Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

M. de Mornand on his way to the gallery was accosted successively by M. de la Rochaiguë and M. de Ravil, who had watched with mingled wonder and uneasiness their protégé's futile efforts to induce the heiress to keep her engagement.

"What! you are not going to dance?" inquired De Ravil.

"What has happened, my dear M. de Mornand?" asked the baron, in his turn. "I thought I saw you talking with that accursed hunchback, whose insolence and audacity really exceed all bounds."

"You are right, monsieur," replied the prospective minister, his face darkening. "M. de Maillefort seems to think he can do anything he pleases. Such insolence as his must be put a stop to. He actually had the impertinence to forbid your ward's dancing with me."

"And she obeyed him?" exclaimed the baron.

"What else could the poor girl do after such an injunction?"

"Why this is abominable, outrageous, inconceivable!" exclaimed the baron. "I will go to my ward at once, and – "

"That is useless now," said M. de Mornand. Then, turning to Ravil, he added:

"Come with me. I must have an explanation with M. de Maillefort. He is waiting for me in the gallery."

"I, too, will accompany you," added the baron.

As the three gentlemen approached the hunchback, they saw Messrs. de Morainville and d'Hauterive standing beside him, as well as five or six other men who had been assembled at the request of the marquis.

"M. de Maillefort, I have a few words of explanation to ask of you," said M. de Mornand, in coldly polite tones.

"I am at your service, monsieur."

"Then, if agreeable to you, you and I will go to the picture-gallery. Ask one of your friends to accompany you."

"I am not disposed to comply with your request, monsieur, for I intend to have our explanation as public as possible."

"Monsieur?"

"I do not see why you should fear publicity if I do not."

"So be it, then," responded M. de Mornand, "so I ask you here before these gentleman, why, when I had the honour to invite a certain young lady to dance a few minutes ago, you took the liberty of saying to that young lady, 'Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand.' Those were your very words."

"Those were my very words, monsieur. You have an excellent memory. I hope it will not play you false, presently."

"And I wish to say to M. de Maillefort," interposed the baron, "that he arrogates to himself an authority, a right, and a surveillance which belong to me exclusively, for in telling my ward that – "

"My dear baron," said the marquis, smilingly, interrupting M. de la Rochaiguë, "you are a model, paragon, and example for all guardians, past, present and future, as I will prove to you later, but permit me now to reply to M. de Mornand, whom I have just had the honour to congratulate upon his excellent memory, and to ask him if he recollects something I said to him at a certain matinée dansante given by the Duchesse de Senneterre, – something in relation to a slight scratch that was intended to fix in his memory a date which I might have occasion to remind him of at some future day."

"That is true, monsieur," said M. de Mornand, "but that affair has not the slightest connection with the explanation I just demanded of you."

"On the contrary, monsieur, this explanation is the natural consequence of that affair."

"Be more explicit, if you please, monsieur."

"I will. At that entertainment at the house of Madame de Senneterre, in the garden, under a clump of lilacs, in the presence of several gentlemen, and notably M. de Morainville and M. d'Hauterive here, you had the audacity to calumniate Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil in the most shameless manner."

"Monsieur!"

"Without either compassion or consideration for an unfortunate lady who was then lying at the point of death," continued the hunchback, interrupting M. de Mornand, indignantly, "you insulted her in the most cowardly manner and even went so far as to say that no honourable man would ever marry the daughter of such a mother as Madame de Beaumesnil."

And at a hasty movement on the part of M. de Mornand, who was white with rage, the marquis, turning to Messrs. de Morainville and d'Hauterive, asked:

"Is it not true that M. de Mornand made that remark in your presence, gentlemen?"

"M. de Mornand did make that remark in our presence," they replied. "It is impossible for us to deny the fact."

"And I, myself, unseen by you, heard you make it, monsieur," continued the hunchback, "and, carried away with just indignation, I could not help exclaiming, 'Scoundrel!'"

"So it was you!" cried Mornand, furious to see all his hopes of future wealth thus rudely blighted.

