I tried to read by a lamp that stood on a little table near me. The book slipped from my hands. I could think only of the strange combination of events which, after so many years, gave this guilty old man the grandson of his victim as witness and guardian of his last sleep. Then, in the tranquility of that hour and place, I recalled, in spite of myself, the scenes of tumult and bloody violence which had filled the life that was now ebbing away. I looked for traces of it on the face of the dying old man and on the large features defined in the shadow with the pale distinctness of a plaster mask. I saw only the solemnity and premature peace of the tomb. At intervals I went to the bedside to make sure that the weakened breast still heaved with vital breath. Towards the middle of the night an irresistible torpor seized me, and I slept, leaning my forehead on my hand. Suddenly I was awakened by a strange and sinister sound. I looked up, and a shudder ran through the marrow of my bones. The old man was half-sitting up in bed, staring at me with an intent, astonished look, and an expression of life and intelligence that I had not seen in him before. When our eyes met he started, stretched out his arms, and said, in a beseeching voice, whose strange unknown quality almost stopped the beating of my heart:

"Marquis, forgive me!"

In vain I tried to rise, to speak. I sat petrified in my chair.

After a silence, during which the dying man's eyes were still fixed on mine beseechingly, he repeated:

"Marquis, deign to forgive me."

At last I summoned up strength to go to him. As I approached he drew back fearfully, as if shrinking from a dreadful contact. I raised my hand, and lowering it gently before his staring and terror-stricken eyes:

"Rest in peace," I said; "I forgive you."

Before I had done speaking, his withered face lighted up with a flash of joy and youth. Two tears burst from his dry and sunken orbits. He stretched a hand to me, then suddenly the hand stiffened in a threatening gesture, and I saw his eyes roll between their dilated lids, as if a ball had gone through his heart.

"Oh, the English!" he whispered, and immediately fell back on the pillow like a log. He was dead. I called quickly, and the others came. Soon he was surrounded by pious mourners, weeping and praying for him. I retired, my soul deeply moved by this extraordinary scene, which I had resolved should ever remain a secret between myself and the dead man.

This sad event brought me cares and duties which I needed to justify me in my own eyes for remaining in the house. I cannot fathom M. Laubépin's motives for advising me to delay my departure. What did he hope from it? To me he seems to have yielded to a vague presentiment and childish weakness, to which a man of his stamp should never have given way, and to which I also was wrong to submit. Why did he not see that besides bringing additional suffering on me, he put me in a position that is neither manly nor dignified? What am I to do here now? Would they not have good reason to reproach me with trifling with sacred feelings? My first interview with Mlle. Marguerite had shown me how hard and how unbearable was the trial to which I had been condemned. The death of M. Laroque would make our relations easier, and give my presence a sort of propriety.

October 26th, Rennes.

All is over! God, how strong that tie was! How it held my heart, and how it has torn it as it broke! Yesterday evening about nine, as I leaned on my open window, I was surprised to see a faint light coming towards my house through the dark alleys of the park, and from a direction which the servants at the château do not frequent. A moment afterward there was a knock at my door and Mlle. de Porhoët came in breathless.

"Cousin," she said, "I have business with you."

I looked straight at her.

"A misfortune?" I said.

"No, it is not precisely that. Besides, you shall judge for yourself. My dear child, you have passed two or three evenings this week at the château. Have you noticed nothing unusual, nothing peculiar, in the attitude of the ladies?"

"Nothing."

"Have you not even noticed an unusual serenity in their appearance?"

"Perhaps I have. Allowing for the melancholy due to their recent sorrow, they seemed calmer and happier than before."

"No doubt. Other things would have struck you if, like me, you had lived in daily intimacy with them for fifteen years. Thus, I have observed signs of some secret understanding and mysterious agreement between them. Moreover, their habits have been largely altered. Mme. Laroque has given up her braséro, her sentry-box, and all her little Creole fancies. She rises at marvellous hours, and at daybreak instals herself with Marguerite at the work-table. They are both taken with a sudden passion for embroidery, and have ascertained how much a woman can earn at that work in a day. In short, there is a riddle to which I cannot find the answer. But it has been told me, and though I may be intruding on your secrets, I thought it right to inform you at once."

