Volume II Part 26 (2/2)
”Nothing can be more correct than your conduct in this affair; sir, I am pleased to acknowledge it. The woman to whom the child was confided has also a right to our grat.i.tude; she has taken the greatest care of my poor little niece.”
”That is true, madame; I was so much pleased with her conduct, that, after the death of the child, I took her in my service; she is still there.”
”Mrs. Seraphin is in your service, sir?”
”For fourteen years, as housekeeper.”
”Since it is thus, sir, she can be of great a.s.sistance, if you will grant a demand which will appear strange, perhaps, even culpable at first; but, when you shall know with what intention--”
”A culpable demand, madame; I do not think you are any more capable of making than I am of hearing it.”
”I know, sir, that you are the last person to whom one should address such a request; but I place all my hopes--my sole hope--in your pity.
In every case I rely on your discretion.”
”Yes, madame.”
”I continue, then. The death of this poor little girl has cast her mother into such a state, her grief is as poignant at the present day as it was fourteen years since; and, after having feared for her life, to-day we fear for her reason.”
”Poor mother!” said Ferrand, with a sigh.
”Oh! yes, very unfortunate mother, sir; for she could only blush at the birth of her daughter, at the time she lost her; while now circ.u.mstances are such, that my sister, if her child still lived, could own her, be proud of her, never leave her. Thus, this incessant regret, joined to other griefs, makes us fear for her reason.”
”Unfortunately, nothing can be done for her.”
”Oh, yes.”
”How, madame?”
”Suppose some one should come and say to the poor mother. 'Your child was supposed to be dead; she is not; the woman who had care of her infancy can affirm it.'”
”Such a falsehood would be cruel, madame. Why cause vain hopes to this poor mother?”
”But if this was not a falsehood, sir; or, rather, if this supposition could be realized?”
”By a miracle! If it only needed, to obtain it, my prayers joined to yours, I would pray from the bottom of my heart. Alas! there can be no doubt of her death.”
”I know it, alas! sir, the child is dead: and yet, if you wish it, the evil is not irreparable.”
”It is an enigma, madame.”
”I will speak, then, more plainly. If my sister finds to-morrow her child, not only will she be restored to health, but, what is more, she is sure to marry the father of this child, now as free as she is. My niece died at six years. Separated from her parents at this tender age, they have no recollection of her. Suppose that a young girl of seventeen could be found; that my sister should be told, 'Here is your child; you have been deceived; certain interests required that she should be thought dead. The woman who had charge of her, a respectable notary will affirm, will prove to you that it is she--'”
Jacques Ferrand, after having allowed the countess to speak without interrupting her, rose suddenly, and cried, in an indigant manner, ”Enough, enough, madame. Oh! this is infamous.”
”Sir!”
”To dare to propose to me--to me--to palm off a child--a criminal action! It is the first time in my life that I have received such an outrage, and I have not deserved it--heaven knows.”
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