Volume II Part 88 (1/2)

Neither the duke nor Clotilde paid any attention to him. Knowing how quickly Madame de Lucenay decided on anything, he imagined that she pushed her audacity and contempt so far that she wished to play the coquette openly and before him with the young duke.

It was not so; the d.u.c.h.ess felt for her young cousin an affection quite maternal. But the young duke was so handsome, he seemed so happy at the gracious reception of his young cousin, that Florestan was exasperated by jealousy, or rather by pride; his heart writhed under the cruel stings of envy, inspired by Conrad de Montbrison, who, rich and charming, entered so splendidly this life of pleasures, which he was leaving--he, ruined, despised, disgraced.

Saint Remy was brave--with the bravery of the head, if we may so express it, which, through anger or vanity, causes one to face a duel; but vile and corrupted, he had not that courage of the heart which triumphs over evil propensities, or which at least gives one the energy to escape infamy by a voluntary death.

Furious at the sovereign contempt of the d.u.c.h.ess, thinking he saw a successor in the young duke, Saint Remy resolved to match the insolence of Clotilde, and, if it was necessary, to select a quarrel with Conrad. The d.u.c.h.ess, irritated at the audacity of Florestan, did not look at him; and Montbrison, in his attraction toward his cousin, forgetting the usages of society, had neither bowed nor said a word to the viscount, whom he knew perfectly.

He advanced toward Conrad, whose back was turned toward him, touched his arm lightly, and said, in an ironical and dry tone, ”Good-evening, your grace; a thousand pardons for not having perceived you before.”

Montbrison, feeling that he had been wanting in politeness, turned quickly, and said, cordially, ”Sir, I am confused, truly, but I dare hope that my cousin, who has caused my want of attention, will be pleased to make my excuses, and--”

”Conrad!” said the d.u.c.h.ess, incensed at the impudence of Florestan, who persisted in remaining and braving her; ”Conrad, it is right; no excuses; it is not worth the trouble.”

Montbrison, believing that his cousin reproached him in a playful manner for being too formal, said gayly to the viscount, who was white with rage, ”I shall not insist, sir, since my cousin forbids. You see her tutelage commences.”

”And this tutelage will not stop there, my dear sir, be quite a.s.sured.

Thus, in this view of the case (which her grace the d.u.c.h.ess will readily approve, I do not doubt), an idea has just struck me to make you a proposition.”

”Me, sir?” said Conrad, beginning to dislike the sneering tone of Florestan.

”You. I leave in some days for Gerolstein. I wish to dispose of my house, all furnished, and my stables; you also should make _an arrangement_.” The viscount emphasized these last words, looking at Madame de Lucenay. ”It would be very piquant, would it not, your grace?”

”I do not comprehend you, sir,” said Montbrison, more and more astonished.

”I will tell you, Conrad, why you cannot accept the offer which has been made you,” said Clotilde.

”And why cannot his grace accept my offer, madame?”

”My dear Conrad, that which is proposed to be sold to you is already sold to others. You comprehend? You would have the inconvenience of being robbed as on the highway.”

Florestan bit his lips with rage. ”Take care, madame,” cried he.

”How? threats here?” said Conrad.

”Come now, Conrad, pay no attention,” said Madame de Lucenay, eating a bonbon imperturbably. ”A man of honor ought not, nor may not, commit himself with this gentleman. If he insists, I will tell you wherefore.”

A terrible scene was perhaps about to take place, when the doors were again thrown open, and the Duke de Lucenay entered, and, according to custom, with much noise and disturbance.

”How, my dear! not ready?” said he to his wife. ”Why, it is astonis.h.i.+ng--surprising! Good-evening, Saint Remy; good-evening, Conrad. Oh, you see before you the most despairing of men--that is to say, I cannot sleep; I cannot eat; I am stupefied; I cannot get used to it. Poor D'Harville, what an event!” And M. de Lucenay, throwing himself backward on a sofa, threw his hat from him with a gesture of despair, and, crossing his left leg over the right knee, he took his foot in his hand, continuing to utter exclamations of grief.

The emotions of Conrad and Florestan had time to be subdued before M.

de Lucenay, the least observing man in the world, had perceived anything.

Madame de Lucenay, not from embarra.s.sment--she was not a woman to be untimely embarra.s.sed--but the presence of Florestan was repugnant and unsupportable, said to the duke, ”When you are ready, we will go. I am to present Conrad to Madame de Senneval.”

”No!” said the duke; and, throwing down a cus.h.i.+on, he arose quickly, and began to walk about, violently gesticulating. ”I cannot help but think of poor D'Harville; can you, Saint Remy?”

”Truly, a frightful event!” said the viscount, who, with hatred and rage in his heart, sought the looks of Montbrison; but he, after the last words of his cousin, not from want of courage, but from pride, turned away from a man so terribly debased.

”Pray, my lord,” said the d.u.c.h.ess to her husband, ”do not regret M.