"Yes, it was I, and that is why I just told Mlle. de Beaumesnil that she could not and should not dance with you, monsieur, – a man who had publicly defamed her mother; and I leave it to these gentlemen here if I have not done perfectly right to interfere in this matter."

A silence that was anything but complimentary to M. de Mornand followed the words of the hunchback.

De Ravil alone ventured to speak. It was in an ironical tone.

"M. le marquis must be trying to pose as a paladin or knight-errant to inflict a wound upon a gallant gentleman, as a sort of memento, merely to prevent him from dancing a quadrille with Mlle. de Beaumesnil some day."

"Or rather to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur," corrected the marquis, "for your friend is as mercenary as Mlle. de Beaumesnil is rich, which is saying a good deal, and in the conversation I overheard at Madame de Senneterre's dance, M. de Mornand betrayed his intentions even at that early day. By defaming Madame de Beaumesnil's character, and making the disgraceful effects of his calumnies extend to the daughter, and even to any man who might wish to marry her, M. de Mornand hoped to drive away all rivals. This infamous conduct exasperated me beyond endurance. In my indignation the word 'Scoundrel!' escaped me. I subsequently devised a way to offer M. de Mornand the reparation due him, however. Hence the wound which was to serve as a sort of memento, and hence my resolve to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I have succeeded, for I defy him now to venture into the presence of the richest heiress in France, even if he delivers a dozen more philanthropical speeches on the cod fisheries, or even under your protection, baron, – you the most exemplary, admirable, and high-minded of guardians, who were not only willing, but eager, to sacrifice your ward's happiness and welfare to your absurd ambition."

And as no one made any attempt to reply, the hunchback continued:

"Ah, gentlemen, these villainies are of such frequent occurrence in society that it would be well to make an example of at least one offender. Because such shameful things often occur among respectable people, is that any reason they should go unpunished? What! there is a prison cell for poor devils who make a few louis by cheating at cards, and there is no pillory in which to place people who, by means of false pretences and foul lies, endeavour to secure possession of an enormous fortune, and plot in cold blood to enchain for ever an innocent child, whose only crime is the possession of a colossal fortune, which, unbeknown to her, excites the most shameless cupidity in those around her! And when these men succeed, people praise them and envy them and welcome them to their houses. People praise their shrewdness and go into ecstasies over their good fortune! Yes, for thanks to the wealth acquired by such unworthy means, they will entertain magnificently, and their gold not only enables them to gratify their every wish, but to attain any official position, no matter how exalted. The unfortunate woman who has enriched them, and whom they have so basely deceived, weeps her life away or plunges into a career of dissipation in order to forget her misery. Ah, gentlemen, I have at least had the satisfaction of bringing two scoundrels to grief, for M. de Macreuse, whom I drove from this house a few minutes ago, had devised a similar scheme."

"You are outwitted like the fool that you are, and it has been very cleverly done," De Ravil whispered in the ear of his friend, who stood as if petrified. "I will never forgive you as long as I live for having made me lose my percentage on that dowry."

Noble and generous sentiments exert such an irresistible influence sometimes that, after the hunchback's scathing words, M. de Mornand felt that he was censured by every one. Not a voice was lifted in his defence, but fortunately the termination of the quadrille brought quite a crowd of people into the gallery, and the prospective minister was thus afforded an opportunity to make his escape, pale and agitated, and without having been able to find a word to say in refutation of M. de Maillefort's grievous charges.

The marquis then rejoined Madame de la Rochaiguë, who was as entirely in the dark concerning what had just taken place as Ernestine.

"It is absolutely necessary that you take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once," M. de Maillefort said to the baroness. "Her presence here is no longer desirable. Yes, my dear child," added the marquis, turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "the unpleasant curiosity you excite is increasing, instead of diminishing. To-morrow I will tell you all, but now take my advice and go home at once."

"Oh, gladly, monsieur," replied Ernestine, "for I am in misery."

So the young girl rose and took the arm of Madame de la Rochaiguë, who said to the hunchback, in a tone of the liveliest gratitude:

"I understand the situation now, I think. M. de Mornand had also entered the lists, it seems."

"We will talk all this over to-morrow. Now, in Heaven's name, take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once!"