I assured Mlle. Porhoët of my absolute confidence in her, and she continued:

"Mme. Aubry came to see me this evening secretly. She began by throwing her wretched arms round my neck, which displeased me very much. Then, to the accompaniment of a thousand jeremiads about herself – which I will spare you – she begged me to stop her relations on the brink of ruin. This is what she has heard, through listening at doors, according to her pretty habit: The ladies are trying to get permission to transfer all their property to a community at Rennes, so as to do away with the difference of fortune which separates you and Marguerite. As they can't make you rich, they will make themselves poor. I thought it impossible to let you remain ignorant of this determination, which is equally worthy of those generous souls and of those Quixotic heads. You will forgive my adding that it is your duty to put an end to this design at any cost. I need not point out the regrets it will infallibly bring to our friends, nor the terrible responsibility it will throw on you. That you will see at a glance. If, my friend, you can from this moment accept the hand of Marguerite, everything will end in the best way possible. But in that respect you have tied yourself by an engagement which is not the less binding because it was made imprudently and blindly. There is then only one thing for you to do – to leave this country and resolutely extinguish all the hopes that your presence here must inevitably encourage. When you are no longer here I shall have less difficulty in bringing these two children to reason."

"Very well. I am ready. I will go this very night."

"Good!" she said. "When I give you this advice I obey a very rigorous law of honour. You have made the last moments of my long solitude pleasant, and you have given me back the illusion of the sweet attachments of life, which I had lost for so many years. In sending you away I make my last sacrifice; it is immense."

She rose and looked at me for a moment without speaking.

"At my age we do not embrace young people," she continued, smiling sadly; "we bless them. Adieu, dear child, and thank you. May God keep you!"

I kissed her trembling hands, and she left me hastily.

I hurriedly prepared for my departure, and then wrote a few lines to Mme. Laroque. I begged her to renounce a decision the effect of which she could not foresee, and which, for my part, I was determined to have no share in. I gave her my word – which she knew she could rely on – that I would never accept my happiness at the cost of her ruin. And I finished – for the sake of dissuading her from her fantastic project – by speaking vaguely of a future which might bring me fortune.

At midnight, when everything was silent, I said farewell, a bitter farewell, to the old tower where I had suffered – and loved – so much. I slipped into the château by a secret door of which I had the key. Furtively, like a criminal, I passed along the empty and resounding galleries, guiding myself as I best could in the dark. At last I reached the salon where I had first seen her. She and her mother had not long left it, and their recent presence was revealed by a sweet and pleasant perfume which transported me. I searched, and I touched the basket where a few moments before she had replaced her embroidery. Alas, my poor heart!

I fell on my knees before the seat she generally occupies, my forehead against the marble. I wept. I sobbed like a child. God, how I loved her!

The last hours of the night I spent in reaching the little town secretly, and thence I drove to Rennes this morning:

To-morrow evening I shall be in Paris. O poverty, solitude, and despair, which I had left there, I shall find you again! Last dream of youth – dream of heaven, farewell!

PARIS.

The next day, in the morning, as I went to the railway station, a post-chaise stood in the courtyard of the hôtel, and I saw old Alain get out. His face brightened as he saw me.

"Oh, sir, what good luck! You've not gone! Here is a letter for you."

I recognised M. Laubépin's writing. He said that Mlle. de Porhoët was seriously ill and was asking for me. I only allowed time to change the horses, and threw myself into the chaise, after forcing Alain to get in with me. I questioned him eagerly, and made him repeat his news, which seemed incredible.

The evening before, Mlle. de Porhoët had received an official despatch through M. Laubépin, announcing her succession to the entire Spanish property.

