LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

robbed me of my happiness!—Adeline! Adeline! I will see you in the mire, and sunk lower than myself!—And Hortense—I loved her, and she has cheated me. The Baron.—No, it is impossible. Tell me again what is really true of all this.”

      “Be calm, my dear child.”

      “Valerie, my darling, I will be calm,” said the strange creature, sitting down again. “One thing only can restore me to reason; give me proofs.”

      “Your Cousin Hortense has the Samson group—here is a lithograph from it published in a review. She paid for it out of her pocket-money, and it is the Baron who, to benefit his future son-in-law, is pushing him, getting everything for him.”

      “Water!—water!” said Lisbeth, after glancing at the print, below which she read, “A group belonging to Mademoiselle Hulot d’Ervy.” “Water! my head is burning, I am going mad!”

      Madame Marneffe fetched some water. Lisbeth took off her cap, unfastened her black hair, and plunged her head into the basin her new friend held for her. She dipped her forehead into it several times, and checked the incipient inflammation. After this douche she completely recovered her self-command.

      “Not a word,” said she to Madame Marneffe as she wiped her face—“not a word of all this.—You see, I am quite calm; everything is forgotten. I am thinking of something very different.”

      “She will be in Charenton to-morrow, that is very certain,” thought Madame Marneffe, looking at the old maid.

      “What is to be done?” Lisbeth went on. “You see, my angel, there is nothing for it but to hold my tongue, bow my head, and drift to the grave, as all water runs to the river. What could I try to do? I should like to grind them all—Adeline, her daughter, and the Baron—all to dust! But what can a poor relation do against a rich family? It would be the story of the earthen pot and the iron pot.”

      “Yes; you are right,” said Valerie. “You can only pull as much hay as you can to your side of the manger. That is all the upshot of life in Paris.”

      “Besides,” said Lisbeth, “I shall soon die, I can tell you, if I lose that boy to whom I fancied I could always be a mother, and with whom I counted on living all my days——”

      There were tears in her eyes, and she paused. Such emotion in this woman made of sulphur and flame, made Valerie shudder.

      “Well, at any rate, I have found you,” said Lisbeth, taking Valerie’s hand, “that is some consolation in this dreadful trouble.—We shall be true friends; and why should we ever part? I shall never cross your track. No one will ever be in love with me!—Those who would have married me, would only have done it to secure my Cousin Hulot’s interest. With energy enough to scale Paradise, to have to devote it to procuring bread and water, a few rags, and a garret!—That is martyrdom, my dear, and I have withered under it.”

      She broke off suddenly, and shot a black flash into Madame Marneffe’s blue eyes, a glance that pierced the pretty woman’s soul, as the point of a dagger might have pierced her heart.

      “And what is the use of talking?” she exclaimed in reproof to herself. “I never said so much before, believe me! The tables will be turned yet!” she added after a pause. “As you so wisely say, let us sharpen our teeth, and pull down all the hay we can get.”

      “You are very wise,” said Madame Marneffe, who had been frightened by this scene, and had no remembrance of having uttered this maxim. “I am sure you are right, my dear child. Life is not so long after all, and we must make the best of it, and make use of others to contribute to our enjoyment. Even I have learned that, young as I am. I was brought up a spoilt child, my father married ambitiously, and almost forgot me, after making me his idol and bringing me up like a queen’s daughter! My poor mother, who filled my head with splendid visions, died of grief at seeing me married to an office clerk with twelve hundred francs a year, at nine-and-thirty an aged and hardened libertine, as corrupt as the hulks, looking on me, as others looked on you, as a means of fortune!—Well, in that wretched man, I have found the best of husbands. He prefers the squalid sluts he picks up at the street corners, and leaves me free. Though he keeps all his salary to himself, he never asks me where I get money to live on——”

      And she in her turn stopped short, as a woman does who feels herself carried away by the torrent of her confessions; struck, too, by Lisbeth’s eager attention, she thought well to make sure of Lisbeth before revealing her last secrets.

      “You see, dear child, how entire is my confidence in you!” she presently added, to which Lisbeth replied by a most comforting nod.

      An oath may be taken by a look and a nod more solemnly than in a court of justice.

      “I keep up every appearance of respectability,” Valerie went on, laying her hand on Lisbeth’s as if to accept her pledge. “I am a married woman, and my own mistress, to such a degree, that in the morning, when Marneffe sets out for the office, if he takes it into his head to say good-bye and finds my door locked, he goes off without a word. He cares less for his boy than I care for one of the marble children that play at the feet of one of the river-gods in the Tuileries. If I do not come home to dinner, he dines quite contentedly with the maid, for the maid is devoted to monsieur; and he goes out every evening after dinner, and does not come in till twelve or one o’clock. Unfortunately, for a year past, I have had no ladies’ maid, which is as much as to say that I am a widow!

      “I have had one passion, once have been happy—a rich Brazilian—who went away a year ago—my only lapse!—He went away to sell his estates, to realize his land, and come back to live in France. What will he find left of his Valerie? A dunghill. Well! it is his fault and not mine; why does he delay coming so long? Perhaps he has been wrecked—like my virtue.”

      “Good-bye, my dear,” said Lisbeth abruptly; “we are friends for ever. I love you, I esteem you, I am wholly yours! My cousin is tormenting me to go and live in the house you are moving to, in the Rue Vanneau; but I would not go, for I saw at once the reasons for this fresh piece of kindness——”

      “Yes; you would have kept an eye on me, I know!” said Madame Marneffe.

      “That was, no doubt, the motive of his generosity,” replied Lisbeth. “In Paris, most beneficence is a speculation, as most acts of ingratitude are revenge! To a poor relation you behave as you do to rats to whom you offer a bit of bacon. Now, I will accept the Baron’s offer, for this house has grown intolerable to me. You and I have wit enough to hold our tongues about everything that would damage us, and tell all that needs telling. So, no blabbing—and we are friends.”

      “Through thick and thin!” cried Madame Marneffe, delighted to have a sheep-dog, a confidante, a sort of respectable aunt. “Listen to me; the Baron is doing a great deal in the Rue Vanneau——”

      “I believe you!” interrupted Lisbeth. “He has spent thirty thousand francs! Where he got the money, I am sure I don’t know, for Josepha the singer bled him dry.—Oh! you are in luck,” she went on. “The Baron would steal for a woman who held his heart in two little white satin hands like yours!”

      “Well, then,” said Madame Marneffe, with the liberality of such creatures, which is mere recklessness, “look here, my dear child; take away from here everything that may serve your turn in your new quarters—that chest of drawers, that wardrobe and mirror, the carpet, the curtains——”

      Lisbeth’s eyes dilated with excessive joy; she was incredulous of such a gift.

      “You are doing more for me in a breath than my rich relations have done in thirty years!” she exclaimed. “They have never even asked themselves whether I had any furniture at all. On his first visit, a few weeks ago, the Baron made a rich man’s face on seeing how poor I was.—Thank you, my dear; and I will give you your money’s worth, you will see how by and by.”

      Valerie went out on the landing with her Cousin Betty, and the two women embraced.

      “Pouh! How she stinks of hard work!” said the pretty little woman to herself

Скачать книгу