"Ah, you are certainly our guardian angel, my dear marquis," whispered Madame de la Rochaiguë. "I was wise to confide in you!"

"Yes, yes, but for pity's sake, get Mlle. de Beaumesnil away."

The orphan cast a quick glance of gratitude at the hunchback, then, agitated and almost terrified by the exciting events of the evening, she left the ballroom in company with Madame de la Rochaiguë; but M. de Maillefort remained, unwilling to appear to leave under cover of the sort of stupor his daring act had caused.

De Ravil, like a true cynic, had no sooner witnessed the ruin of his friend Mornand's hopes than he abandoned him then and there. The future minister had thrown himself into a cab, but Ravil wended his way homeward on foot, reviewing the events that had just occurred, and comparing the overthrow of M. de Mornand with that of M. de Macreuse.

As he turned the corner of the street on which Madame de Mirecourt's house stood, De Ravil saw in the bright moonlight a man a short distance ahead of him, walking now slowly, now with feverish haste.

The agitated bearing of this man excited the cynic's curiosity. He quickened his pace, and soon recognised M. de Macreuse, who could not tear himself away from the house where the marquis lingered, – the marquis whose heart Macreuse would have torn from his breast, had he been able to do it.

Yielding to a truly diabolical impulse, Ravil approached Macreuse, and said:

"Good evening, M. de Macreuse."

The abbé's protégé raised his head, and the evil passions that filled his heart could be read so plainly in his face that De Ravil congratulated himself upon his idea.

"What do you want?" Macreuse demanded, brusquely, not recognising De Ravil at the first glance. Then looking at him more attentively, he said:

"Ah, it is you, M. de Ravil; excuse me."

He made a movement as if about to walk on, but De Ravil checked him by saying:

"M. de Macreuse, I feel sure that we are likely to understand and be of service to each other."

"In what way, monsieur?"

"We hate the same man, that is something."

"Whom?"

"M. de Maillefort."

"So you, too, hate him?"

"With a deadly hatred."

"Well, what of it, monsieur?"

"Well, having the same animosity, we may have the same interests."

"I do not understand you, M. de Ravil."

"M. de Macreuse, you are a much too gifted and energetic man to allow yourself to be discouraged by one setback."

"What setback, monsieur?"

"So I will take you into my confidence. I had a fool of a friend, known to you as M. de Mornand, who had designs upon the same heiress that you did."

"M. de Mornand?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, a few minutes after your hasty departure, that d – d marquis exposed him as he had exposed you. That is to say, he has rendered my imbecile friend's marriage with the little Beaumesnil an impossibility."

"But what difference does it make to you whether the heiress does or does not marry your friend?"

"The devil! A great deal of difference! I went into the affair with the expectation of getting a handsome percentage on the dowry, so that accursed hunchback ruined me in ruining Mornand. Do you understand now?"

"Perfectly."

"Mornand is too much of a milksop – too blubbery, in short, to make any attempt to recover from his setback or even to console himself by revenge."

"Revenge? Upon whom?"

"Upon that little ninny of an heiress, and indirectly upon that d – d hunchback. But let me assure you that I am not one of those blockheads who thirst for revenge alone; it is a profitable revenge I am after every time."

"Profitable?"

"Yes, very profitable, and I can furnish the materials for it, too."

"You? And what are your materials, pray?"

"Excuse me. I possess a very valuable secret."

"In relation to Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"

"The same. I can work up this valuable secret alone, however, just as well."

"And yet you offer – "

"To go shares with you? Nothing of the kind. You would think me a simpleton if I did, and you've no fondness for simpletons."

"Then, monsieur, to what purpose – ?"

"You did not embark in such an important enterprise – as my imbecile friend the politician would say – you did not embark in such an important enterprise as your marriage with the greatest heiress in France without backers, without powerful intermediaries and without strong probabilities of success. One does not make such a blunder as that when one is the founder of the St. Polycarpe Mission, – a work, by the way, which has convinced me that you are a remarkably able man, and gained you my sincere admiration. This being the case, you are too high-spirited to submit quietly to such a setback to the atrocious treatment you have received from M. de Maillefort. You may, perhaps, have some means of retrieving your lost ground, or of obtaining your object in some other way, and so long as the little Beaumesnil remains single, a man like you does not abandon hope."

