Part 86 (1/2)
LIFE IN THE HOVEL.--A LAST HOPE DISPELLED
There is in extreme wretchedness a last burst of strength, of courage; when one has reached the climax of misfortune and is compelled to abandon all hope of a happier lot, then it seems that one feels a secret consolation in being able to defy destiny to deal us any additional blow.
Such was now Isaure's plight--that gentle, timid maiden, forcibly removed from the home she loved and had lived in since her infancy, from her protector and from her lover, to dwell in a miserable hovel hidden in the centre of the earth, with no other company than two men, one of whom was the author of her trials and the other seemed entirely insensible to them; and yet she had succeeded in surmounting her despair. Her eyes no longer shed tears, at least in the presence of her two companions; no complaint escaped from her lips; and when she spoke to the man who had torn her from her home, it was with gentleness and docility, instead of with eyes gleaming with wrath, and with tones that expressed the horror with which he must have inspired her.
Several days had pa.s.sed since the vagabond had concealed Isaure in the old shepherd's house, and the girl's conduct seemed to surprise him. He often sat and gazed at her in silence, for whole hours at a time. The more he looked at her, the more his surprise seemed to increase. One morning, when the old shepherd had gone out on the mountain, and the vagabond, alone with Isaure in the excavation, in front of the door of the rear house, had been gazing a long while at the girl as she worked patiently, sewing goat-skins together, he was so amazed at her mild and placid demeanor that he could not help exclaiming:
”You amaze me, girl; really I am beginning to think that I judged you wrongly, and that you really deserve the good opinion that the two friends had conceived of you. Your docility, your innocence--No, that young Edouard was not wrong to love you, to desire to marry you.--But that man whom you went secretly to see in the White House--what bond was there between you and him? How long have you known him? Come, speak,--answer me frankly.”
A feeling which Isaure could not define, but which was not fear, led her to always obey the stranger promptly; so she answered with a sigh:
”I have known Monsieur Gervais since my childhood.”
”Monsieur Gervais! Ah! so he never told you that he was the Baron de Marcey?”
”No, monsieur, I never have called him anything but Gervais, and it was by that name that my adopted parents, Andre and his wife, knew him.”
”Yes, I understand; he preferred to remain unknown. Either you are a natural child of his, or, suspecting that you would become pretty some day, he intended to make you his wife.”
”His wife! ah! monsieur, my protector loves me as his daughter; but he has often told me that my parents were dead.”
”Was it he who placed you with the peasants?”
”Yes, monsieur. At first he came to see me very seldom, then he came oftener. When I was very small he used to take me in his arms, and kiss me and play with me. Then, when I grew up, he used to make me talk; then he taught me to read and to write, and to speak differently. He said that I learned quickly, and that it was a pity that I should be ignorant, like the people of the mountains.”
”And then?”
”That is all, monsieur.”
”He did not tell you that some day he would take you into the world, that he would provide you with pleasures innumerable?”
”No, he never told me that.”
”And when you knew Edouard, and loved him, did you confess that to him?”
”Yes, monsieur; oh! I concealed nothing from him.”
”What did he say to you then?”
”He scolded me, but very gently. He told me that I did wrong to love Edouard; that I must forget him, give up all hope of him; that he would never be my husband.”
”I was sure of it! It was not for others that he brought you up in secret, that he attended to your education. No! he was acting for himself! Ah! he must love you dearly, to do as he has done. And I have deprived him of your presence, your caresses; I have wrecked all his plans of happiness for the future. So I am revenged at last!”
A ferocious smile lighted up the vagabond's features. Isaure looked away in terror. After a few moments he said to her:
”Do not think that it was for the sole purpose of doing evil that I took you away from your home; I have had many failings, vices even, but to do evil for the sole purpose of doing it never occurred to me; and although I have many reasons for detesting men, I do them justice enough to believe that they would rarely be wicked if they did not find some advantage in it. Listen to me, my girl; I am going to tell you why I stole you from your protector. I am aware that I owe you no account of my acts, and that I am at perfect liberty to withhold this confidence from you; but your mildness, your submission, arouse my interest. Yes, the more I see you, the better I know you, the more you astonish me; I am making you unhappy, I know; and yet I would like to see you happy.
What a strange effect is produced by beauty combined with kindness of heart and virtue! I believed that those things could never touch my heart again, but you prove to me that I was mistaken.”
Isaure raised her eyes to the vagabond's face; they wore an indescribable expression as she said to him:
”Ah! monsieur, I, too, feel that I would be glad to like you, even though you make me so unhappy; I cannot hate you as I should!”