Part 37 (1/2)
”Uncle, what I have to say to you is very grave.”
”What a lot of preamble! Well, I am listening.”
”The Duke de Morlay-La-Branche loves Esperance pa.s.sionately.”
”Well, that is a pity for the Duke, but he will console himself easily enough.”
Maurice was silent before he continued, ”Esperance is madly in love with the Duke!”
Francois started violently.
”You are raving, Maurice; she is engaged to Count Styvens and has no right to forget him.”
”She has never been in love with the Count, and can hardly endure him since she has foreseen another future.”
”What future?”
”The Duke wants to marry Esperance.”
”But it is impossible, impossible,” said the philosopher violently. ”A word that has been given cannot be taken back so lightly.”
”Calm yourself, uncle, if you please. For three days I have been wandering about in this untenable situation. We must make a decision.
Every instant I fear an outbreak either from Albert or from the Duke.”
”How have Esperance and the Duke contrived to see each other?”
”I will tell you all that uncle, later, but the how and the why are not very important at this moment. I want you to send for Albert.
Esperance does not wish to marry him. She has loved the Duke a long time, but did not know that he loved her, and did not suppose an alliance possible between our families, even though you have made the name ill.u.s.trious. For that matter I should never have supposed myself that the Duke would consent to make what would generally be considered a mesalliance.”
”It all seems unbelievable,” murmured Francois.
And with his head in his hands he groaned despairingly, ”How can we sacrifice that n.o.ble and unfortunate Albert?”
”One of the three must suffer, uncle. It would be a crime to sacrifice Esperance who has the right to love whom she pleases and to choose her own life. The Duke Morlay is loved, Count Albert is not and never has been. He knows it as you know it now. Esperance consented to marry him through grat.i.tude to you.”
”Ah! I feared as much,” said the professor prostrated.
Francois Darbois remained a long time in thought, then he got up, his face lined with sadness.
”Tell your cousin to come to me, I will wait for her here.”
”I will send her to you at once. Forgive me for having so distressed you, dear uncle.”
”It was your duty!”
Francois pressed his hand affectionately. Left alone he felt despairing. The futility of the precautions he had taken, the inanity of all reasoning, of all logic, plunged him into the scepticism he had been combatting for so many years.
Maurice found his cousin talking to Albert, the Marquis of Montagnac, and Genevieve.
”Your father is feeling a little indisposed and is going to bed. Would not you like to say good-night to him?”