"Well, so be it, monsieur; suppose I have not given up all hope, what then?"

"If you admit that, I will propose that we pool, you, your means of success, and I, my secret. If your hopes are realised, we will not make use of my secret; if they are not realised, my secret will remain a luscious, juicy pear to quench our thirst. In short, if you marry the heiress, you will give me a small percentage on her dowry; if you do not marry her, I will give you a part of the money my secret will gain for me, that is, if the aforesaid secret can not be made to render you valuable assistance in your new attempt."

"All this is worthy of attention," answered Macreuse, after a moment's reflection, for he, too, was beginning to think that he and De Ravil were, indeed, congenial spirits. "But it would be well for me to know what this secret is, and what its influence is likely to be."

"Give me your arm, my dear M. de Macreuse, I am going to state the case plainly to you, for I have nothing to gain by deceiving you, as you will soon see for yourself."

The two men walked on arm in arm and were soon lost in the shadow of the tall houses that bordered one edge of the sidewalk.

CHAPTER XVI

DISINTERESTED AFFECTION

Mlle. de Beaumesnil had promised Herminie that she would come and see her Friday morning, or, in other words, on the day immediately following the ball which the richest heiress in France had attended at Madame de Mirecourt's house, and where M. de Macreuse and M. de Mornand had seen their villainous projects exposed by the Marquis de Maillefort.

Mlle. de Beaumesnil had left the ballroom deeply distressed and terrified by the discoveries she made in relation to her suitors, discoveries which had been completed by Gerald's frank confession concerning the manner in which an heiress was married off; and feeling quite as much contempt as aversion, now, for her guardian and his family, the young girl realised the necessity of taking some decisive action in the matter, her present relations with the Rochaiguës having become intolerable.

It was consequently necessary for her to ask the protection and counsel of some person outside of this family of sage advisers.

Ernestine knew only two persons whom she could trust, – Herminie and M. de Maillefort.

In order to open her heart to Herminie Mlle. de Beaumesnil would be obliged to confess who she really was, but though she had no intention of deferring this revelation much longer, she did long to enjoy once more the inexpressible happiness of receiving those evidences of tender friendship which the duchess supposed she was lavishing upon a poor orphan girl who had to work for her living.

"Heaven grant that she will love me just as much when she knows that I am rich!" thought the heiress, anxiously. "Heaven grant that this discovery may not impair the friendship that a person of Herminie's proud and sensitive nature feels for me!"

Faithful to her promise, and rejoiced to know how entirely worthy Gerald was of Herminie's love, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, accompanied by Madame Laîné, who was to wait for her in the cab, as usual, started early Friday morning for the home of the duchess, for it is needless to say that, after M. de Macreuse's humiliation of the evening before, Mlle. Helena did not come to take her brother's ward to church as usual.

As she neared her friend's home, Ernestine became very uneasy, for though, since her conversation with M. de Senneterre the evening before, the young girl knew for a certainty how perfectly honourable Gerald's intentions were, and how passionately he loved Herminie, Mlle. de Beaumesnil foresaw only too plainly the many difficulties to be overcome before a marriage between the young duke and a penniless music teacher could be brought about.

When Ernestine reached her friend's house, Herminie sprang forward to meet her and embraced her tenderly.

"Ah, I was sure you would not forget your promise, Ernestine," she cried, "for did I not tell you what a comfort your coming would be to me?"

"I trust it may prove so, indeed, my dear Herminie. Have you regained a little of your wonted courage? Are you not more hopeful?"

The duchess shook her head sadly.

"Alas! I can not say that I see any reason to hope," she replied, "but don't let us talk of my troubles now, Ernestine. We will discuss them again when the subject that is now on my mind has ceased to divert my thoughts from them."

"To what subject do you refer?"

"It is a matter that concerns you, Ernestine."

"Me?"

"It is a matter that may exert a very happy influence over your future, my poor, lonely child."

"What do you mean, Herminie?"

