Volume II Part 34 (1/2)
”I am rejoiced that you have determined to interest yourself in my little _protegee_. I will now explain our new adventure. I had gone to the Temple with Rigolette, to purchase some furniture designed for the poor people in the garret, when, upon accidentally examining an old secretary which was for sale, I found the draft of a letter written by a female to some individual, in which she complained that herself and daughter were reduced to the greatest misery, on account of the dishonesty of a lawyer. The secretary was part of a lot of furniture, which a woman of middle age had been compelled by her penury to sell; and I was told by the dealer that the woman and her daughter seemed to belong to the upper cla.s.ses of society, and to bear their reverses with great fort.i.tude and pride.”
”And you do not know their abode?”
”Unfortunately, no. But I have given orders to M. de Graun to endeavor to discover it, even if he is obliged to apply to the police. It is possible that, stripped of every thing, the mother and daughter have sought refuge in some miserably furnished lodgings. If it should be so, we have some hope, for the landlords report every evening the strangers who arrive in the course of the day.”
”What a singular concurrence of circ.u.mstances!” said Madame d'Harville, with astonishment.
”This is not all. In a corner of this letter, found in the old secretary were these words, '_Write to Madame de Lucenay_.'”
”What good fortune! perhaps we can find out something from the d.u.c.h.ess,” cried Madame d'Harville, with vivacity; then she continued, with a sigh, ”But I am ignorant of the name of this woman--how designate her to Madame de Lucenay?”
”You must ask if she does not know a widow, still young, of distinguished appearance, whose daughter, aged sixteen or seventeen, is named Claire.”
”I remember the name. The name of my own daughter! It seems to me a motive the more to interest me in their misfortunes.”
”I forgot to tell you that the brother of this widow committed suicide some months ago.”
”If Madame de Lucenay knows this family,” said Madame d'Harville, ”such information will suffice to bring them to her mind. How desirous I am of going to see her. I will write her a note to-night, so that I shall be sure to find her to-morrow morning. Who can these women be?
From what you know of them, they appear to belong to the upper cla.s.ses of society. And to find themselves reduced to such distress! Ah! for them poverty must be doubly frightful!”
”By the robbery of a notary, a miserable scoundrel, of whom I already know many other misdeeds--Jacques Ferrand.”
”My husband's notary!” cried Clemence; ”the notary of my step-mother!
But you are deceived, my lord; he is looked upon as one of the most honorable men in the world.”
”I have proofs to the contrary. But do not, I pray you, say a word on this subject to any one; he is as crafty as he is criminal, and to unmask him, I have need that he shall not suspect, or rather, that he shall go on with impunity a short time longer. Yes; it is he who has despoiled these unfortunates, by denying a deposit which, from all appearances, had been placed in his hands by the brother of this widow.”
”And this sum?”
”Was their sole resource! Oh! what a crime--what a crime!” cried Rudolph; ”a crime that nothing can excuse--neither want nor pa.s.sion.
Often does hunger cause robbery, vengeance, murder. But this notary was already rich; and, clothed by society with a character almost holy, which imposes, ay, forces confidence, this man is induced to crime by a cold and implacable cupidity. The a.s.sa.s.sin only kills you once, and quickly, with his knife; he kills you slowly, by all the horrors of despair and misery into which he plunges you. For a man like this Ferrand, no patrimony of the orphan or savings of the poor are sacred! You confide to him gold; this gold tempts him; he makes you a beggar. By the force of privations and toil, you have a.s.sured to yourself bread, and an asylum for your old age; _the will_ of this man tears from your old age this bread and shelter. This is not all. See the fearful effects of these infamous spoliations; this widow of whom we speak may die of sorrow and distress; her daughter, young and handsome, without support, without resources, accustomed to a competency, unfit, from her education, to gain a living, soon finds herself between starvation and dishonor! she is lost! By this robbery, Jacques Ferrand is the cause of the death of the mother, the ruin of the child! he has killed the body of one, he has killed the soul of the other; and this, once more I say it, not at once, like other homicides, but with cruelty, and slowly.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: BETWEEN DISHONOR AND HUNGER]
Clemence had never heard Rudolph speak with so much bitterness and indignation; she listened in silence, struck by these words of eloquence, doubtless very sad, but which discovered a vigorous hatred of evil.
”Pardon me, madame,” said Rudolph, after a moment's pause; ”I cannot restrain my indignation in thinking of the cruel fate which your future _protegees_ may have realized. Ah! believe me, the consequences of ruin and poverty are very seldom exaggerated.”
”Oh! on the contrary, I thank your highness for having, by these terrible words, still more augmented, if that is possible, the sincere commiseration I feel for these unfortunates. Alas! it is above all for her daughter she must suffer! oh! it is frightful. But we will save them--we will a.s.sure their future. I am rich, but not as much so as I could wish, now that I see a new use for money; but, if it is necessary, I will speak to D'Harville; I will make him so happy that he cannot refuse any of my new caprices. Our _protegees_ are proud, your highness says; I like them better for it: pride in misfortune always proves an elevated mind. I will find the means to save them, without their knowing that they owe the succor they receive to a benefactor. It will be difficult; so much the better! Oh! I have already a project; you shall see, your highness, you shall see that I am not wanting in address and cunning.”
”I already foresee the most Machiavelian combinations,” said Rudolph, smiling.
”But we must first discover them; how I wish it was to-morrow! On having Madame de Lucenay I will go to their old lodgings, I will question their neighbors; I will see for myself. I will ask information from everybody. I will compromise myself, if it is necessary! I shall be so proud to obtain by myself, and by myself alone, the result I desire: oh! I will succeed; this adventure is so touching. Poor women: it seems to me I feel more interest in them when I think of my child.”
Rudolph, touched with this charitable eagerness, smiled sadly on seeing this lady, so handsome, so lovely, trying to forget in n.o.ble occupations the domestic troubles which afflicted her; the eyes of Clemence sparkled with vivacity, her cheeks were slightly suffused; the animation of her gesture, of her speech, gave new attraction to her ravis.h.i.+ng countenance. She perceived that Rudolph was contemplating her in silence. She blushed, cast down her eyes; then, raising them in charming confusion, she said, ”You laugh at my enthusiasm? It is because I am impatient to taste those holy joys which are about to reanimate my existence, until now sad and useless.
Such, without doubt, was not the life I dreamed of; there is a sentiment, a happiness, more lively still that I can never know; although still very young, I must renounce it!” added Clemence, suppressing a sigh. ”But thanks to you, my deliverer, always thanks to you, I have created for myself other interests; charity shall replace love. I am already indebted to your advice for such touching emotions!
Your words, your highness, have so much influence! The more I meditate, the more I reflect on your ideas, the more I find them just, great, and fruitful. Oh! how much goodness your mind discloses! from what source have you, then, drawn these feelings of tender commiseration?”
”I have suffered much, I still suffer! This is the reason I know the cause of many sorrows.”