Part 31 (1/2)
This explanation made Modeste blush with shame for the man before her; she longed, not to crush him under her feet, but to revenge herself by one of those malicious acts that are sharper than a dagger's thrust. She looked haughtily at the d.u.c.h.esse de Chaulieu--
”Monsieur Melchior!” she said.
All the women snuffed the air and looked alternately at the d.u.c.h.ess, who was talking in an undertone to Ca.n.a.lis over the embroidery-frame, and then at the young girl so ill brought up as to disturb a lovers'
meeting,--a think not permissible in any society. Diane de Maufrigneuse nodded, however, as much as to say, ”The child is in the right of it.”
All the women ended by smiling at each other; they were enraged with a woman who was fifty-six years old and still handsome enough to put her fingers into the treasury and steal the dues of youth. Melchior looked at Modeste with feverish impatience, and made the gesture of a master to a valet, while the d.u.c.h.ess lowered her head with the movement of a lioness disturbed at a meal; her eyes, fastened on the canvas, emitted red flames in the direction of the poet, which stabbed like epigrams, for each word revealed to her a triple insult.
”Monsieur Melchior!” said Modeste again in a voice that a.s.serted its right to be heard.
”What, mademoiselle?” demanded the poet.
Forced to rise, he remained standing half-way between the embroidery frame, which was near a window, and the fireplace where Modeste was seated with the d.u.c.h.esse de Verneuil on a sofa. What bitter reflections came into his ambitious mind, as he caught a glance from Eleonore. If he obeyed Modeste all was over, and forever, between himself and his protectress. Not to obey her was to avow his slavery, to lose the chances of his twenty-five days of base manoeuvring, and to disregard the plainest laws of decency and civility. The greater the folly, the more imperatively the d.u.c.h.ess exacted it. Modeste's beauty and money thus pitted against Eleonore's rights and influence made this hesitation between the man and his honor as terrible to witness as the peril of a matador in the arena. A man seldom feels such palpitations as those which now came near causing Ca.n.a.lis an aneurism, except, perhaps, before the green table, where his fortune or his ruin is about to be decided.
”Mademoiselle d'Herouville hurried me from the carriage, and I left behind me,” said Modeste to Ca.n.a.lis, ”my handkerchief--”
Ca.n.a.lis shrugged his shoulders significantly.
”And,” continued Modeste, taking no notice of his gesture, ”I had tied into one corner of it the key of a desk which contains the fragment of an important letter; have the kindness, Monsieur Melchior, to get it for me.”
Between an angel and a tiger equally enraged Ca.n.a.lis, who had turned livid, no longer hesitated,--the tiger seemed to him the least dangerous of the two; and he was about to do as he was told, and commit himself irretrievably, when La Briere appeared at the door of the salon, seeming to his anguished mind like the archangel Gabriel tumbling from heaven.
”Ernest, here, Mademoiselle de La Bastie wants you,” said the poet, hastily returning to his chair by the embroidery frame.
Ernest rushed to Modeste without bowing to any one; he saw only her, took his commission with undisguised joy, and darted from the room, with the secret approbation of every woman present.
”What an occupation for a poet!” said Modeste to Helene d'Herouville, glancing toward the embroidery at which the d.u.c.h.ess was now working savagely.
”If you speak to her, if you ever look at her, all is over between us,”
said the d.u.c.h.ess to the poet in a low voice, not at all satisfied with the very doubtful termination which Ernest's arrival had put to the scene; ”and remember, if I am not present, I leave behind me eyes that will watch you.”
So saying, the d.u.c.h.ess, a woman of medium height, but a little too stout, like all women over fifty who retain their beauty, rose and walked toward the group which surrounded Diane de Maufrigneuse, stepping daintily on little feet that were as slender and nervous as a deer's.