"I am not the proper person to explain this mystery to you. I was asked to do so, but fearing I might influence you by the manner in which I presented the case, I refused, wishing your decision to be unbiased by any outside influence, though I will express my opinion afterwards if you wish."

"Good Heavens! What you say, Herminie, mystifies me more and more. What is this very important project?"

"The last time you were here, and while Commander Bernard was again expressing his fervent gratitude to you, M. Olivier begged me to see him the next day on a very important matter, he said. I complied with his request, and the matter was indeed one of grave importance, so grave, in fact, that he asked me to act as his intermediary with you, which I refused to do for reasons I have already explained."

"Ah, then the matter has some connection with M. Olivier?"

"Yes, and I thought it would be better for him to make his wishes known himself, in my presence, if you have no objection."

"And you advise me to grant M. Olivier a hearing, my dear Herminie?"

"I do, Ernestine, because whatever happens and whatever your decision may be, you will, I am sure, be both proud and happy to have heard what he has to tell you."

"Then I am to see M. Olivier. But when, Herminie?"

"To-day, now, if you desire it."

"Where is he?"

"Out in the garden. Counting upon a visit from you this morning, I said to him: 'Come Friday morning. You will not mind waiting in the garden awhile, and if Ernestine consents to see you, I will send for you.'"

"Very well, then, Herminie, have the goodness to send M. Olivier word that I should be pleased to see him."

A moment afterwards M. Olivier Raymond was ushered into the room by Madame Moufflon, the concierge.

"M. Olivier," said Herminie, "Ernestine is ready to listen to you. You know my friendship for her. You know, too, how highly I esteem you, so I trust my presence will prove no restraint."

"I particularly desire your presence, Mlle. Herminie, as I shall, perhaps, find it necessary to appeal to your memory in support of some of my statements," replied Olivier. Then, turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, he continued, without making any attempt to conceal his emotion:

"Mademoiselle, permit me to say, first of all, that I must have perfect confidence in the rectitude of my intentions to venture upon the rather peculiar step I am about to take."

"I am certain, in advance, M. Olivier, that this step is worthy of you, of me, and of the friend that is listening to us."

"I think so, too, mademoiselle, so I am going to speak to you in all sincerity, for you may recollect that once before you expressed yourself as grateful to me for my frankness."

"I was certainly deeply touched by it, as Herminie will tell you, M. Olivier."

"Mlle. Herminie can also testify to the deep interest you inspired in my heart, mademoiselle, I will not say from the time of the charity dance," added Olivier, with a faint smile, "but rather from the time of the conversation I had with you that evening."

"It is perfectly true, my dear Ernestine," said Herminie, "that, after your departure, M. Olivier seemed to be deeply touched by the strange mixture of melancholy, frankness, and originality, that he had noticed in your conversation, and his interest seemed to be greatly increased when I told him, without committing any breach of confidence, I trust, that I felt sure your life was far from happy."

"The truth is never a breach of confidence, my dear Herminie. Though one ought, of course, to conceal one's unhappiness from the indifferent, one should at least have the consolation of confessing it to one's friends."

"Then you may be able to understand, mademoiselle," said Olivier, "that, by reason of the very peculiar circumstances of our first interview, there sprang up in my heart, not one of those sudden and violent emotions one sometimes experiences, – I should be uttering an untruth if I asserted this, – but an emotion full of sweetness and charm, together with a lively solicitude for you, a solicitude which memory and reflection rendered more and more keen. Such were my feelings, mademoiselle, when you, at the risk of your own life, saved the uncle whom I love as a father from a horrible death. Then, gratitude and the admiration which so noble an act richly merited were added to the sentiments I already entertained for you, but I should, probably, never have dared to give expression to these feelings had it not been for the unexpected good fortune that has befallen me."

After pausing an instant, as if uncertain whether he had better go on, Olivier added:

"And now, mademoiselle, I find myself again obliged to remind myself and to remind you that you love sincerity above all things."

"Yes, M. Olivier, I do both love and appreciate sincerity above all things."

"Well, mademoiselle, to speak frankly, you are not happy, and the persons with whom you live are not congenial to you. Is this not so?"