Part 52 (1/2)
”Come, come, in haste.”
”Citizeness Lebrenn, do you need us?” called Castillon, as much moved as his comrades at the anxiety depicted on the young woman's face.
”Speak--here we are, at your service.”
”Thank you all, my friends, thank you. Alas! There is no remedy for the grief which has smitten us,” replied Charlotte. And taking the arm of her husband, who grew every instant more uneasy, she dragged him out of the shop and towards their dwelling.
CHAPTER XXIV.
LOST AGAIN.
While John Lebrenn was enlightening his companions on the probable events of the coming day, Victoria, returning home close on half past nine, had gone up to her room. Setting the lamp on the table, she took off her street cloak and sat down, sad and weary. Her head fell between her hands. Suddenly her glance rested on a sheet of paper, placed conspicuously in the center of the table, and the young woman read, almost mechanically, these lines, traced in Oliver's still inexpert hand:
In daring to write you this letter, I put to use the little that I know, and which I owe to your generosity. You had pity on me, a poor orphan, you had compa.s.sion upon my ignorance. Thanks to you I can read, and form the letters. Thanks be to G.o.d, for at least I am able to write you what I would never have dared to tell you, for fear of incurring your anger or contempt. But at this hour what have I to fear?
What a change has come over me! A moment ago my hand trembled that I could not write, at the mere thought of acknowledging that I love you pa.s.sionately. Now it seems to me that this acknowledgment will cause you neither contempt nor anger, for it is a sincere one.
You will not love me, you can never love me, because I am not worthy of you, and for that I am too young--I am a child, as you so often told me. I can not hope to win your affection.
This evening, about eight, I saw you go out. I was glad of it. I preferred to know that you were not here, and that I could thus in your absence place this letter on your table, to be read by you on your return.
I double-locked myself in. I looked at the roof gutter. The pa.s.sage seemed practicable. To a.s.sure myself, I went as far as your window.
It was open. I saw your table, your work-basket, your books. Ah, how I wept.
On returning to my chamber I began writing you this letter. I went at once to place it on your table, and then, thanks to some charcoal I have procured, I shall--put an end--to my existence--
”The poor child!” exclaimed Victoria, throwing the letter far from her; and rising, pale with apprehension, she ran to Oliver's door, crying aloud for help as she went. But in vain she beat on the panels and sought to force an entrance. Gertrude, Madam Lebrenn and her mother hastened up at Victoria's summons. The latter's presence of mind was only increased by the impending danger; failing in all her attempts to break down the door, she returned to her own room, adventured the narrow gutter which had served Oliver for a pathway, and arrived thus before the window of his garret chamber. There it was but the work of a minute to break one of the little panes, snap back the catch, leap into the room, and unfasten the locked door from within. Immediately, a.s.sisted by Madam Desmarais, Charlotte and Gertrude, she hastened to take the first steps for the resuscitation of the unfortunate boy stretched on the couch. The apprentice no longer gave any signs of life. But soon the pure air, rus.h.i.+ng in by the now opened door and window, dispelled the deadly fumes of the charcoal. Oliver's breast heaved; he drew a faint breath. Victoria and Madam Desmarais carried the almost suffocated lad to the window. There he was propped up in a chair; his ashen features, covered with icy sweat, slowly regained a slight color, and little by little life returned to his bosom.
Two hours later he had quite come to, and found himself in John Lebrenn's parlor, alone with Victoria. One would have difficulty to frame in his imagination a countenance of more rare perfection than that of the youth, who possessed a physiognomy of charming candor. On her part, the young woman was grave. Her eyes, reddened with tears, and the feverish color which replaced the habitual pallor of her beautiful features, both bore witness to the painful emotions under which she was laboring. After a few seconds' hesitation, she thus addressed the youth in a sweet and solemn voice:
”Oliver, you are now, I believe, in condition to listen to me. I have requested my brother and his family to leave us to ourselves a while.
Our interview will, I trust, exert a happy influence over your future, and give you complete satisfaction.”
”I listen, Mademoiselle Victoria.”
”I have read your letter,” resumed the young woman, drawing Oliver's missive from her corsage. ”Frightened at your resolve of suicide, and thinking only of s.n.a.t.c.hing you from death while there was yet time, I was not at first able to finish it. But now I have just read it through.”
”What do I hear!” exclaimed the youth, clasping his hands in a transport of joy. ”My letter caused you neither contempt nor anger?”
”Why should it? You yielded to the promptings of grat.i.tude toward me, and sympathy for my character. So, I am not irritated, but touched, by your affection.”
”You are touched by my affection, Mademoiselle Victoria? My heaven, what do you say!”
”Now, my friend, answer me sincerely. The fear of seeing me insensible to an avowal which timidity has for so long kept trembling on your lips, drove you to think of suicide--am I right?”
”Helas, yes, mademoiselle!”
”Now speak true, Oliver. Was it as a mistress, or a wife, that you dreamt of me?”