Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"I meant to have used more precautions, and to have approached the subject in a more roundabout way, mademoiselle," replied Olivier, who was in torture, "but I see that such a course on my part would only serve to prolong your anxiety – "

"My God! What am I about to hear?" murmured the young girl, trembling violently in every limb.

"Truth is better than falsehood, Mlle. Herminie."

"Falsehood?"

"In a word, Gerald can no longer endure the false position in which a peculiar combination of circumstances, and his desire to see you, have placed him. His courage has failed him. He has resolved that he will deceive you no longer, and, whatever may come of it, trusting to your generosity, he sends me, I repeat, to tell you what he is afraid to confess himself, – for he knows how bitterly you abhor deceit, and unfortunately Gerald has deceived you."

"Deceived me?"

"Yes, Gerald is not what he seems to be. You have known him under an assumed name. He has pretended to be what he is not."

"My God!" murmured the young girl, in abject terror.

A horrible suspicion had assailed her.

Never supposing for an instant that Olivier could have an aristocrat for an intimate friend, the poor child feared that Gerald had taken another name in order to conceal, not the obscurity of his birth or condition, – these were no disgrace in Herminie's eyes, – but guilty or dishonourable antecedents. In short, she imagined that Gerald must have committed some dishonourable act in the past.

So, in her wild terror, the girl, holding up her two hands as if to ward off an impending blow, exclaimed, brokenly:

"Do not finish this shameful confession, do not, I beseech you."

"Shameful!" repeated Olivier. "What! because Gerald has concealed the fact that he is the Duc de Senneterre – "

"You say that Gerald, your friend – "

"Is the Duc de Senneterre! Yes, mademoiselle. We were at college together; he enlisted, as I did. In that way I met him again, and since that time our intimacy has never flagged. And now, Mlle. Herminie, you can, perhaps, understand why Gerald concealed his real name and position from you. It was a wrong to which I became an accomplice through thoughtlessness; for what has since become a serious matter, that I deeply regret, was at first merely intended as a joke. Unfortunately, the introduction of Gerald as a notary's clerk to Madame Herbaut had already been made, when a singular chance brought you and my friend together. You will understand the rest. But I repeat that Gerald resolved, of his own free will, to confess the truth to you, as a continued deception was too revolting to his sense of honour."

On hearing that Gerald, instead of being a disgraced man, hiding under an assumed name, had really been guilty of no other wrong than that of concealing his noble birth, the revulsion of feeling Herminie underwent was so sudden and violent that she at first experienced a sort of vertigo; but when she became capable of reflection, when she became able to realise the consequences of this revelation, the young girl, who was as pale as death, trembled in every limb. Her knees tottered under her, and for a moment she was obliged to lean against the mantel for support.

When she did speak, it was in a strangely altered voice.

"M. Olivier," she said, "I am going to say something that may seem utterly senseless to you. A moment ago, before you had told me all, a terrible suspicion that Gerald had concealed his real name because he had been guilty of some wrong doing occurred to me – "

"What, you could believe that?"

"Yes, I did believe that, but I do not know but the truth you have told me concerning Gerald's position causes me deeper sorrow than that I experienced when I thought Gerald might be a dishonoured man."

"Impossible, mademoiselle, impossible!"

"This seems to you as absurd as it does senseless, does it not?" asked the young girl, bitterly.

"It does indeed."

"But in that case, by the power of my love, I might hope to raise him from his slough of despond, to restore his self-respect, to rehabilitate him in my eyes, and in his own; but between me and M. le Duc de Senneterre there is now an unfathomable abyss."

"Oh, reassure yourself on that point," hastily exclaimed Olivier, hoping to cure the wound he had inflicted and to change his companion's grief to joy. "You really need have no fears on that score, Mlle. Herminie. I was deputised to inform you of Gerald's deception, but, thank Heaven! I am also authorised to tell you that he intends to atone for his fault and in the most satisfactory manner. Gerald may have deceived you in some matters, but he has never deceived you as to the sincerity of his sentiments. They are now what they have always been; his determination does not waver in the least. To-day, as yesterday, Gerald has only one desire, one hope, – that you will consent to bear his name, only to-day his name is that of the Duc de Senneterre. That is all."

