Part 33 (1/2)
”Receive, Monsieur, with my adieux, my thanks for your courteous hospitality.
”YOLANDE DE CORANDEUIL.”
”Your aunt abuses the privileges of being foolish,” said the Baron, when his wife had finished reading the letter; ”she deserts the battlefield and leaves behind her wounded.”
”But I saw her, not two hours ago, and, although she was very angry, she did not say one word of this departure.”
”Jean handed me this letter but a moment ago, clad in full livery, and with the importance of an amba.s.sador who demands his pa.s.sports. You must go and talk with her, dear, and use all your eloquence to make her change her mind.”
”I will go at once,” said Clemence, rising.
”You know that your aunt is rather obstinate when she takes a notion into her head. If she persists in this, tell her, in order to decide her to remain, that I am obliged to go to Epinal with Monsieur de Carrier tomorrow morning, on account of the sale of some wood-land, and that I shall be absent three days at least. You understand that it will be difficult for your aunt to leave you alone during my absence, on account of these gentlemen.”
”Certainly, that could not be,” said she, quickly.
”I do not see, as far as I am concerned, anything improper about it,”
said the Baron, trying to smile; ”but we must obey the proprieties.
You are too young and too pretty a mistress of the house to pa.s.s for a chaperon, and Aline, instead of being a help, would be one inconvenience the more. So your aunt must stay here until my return.”
”And by that time Constance and Baptiste will be both cured and her anger will have pa.s.sed away. You did not tell me about this trip to Epinal nor the selling of the woodland.”
”Go to your aunt's room before she retires to bed,” replied Bergenheim, without paying any attention to this remark, and seating himself in the armchair; ”I will wait for you here. We leave to-morrow morning early, and I wish to know tonight what to depend upon.”
As soon as Madame de Bergenheim had left the room, Christian arose and ran, rather than walked, to the s.p.a.ce between the two windows, and sought the b.u.t.ton in the woodwork of which Lambernier had told him. He soon found it, and upon his first pressure the spring worked and the panel flew open. The casket was upon the shelf; he took it and carefully examined the letters which it contained. The greater part of them resembled in form the one that he possessed; some of them were in envelopes directed to Madame de Bergenheim and bore Gerfaut's crest.
There was no doubt about the ident.i.ty of the handwriting; if the Baron had had any, these proofs were enough. After glancing rapidly over a few of the notes, he replaced them in the casket and returned the latter to the shelf where he had found it. He then carefully closed the little door and reseated himself beside the fireplace.
When Clemence returned, her husband seemed absorbed in reading one of the books which he had found upon her table, while he mechanically played with a little bronze cup that his wife used to drop her rings in when she removed them.
”I have won my case,” said the Baroness, in a gay tone; ”my aunt saw clearly the logic of the reasons which I gave her, and she defers her departure until your return.”
Christian made no reply.
”That means that she will not go at all, for her anger will have time to cool off in three days; at heart she is really kind!--How long is it since you have known English?” she asked, as she noticed that her husband's attention seemed to be fixed upon a volume of Lord Byron's poems.
Bergenheim threw the book on the table, raised his head and gazed calmly at his wife. In spite of all his efforts, his face had a.s.sumed an expression which would have frightened her if she had noticed it, but her eyes were fastened upon the cup which he was twisting in his hand as if it were made of clay.
”Mon Dieu! Christian, what is the matter with you? What are you doing to my poor cup?” she asked, with surprise mingled with a little of that fright which is so prompt to be aroused if one feels not above reproach.
He arose and put the misshapen bronze upon the table.
”I do not know what ails me to-night,” said he, ”my nerves are unstrung.
I will leave you, for I need rest myself. I shall start to-morrow morning before you are up, and I shall return Wednesday.”
”Not any later, I hope,” she said, with that soft, sweet voice, from which, in such circ.u.mstances, very few women have the loyalty to abstain.
He went out without replying, for he feared he might be no longer master of himself; he felt, when offered this hypocritical, almost criminal, caress, as if he would like to end it all by killing her on the spot.
CHAPTER XXII. THE CRISIS