Volume II Part 85 (1/2)
”Oh! she has already tried it: this was to borrow one hundred thousand francs from her husband, and she succeeded; but these are experiments that cannot be tried twice. Let us see, my dear Badinot, until now you have never had any reason to complain of me. I have always been generous; try to obtain some delay from this miserable Pet.i.t Jean. You know I always can find means to recompense those who serve me; this last affair once hushed, I will take a new flight--you shall be content with me.”
”Pet.i.t Jean is as inflexible as you are unreasonable.”
”I!”
”Try only to interest once more your generous friend in your sad fate.
The devil! Tell her right out the truth; not as you have already said, that you are the dupe, but that you are the forger himself.”
”No, never will I make such an acknowledgment; it would be shame without any advantage.”
”Do you prefer that she should learn it to-morrow by the 'Police Gazette'?”
”I have three hours left--I can fly.”
”Where will you go without money? Judge now! on the contrary, this last forgery taken up, you will find yourself in a superb position; you would have no more debts. Come, come, promise me to speak once more to the d.u.c.h.ess. You are such a rake, you know how to make yourself so interesting in spite of your faults; at the very worst, perhaps, you will be esteemed the less, or even no more, but you will be lifted out of this sc.r.a.pe. Come, promise me to see your friend, and I will run to Pet.i.t Jean, and do my best to obtain an hour or two more.”
”h.e.l.l! must I drink of shame to the very dregs?”
”Come now! good luck--be tender, charming, fond; I run to Pet.i.t Jean: you will find me here until three o'clock; later it will no longer be in time: the public prosecutor's office is closed after four o'clock.”
Badinot took his departure.
When the door was closed, Florestan was heard to cry, in profound despair, ”Lost!”
During this conversation, which unmasked to the count the infamy of his son, and to Madame de Lucenay the infamy of the man whom she had so blindly loved, both remained immovable, scarcely breathing, under the weight of this frightful revelation.
It would be impossible to describe the mute eloquence of the sorrowful scene which pa.s.sed between this young woman and the count, when there was no longer any doubt of the crime of Florestan. Extending his arm toward the room where his son remained, the old man smiled with bitter irony, cast a withering look on Madame de Lucenay, and seemed to say to her:
”Behold him for whom you have braved all shame, made every sacrifice!
Behold him you have reproached me for abandoning!”
The d.u.c.h.ess understood the look; for a moment she hung her head under the weight of her shame. The lesson was terrible.
Then by degrees, to the cruel anxiety which had contracted the features of Madame de Lucenay succeeded a kind of n.o.ble indignation.
The inexcusable faults of this woman were at least palliated by the fidelity of her love, by the boldness of her devotion, by the grandeur of her generosity, by the frankness of her character, and by her inexorable aversion for everything that was cowardly and dishonest.
Still too young, too handsome, too much sought after, to experience the humility of having been made use of, this proud and decided woman, once the illusion of love having vanished, felt neither hatred nor anger; instantaneously, without any transition, a mortal disgust, an icy disdain, killed her affection, until then so lively; it was no longer a woman deceived by her lover, but it was the lady of fas.h.i.+on discovering that a man of her society was a cheat and a forger.
In supposing even that some circ.u.mstances might have extenuated the ignominy of Florestan, Madame de Lucenay would not have admitted them; according to her views, the man who overstepped certain limits of honor, either through vice or weakness, no longer existed in her eyes, honor being for her a question of existence or non-existence. The only sorrowful feeling experienced by the d.u.c.h.ess, was excited by the terrible effect which this unexpected revelation produced on the count, her old friend. For some moments he appeared not to see nor hear; his eyes were fixed, his head hung down, his arms suspended, his paleness livid, and from time to time a convulsive sigh escaped from his bosom. With a man as resolute as he was energetic, such a state of dejection was more alarming than the most furious bursts of rage.
Madame de Lucenay looked at him with much anxiety. ”Courage, my friend,” said she to him, in a low tone, ”for you, for me, for this man--I know what remains for me to do.”
The old man looked at her fixedly; then, as if he had been aroused from his stupor by some violent shock, he raised his head, his features a.s.sumed a threatening appearance, and, forgetting that his son might hear him, he cried: ”And I, also, for you, for me, for this man--I know what I have to do.”
”Who is there?” cried Florestan, surprised.
Madame de Lucenay, fearing to meet the viscount, disappeared through the small door, and descended the private staircase.
Florestan, having again demanded who was there, and receiving no answer, entered the saloon.