"That is all!" exclaimed Herminie, whose deep despondency seemed to have given place to a sorrowful indignation. "That is all, you say, monsieur? So it is nothing to have won my affection under false pretences – to have reduced me to the trying necessity of renouncing a love which was the hope and blessing of my life or of entering a family that will regard me with aversion and disdain! And you call this nothing, monsieur! Ah, your friend pretends to love me, and yet respects me so little as to believe that I will ever submit to the countless humiliations such a marriage is sure to bring upon me!"

"But, Mlle. Herminie – "

"Listen to me, M. Olivier. If, after our first meeting, which, by reason of its very strangeness, made a deep impression upon me, – if, I say, after our first meeting, Gerald had frankly confessed that he was the Duc de Senneterre, I should have resisted my growing affection with all my strength, and I should have triumphed over it, perhaps; but, in any case, I would never willingly have seen Gerald again. I will not be his mistress, and, as I said before, I am not the woman to submit to the humiliations that await me if I consent to become his wife."

"You are very much mistaken, Mlle. Herminie. Accept Gerald's offer, and you will have no humiliations to fear. Gerald is his own master. Since he lost his father several years ago, he has had unbounded influence over his mother. He will make her understand what this love is to him. But if Madame de Senneterre seems disposed to sacrifice Gerald's happiness to financial greed, my friend is resolved, after all means of persuasion have been exhausted, of course, to dispense with his mother's consent, if need be."

"But I, monsieur, must have, cost what it may, not the affection, – for that does not come at will, – but the esteem of my husband's mother because I am worthy of her esteem. Never, do you understand me, never shall any one say that I was the cause of a rupture between Gerald and his mother, or that I took advantage of his love for me to force myself upon a noble and distinguished family; no, monsieur, no one shall ever say that of me, my pride will not permit it."

As she uttered these words Herminie was truly superb in her sadness and dignity.

Olivier had too keen a sense of honour himself not to share the young girl's scruples – the same scruples which Gerald, too, had feared, for both the young men knew Herminie's indomitable pride.

Nevertheless, Olivier, resolved to make a last effort, said:

"But consider well, Mlle. Herminie, I entreat you. Gerald does all that any man of honour can do in offering you his hand. What more do you desire?"

"What I desire, monsieur, as I have told you, is to be treated with the consideration which is due me, and which I have a right to expect from M. de Senneterre's family."

"But Gerald can be responsible only for himself, mademoiselle. Any attempt to exact more would – "

"Say no more, M. Olivier," said Herminie, interrupting him; "you know me, and you know that I have a firm will."

"I do, mademoiselle."

"Very well. I will never willingly see Gerald again while I live, unless Madame de Senneterre, his mother, comes here – "

"Here?" exclaimed Olivier, in astonishment.

"Yes, unless Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre comes here and tells me that she consents to my marriage with her son. Then, no one can ever say that I forced myself upon this noble family."

This demand – which seemed and which was, in fact, merely the natural outcome of an intense but laudable pride – Herminie uttered simply and naturally, because, filled with a justly high respect for herself, the young girl felt that she asked only what was her just due.

But at the first thought, this demand seemed to Olivier so exorbitant that, in his astonishment, he could not help saying:

"Madame de Senneterre – come here – to tell you that she consents to your marriage with her son, – why, what are you thinking of, Mlle. Herminie? That exceeds the bounds of possibility!"

"And why, monsieur?" asked the young girl, with such ingenuous pride that Olivier, remembering how generous and noble Herminie's character and love were, replied, with no little embarrassment:

"You ask why Madame de Senneterre can not come here to tell you that she consents to your marriage with her son?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"But, mademoiselle, even ignoring the convenances of the fashionable world, the overtures you ask from a lady of Madame de Senneterre's age – "

But again interrupting Olivier, the girl said, with a bitter smile:

"If I belonged to the fashionable world of which you speak, monsieur, – if I had a mother and relatives, instead of being a poor orphan, – and M. de Senneterre desired my hand in marriage, would it not be according to the rules of propriety you spoke of just now that Madame de Senneterre should be the first to approach my mother or my relatives in her son's behalf?"