"And it seems," said Alain, "that she owes it to you, sir, for finding some old papers in the pigeon-house that have proved the old lady's title. I don't know how much truth there is in this, but if it is so, what a pity she has those ideas about the cathedral and won't give them up, for she's more bent on it than ever. When she first got the news she fell flat on the floor, and we thought she was dead. But an hour after she began talking about her cathedral, the choir, and the nave, the north aisle and the south, the chapter, and the canons. To calm her we had to fetch an architect and masons, and put the plans of her blessed building on her bed. At last, after three hours of that kind of talk, she quieted down a bit and dozed. When she awoke she asked for you, sir – M. le Marquis" (Alain bowed, closing his eyes) – "and I had to run after you. It seems she wants to consult you about the rood-loft."

This strange event took me entirely by surprise. Nevertheless, my memory, aided by the confused details given me by Alain, enabled me to find an explanation, which more precise information completely confirmed. As I have before said, the affair of the Spanish inheritance of the Porhoëts had gone through two phases. There had first been a long lawsuit between Mlle. de Porhoët and one of the great families of Castile, which my old friend had finally lost. Then there had been a new suit between the Spanish heirs and the Crown, the latter claiming on the grounds of intestacy.

Shortly after this, while pursuing my researches in the Porhoët archives, I had, about two months before leaving the château, laid hands upon a curious document, which I will here transcribe:

"Don Philip, by the Grace of God, King of Castile, Leon, Aragon, the two Sicilies, Jerusalem, Navarre, Grenada, Toledo, Valencia, Galicia, Majorca, Seville, Sardinia, Cordova, Cadiz, Murcia, Jaen, of the Algarves, of Algeciras, Gibraltar, the Canary Islands, the West and East Indies, the islands and continents of the ocean, the Archduchy of Austria; Duke of Burgundy, Brabant, and Milan; Count of Hapsburg, Flanders, the Tyrol, and Barcelona; Lord of Biscay and Molina, etc.

"To thee, Hervé-Jean Jocelyn, Lord of Porhoët-Gaël, Count of Torre Nuevas, etc., who hast followed me throughout my dominions, and served me with exemplary fidelity, I promise, by special favour, that in case of the extinction of thy direct and legitimate progeny, the possessions of thy house shall return, even to the detriment of my Crown, to the direct and legitimate descendants of the French branch of the Porhoët-Gaëls, as long as any such shall exist.

"And I make this covenant for myself and for my successors on my royal faith and word.

"Given at the Escorial, April 10, 1716.

"YO EL REY."

Together with this document, which was merely a translator's copy, I found the original text, bearing the arms of Spain. The importance of this document had not escaped me, but I had feared to exaggerate it. I greatly doubted whether the validity of a title of such ancient date, and prior to so many momentous events, would be recognised by the Spanish Government. I even doubted whether it would have the power to give effect to it, even if it had the will. I had therefore decided to say nothing to Mlle. de Porhoët about a discovery, the consequences of which seemed to me most problematic, and I had contented myself with sending the document to M. Laubépin. As I had heard nothing more of it, I had soon forgotten it in the midst of the personal cares with which I was overwhelmed at the time. However, contrary to my unjust suspicions, the Spanish Government had not hesitated to carry out Philip V's covenant, and at the very moment when a supreme decree had handed over the vast possessions of the Porhoëts to the Crown, it had nobly restored them to the legitimate heir.

About nine that evening I stopped at the humble house where this royal fortune had arrived so tardily. The little servant opened the door. She was crying.

From the staircase above came the grave voice of M. Laubépin.

"It is he," said the voice.

I went up the stairs quickly. The old man grasped my hand warmly, and took me into Mlle. de Porhoët's room. The doctor and the curé stood silent in the shadow of the window. Mme. Laroque knelt at the bedside; her daughter was arranging the pillow where the pale face of my old friend rested. When the sick woman saw me a faint smile flickered across her face. Painfully she moved one of her arms. I took her hand; I fell on my knees; I could not keep back my tears.