Part 75 (1/2)
”Would you have me make myself ill, to cheer them up?”
”You're not likely to; you're getting to be a regular ball!”
”That fool of a cook gives us beefsteak every day; how can I help growing fat?”
”I expect great things from the arrival of Frederic's father; he has been to the pavilion and seen Sister Anne, and a change is coming, I am sure of it.”
”Ah! do you think that we shan't have any more beefsteaks?”
”Really, Monsieur Menard, you weren't born to live in France; you ought to take up your abode in Switzerland, where they eat all day.”
”I was born, monsieur, to live anywhere; and when you called yourself Baron Potoski, you had a pretty knack of squandering our funds with your three-course dinners; but I won't say of you: _Quantum mutatus ab illo_, because I noticed you at table yesterday; you ate all the tunny, and when I wanted some more it was all gone.”
”Tunny is very indigestible, Monsieur Menard; it isn't good for you.”
”I beg you, monsieur, not to worry about my health, and to leave some tunny for me at the next opportunity. You will see that, old as I am, I can steer clear of indigestion if I choose!”
While those whom he left in the house lost themselves in conjectures, the count walked through the garden to the pavilion. It was dark when he was ready to tell Sister Anne what he proposed to do. Her room was on the first floor; he hesitated a moment before he went upstairs to the woman who had saved his life.
”Poor child!” he said to himself; ”I am going to deal her a heavy blow.
I must take her away from Frederic; I must separate them forever; but I am simply doing my duty, and her heart is too pure not to feel that she must think first of all of the peace of mind, yes, the life, of the woman who saved her and her son from the horrors of starvation, and who has taken pleasure in heaping kindnesses upon her.”
The old man entered the dumb girl's room; at sight of him, she rose and ran to meet him; one could read in her eyes the respect and affection that she felt for him. The count was touched to the heart; he looked at her for several minutes in silence; but he felt that he must say at once what he had to say, so that she might be ready at dawn.
”My child,” he said, ”I told you this morning that you cannot, you must not, remain any longer in this house; your presence here will in the end be fatal to her who rescued you. Constance loves her husband dearly; do you wish to rob her of repose and happiness forever? She conceals the torments she is suffering; but I have read her inmost thoughts. You surely do not wish to cause the death of the woman who saved your son?”
Sister Anne, by a most eloquent gesture, signified that she was prepared to sacrifice herself for Constance.
”Very well,” continued the count; ”then you must go away, you must leave this place--to-morrow at daybreak--without seeing your benefactress. I will undertake to tell her all that your heart would impel you to say to her. You must not see any of this household again; it is unnecessary.
There is one person in particular--but I need not urge upon you the necessity of taking every precaution to avoid meeting him.”
Sister Anne was overwhelmed with grief. To go away so suddenly, without any preparation! to go without seeing him, and forever! Her courage failed her, and the tears gushed from her eyes.
The count went to her and took her hand.
”Poor child!” he said; ”this sudden departure grieves you, but it must be; under such circ.u.mstances, every minute's delay is a crime. I tear you away from this house, but I have a right to be harsh. Courage, dear child! It is Frederic's father, whom you saved from the knives of the brigands, it is he who asks you to sacrifice yourself once more, for his son's good.”
These words produced upon the dumb girl all the effect that the count antic.i.p.ated; on learning that he was her lover's father, she fell at his knees, and with clasped hands seemed to implore his forgiveness.
”Rise, rise,” he said, kissing her on the forehead; ”unfortunate girl!
would to G.o.d that I could give you back your happiness! At all events, you may be a.s.sured of a comfortable home, and your son's future is provided for. I am going to take you to a farm, which I propose to give you; there is a pretty little cottage connected with it, where you will live, attended by faithful servants who will love you dearly. There you will bring up your son; I will come often to share your retirement, and before long, I hope, peace and tranquillity will have returned to your heart.”
Sister Anne listened, and was ready to obey; she had no hope of being happy again, but her eyes seemed to say:
”Do with me as you will; I am ready to abide by your slightest wish.”
”Until to-morrow, then,” said the count; ”I will come for you at daybreak; I want to be away before anybody in the house is astir. A comfortable carriage will be ready for us at the garden gate. Make all your preparations to-night; they need not be long, for you will find in your new home everything that you and your son will require. Au revoir, dear child; be brave! At daybreak I shall be with you.”