"Certainly, mademoiselle, but – "

"I have no mother, and I have no relatives," continued Herminie, sadly. "To whom, then, if not to me, should Madame de Senneterre address herself in relation to my marriage?"

"One word, mademoiselle, Madame de Senneterre might do this if she approved of the marriage."

"And that is precisely why I ask it, M. Olivier."

"But Gerald's mother does not even know you, mademoiselle."

"If Madame de Senneterre has such a poor opinion of her son as to believe him capable of choosing a wife unworthy of him, she can make all needful inquiries in relation to me. Thank God, I have nothing to fear."

"That is true," said Olivier, who had exhausted all his arguments.

"So this is my last word, M. Olivier," continued Herminie. "If Madame de Senneterre is not opposed to my marriage with her son, she will prove it by making the kindly overtures I ask; if she does not, she will consider me unworthy to enter her family, and in that case I will never see M. de Senneterre again."

"Oh, Mlle. Herminie, if only out of compassion for Gerald – "

"Believe me, I am much more in need of pity than M. de Senneterre," said the girl, and, no longer able to restrain her tears, she buried her face in her hands. "I may die of grief, I do not know, but to the last I will at least be worthy of Gerald and of his love."

Olivier was in despair, but he could not help admiring this noble pride, though he deeply deplored the consequences so far as Gerald was concerned.

Suddenly a loud ring of the door-bell resounded through the room. Herminie sprang up and hastily dried her tears; then, remembering Mlle. de Beaumesnil's note, she said to Olivier:

"It must be Ernestine. Poor child, I had forgotten all about her. M. Olivier, will you have the goodness to open the door for me?"

"One word more," said Olivier, in earnest, almost solemn tones; "you have no conception of the intensity of Gerald's love for you. You know I am not prone to exaggeration, yet I am afraid, do you hear me, positively afraid, when I think of the possible consequences of your refusal."

Herminie trembled at Olivier's ominous words. For a moment she seemed to be torn by conflicting doubts and fears; but she finally triumphed, though the poor girl, exhausted by this mental conflict, answered in tones that were barely audible:

"The thought of causing Gerald suffering is terrible to me, for I can judge of his love by my own. My own sorrow, too, enables me to judge what his must be. Nevertheless, I will never sacrifice my dignity, for that is Gerald's as much as mine."

"I entreat you, mademoiselle, do not – "

"You have heard my resolve, M. Olivier. I shall not say another word. Have pity on me. Can you not see that this interview is killing me?"

Olivier, seeing that it was useless to expostulate further, bowed to Herminie in silence, and then walked towards the door; but he had scarcely opened it when he exclaimed:

"My uncle, and you, Mlle. Ernestine! Great Heavens! This pallor – and this blood on your forehead! What has happened?"

On hearing Olivier's words, Herminie rushed out of her room into the little hallway.

CHAPTER VII

GOOD NEWS

The cause of Olivier's surprise and alarm was only too apparent.

Commander Bernard, pale as death and greatly agitated, was clinging to Mlle. de Beaumesnil's arm as if for support; while the young girl, quite as pale as the old officer, and clad in a simple lawn dress, had several blood-stains on her forehead and cheek.

"What is the matter, uncle?" cried Olivier, scrutinising the veteran's face with deep anxiety. "What has happened?"

"Great Heavens! Ernestine, are you hurt?" cried Herminie, almost simultaneously.

"It is nothing, Herminie," replied the young girl, trying to smile, though her voice trembled violently. "It is nothing, but excuse me for bringing this gentleman in. Just now – I – you see – "

But the poor child could say no more. Strength and courage were alike exhausted. Every vestige of colour fled from her lips; her eyes closed, her head fell back, her limbs gave way under her, and she would have fallen if Herminie had not caught her in her arms.

"She has fainted!" cried the duchess. "Help me carry her into my room, M. Olivier."

"And I – I am the cause of all this trouble," said the commander, following Olivier and Herminie with tottering steps as they carried Ernestine into Herminie's room. "Poor child," he murmured; "what a kind heart she has! What courage she displayed!"

The duchess, having placed Ernestine in the armchair, removed her hat and pushed back from the pure white brow her beautiful chestnut hair, which rolled down in heavy, shining waves upon her shoulders; then, while Olivier supported the girl's unconscious head, Herminie with a soft handkerchief staunched the blood which was flowing from a slight wound a little way above the temple.