Beneath her plumpness could be seen the exquisite delicacy of such women, which comes from the vigor of their nervous systems controlling and vitalizing the development of flesh. There is no other way to explain the lightness of her step, and the incomparable n.o.bility of her bearing. None but the women whose quarterings begin with Noah know, as Eleonore did, how to be majestic in spite of a buxom tendency. A philosopher might have pitied Philoxene, while admiring the graceful lines of the bust and the minute care bestowed upon a morning dress, which was worn with the elegance of a queen and the easy grace of a young girl. Her abundant hair, still undyed, was simply wound about her head in plaits; she bared her snowy throat and shoulders, exquisitely modelled, and her celebrated hand and arm, with pardonable pride.
Modeste, together with all other antagonists of the d.u.c.h.ess, recognized in her a woman of whom they were forced to say, ”She eclipses us.” In fact, Eleonore was one of the ”grandes dames” now so rare. To endeavor to explain what august quality there was in the carriage of the head, what refinement and delicacy in the curve of the throat, what harmony in her movements, and n.o.bility in her bearing, what grandeur in the perfect accord of details with the whole being, and in the arts, now a second nature, which render a woman grand and even sacred,--to explain all these things would simply be to attempt to a.n.a.lyze the sublime. People enjoy such poetry as they enjoy that of Paganini; they do not explain to themselves the medium, they know the cause is in the spirit that remains invisible.
Madame de Chaulieu bowed her head in salutation of Helene and her aunt; then, saying to Diane, in a pure and equable tone of voice, without a trace of emotion, ”Is it not time to dress, d.u.c.h.ess?” she made her exit, accompanied by her daughter-in-law and Mademoiselle d'Herouville. As she left the room she spoke in an undertone to the old maid, who pressed her arm, saying, ”You are charming,”--which meant, ”I am all grat.i.tude for the service you have just done us.” After that, Mademoiselle d'Herouville returned to the salon to play her part of spy, and her first glance apprised Ca.n.a.lis that the d.u.c.h.ess had made him no empty threat. That apprentice in diplomacy became aware that his science was not sufficient for a struggle of this kind, and his wit served him to take a more honest position, if not a worthier one. When Ernest returned, bringing Modeste's handkerchief, the poet seized his arm and took him out on the terrace.
”My dear friend,” he said, ”I am not only the most unfortunate man in the world, but I am also the most ridiculous; and I come to you to get me out of the hornet's nest into which I have run myself. Modeste is a demon; she sees my difficulty and she laughs at it; she has just spoken to me of a fragment of a letter of Madame de Chaulieu, which I had the folly to give her; if she shows it I can never make my peace with Eleonore. Therefore, will you at once ask Modeste to send me back that paper, and tell her, from me, that I make no pretensions to her hand.
Say I count upon her delicacy, upon her propriety as a young girl, to behave to me as if we had never known each other. I beg her not to speak to me; I implore her to treat me harshly,--though I hardly dare ask her to feign a jealous anger, which would help my interests amazingly. Go, I will wait here for an answer.”
CHAPTER XXVIII. MODESTE BEHAVES WITH DIGNITY
On re-entering the salon Ernest de La Briere found a young officer of the company of the guard d'Havre, the Vicomte de Serizy, who had just arrived from Rosny to announce that _Madame_ was obliged to be present at the opening of the Chambers. We know the importance then attached to this const.i.tutional solemnity, at which Charles X. delivered his speech, surrounded by the royal family,--Madame la Dauphine and _Madame_ being present in their gallery. The choice of the emissary charged with the duty of expressing the princess's regrets was an attention to Diane, who was then an object of adoration to this charming young man, son of a minister of state, gentleman in ordinary of the chamber, only son and heir to an immense fortune. The d.u.c.h.esse de Maufrigneuse permitted his attentions solely for the purpose of attracting notice to the age of his mother, Madame de Serizy, who was said, in those chronicles that are whispered behind the fans, to have deprived her of the heart of the handsome Lucien de Rubempre.
”You will do us the pleasure, I hope, to remain at Rosembray,” said the severe d.u.c.h.ess to the young officer.
While giving ear to every scandal, the devout lady shut her eyes to the derelictions of her guests who had been carefully selected by the duke; indeed, it is surprising how much these excellent women will tolerate under pretence of bringing the lost sheep back to the fold by their indulgence.