The old sailor stood near, watching this touching scene, his lips trembling, and unable to utter a word, while big tears dropped slowly down from his eyes upon his white moustache.

"Support her, M. Olivier, while I go for some cold water and a little cologne," said Herminie.

She returned almost immediately with a handsome china basin, and a bottle of cologne, and, after sponging the wound lightly with a mixture of cologne and water, Herminie poured a little cologne in the palm of her hand and made Mlle. de Beaumesnil inhale it.

Gradually Ernestine's pale lips recovered their wonted colour and a slight flush succeeded the pallor in her cheeks.

"Heaven be praised! She is recovering consciousness," whispered Herminie, gathering up the orphan's long tresses and securing them with her shell comb.

Olivier, who had seemed deeply affected by the scene, now said to the duchess, who was standing beside the armchair, supporting Mlle. de Beaumesnil's head on her bosom:

"Mlle. Herminie, I regret very much that it should be under such unfortunate circumstances that I have the honour of introducing to you my uncle, Commander Bernard."

The young girl responded with an almost affectionate smile and bow, and the old officer said:

"And I, mademoiselle, am doubly sorry, as I was unfortunately the cause of this accident which distresses you so much."

"But how did it happen, uncle?" asked Olivier.

So while Herminie, seeing that, thanks to her attentions, Ernestine was gradually regaining consciousness, made her again inhale a few drops of cologne, Commander Bernard began his explanation by saying:

"I went out this morning while you were talking with one of your friends, Olivier."

"Yes, uncle, Madame Barbançon told me that you had been so imprudent as to go out in spite of your extreme weakness, but she felt less anxious about you, I thought, from the fact that you had seemed in unusually good spirits when you left the house."

"Yes, yes, I was unusually gay because I was happy, oh, very happy, for this morning – "

But the commander, checking himself suddenly, gazed at Olivier with a peculiar expression, then added, with a sigh:

"No, no, I must not tell you now. Well, as I said before, I went out – "

"It was a very imprudent thing for you to do, uncle."

"Perhaps it was, but I had my reasons for wanting to go; besides, I thought a walk in the open air might do me good. Still, being a little doubtful of my strength, instead of going out on the plain as usual, I followed the broad grassy terrace that borders the railroad track in this direction. Feeling tired after I had walked a short distance, I sat down to rest and sun myself on the top of a bank on the side of one of those new streets which have been graded and paved, but on which no houses have yet been erected. I sat there a quarter of an hour, perhaps, then, thinking myself sufficiently rested, I decided that I would get up and start for home. But the walk, short as it was, had exhausted my strength completely, for I had scarcely gotten upon my feet before I was seized with vertigo, my knees trembled under me, I lost my balance; the bank was steep – "

"And you fell?" asked Olivier, anxiously.

"I must have slidden rather than fallen to the foot of the bank, I think, and my situation would not have been at all dangerous, I suppose, if a big wagon, loaded with stones and drawn by horses which had been left to guide themselves by the driver who was walking on ahead, had not happened to come along just then."

"Great God!" exclaimed Olivier.

"How terrible!" cried Herminie.

"Ah, yes, especially to that dear young lady you see lying there wounded, yes, wounded by risking her own life to save mine!"

"What, uncle, this wound of Mlle. Ernestine's – ?"

"When I fell from the top of the bank," resumed the old man, interrupting his nephew, who had cast a look of inexpressible gratitude on Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "my head struck the pavement, and I lay there unable to make the slightest movement, though I seemed to see the horses advancing towards me through a sort of mist. My head could not have been more than a yard from the wheel when I heard a loud cry, and dimly perceived a woman, who was coming in the opposite direction from the horses, rush towards me. Then consciousness deserted me entirely. When I regained it," continued the old man, with increasing emotion, "I was half lying, half sitting, on the bank a couple of yards from the spot where I had fallen, and a young girl, an angel of goodness and courage, was kneeling beside me, with clasped hands, her face still pale with terror, and her forehead covered with blood. And it was she," exclaimed the old officer, turning to Ernestine, who had now entirely recovered her senses, "yes, it was you, mademoiselle, who saved my life at the risk of your own, – you, a frail, delicate creature who listened only to the promptings of your noble heart and indomitable courage."

"Oh, Ernestine, how proud I am of being your friend!" cried the duchess, pressing the blushing and embarrassed girl to her heart.

"Yes, you may well be!" cried the old man, enthusiastically.

"Mademoiselle," said Olivier, in his turn, addressing Mlle. de Beaumesnil with unmistakable agitation, "I can only say – but I feel sure that you will understand what these words mean to me – I owe the life of my uncle, or rather of the most tenderly loved father, to you."

"M. Olivier," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, averting her eyes after a wondering glance at the young man, "what you say makes me doubly happy, for until now I was entirely ignorant that this gentleman was that dear relative of yours Herminie was telling me about day before yesterday."

"But how are you feeling now, mademoiselle?" inquired the old man, with deep interest. "Don't you think it would be well to send for a physician, Mlle. Herminie? Olivier will run and get one."

"Pray do nothing of the kind, M. Olivier," cried Ernestine, hastily. "My head hurts me very little; the wound must be scarcely more than a scratch, for I hardly feel it. When I fainted just now, it was more from excitement than pain."

"That makes no difference, you must have a little rest, all the same," said Herminie. "I think, with you, that your wound is slight, but you have had such a fright that I intend to keep you a few hours."

"Oh, so far as that prescription is concerned, I will take it with pleasure, my dear Herminie," responded Mlle. de Beaumesnil, smiling; "and I shall try to make my convalescence last as long as possible."

"And now, Olivier, if you will give me your arm, we will leave these young ladies," said the veteran.

"M. Olivier, it will not do at all for Commander Bernard to return home on foot, weak as he is. You had better tell our portress to call a cab for you."

"No, no, my dear young lady, with Olivier's assistance I shall get along nicely. The fresh air will do me a world of good, and then I can show Olivier the place where I should have been killed but for this guardian angel here. I am not much of a devotee, mademoiselle, but I shall often make a sort of pilgrimage to that grassy slope to pray after my fashion for the noble-hearted girl who saved me at a time I was so anxious to live, for this very morning – "

And then, for the second time, to Olivier's great surprise, the veteran seemed to check words which were almost upon his lips.

"Oh, well, never mind," he continued, "I shall pray after my fashion for my guardian angel, for really," added the veteran, smilingly, "the world seems to be upside down, for now it is young girls who save old soldiers, – but fortunately the old soldiers have heart enough left for gratitude and devotion."

Olivier, with his eyes riveted on Mlle. de Beaumesnil's sad and gentle face, was experiencing a feeling of compassionate tenderness which was full of charm. His heart throbbed with conflicting emotions as he gazed at the young girl, and recalled the incidents of his first meeting with her, her ingenuous frankness and quaint originality, and, above all, Herminie's intimation that her friend's lot was far from being a happy one. Olivier had long been an ardent admirer of Herminie's rare beauty, but at this moment Ernestine seemed equally attractive in his eyes.

The young soldier was so absorbed that his uncle was obliged to take him by the arm and say to him:

"Come, my boy, we must no longer trespass on the hospitality which Mlle. Herminie will surely pardon me for having accepted."

"The fact is, Herminie," said Ernestine, "knowing you lived only a short distance from the scene of the accident, I thought I might venture – "

"Surely you are not going to apologise for having acted as any friend would have done?" the duchess exclaimed, interrupting her.

"We will bid you adieu, young ladies," said the old naval officer, then, turning to Ernestine, he said earnestly:

"It would grieve me too much to think that I had seen you to-day for the first and last time. Oh, have no fears, mademoiselle," exclaimed the old man, noting a slight expression of embarrassment on the girl's tell-tale face, "my gratitude gives me no excuse for intruding myself upon you, but I should consider it a great favour if you and Mlle. Herminie would occasionally permit me to call and see you, – for it is not enough to have a heart full of gratitude, one should at least be allowed to sometimes give expression to it."

"M. Bernard," replied Herminie, "this desire on your part is too natural for Ernestine and me to feel any inclination to oppose it; and some evening when Ernestine will be at liberty, we will let you know, and you must do us the honour to come and take a cup of tea with us."