LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “Valfeuillu is very quiet, and we are but dull country folks.”

      Bertha talked for the sake of talking, to break a silence which embarrassed her, to make Tremorel speak, and hear his voice. As she talked she observed him, and studied the impression she made on him. Her radiant beauty usually struck those who saw her for the first time with open admiration. He remained impassible. She recognized the worn-out rake of title, the fast man who has tried, experienced, exhausted all things, in his coldness and superb indifference. And because he did not admire her she admired him the more.

      “What a difference,” thought she, “between him and that vulgar Sauvresy, who is surprised at everything, whose face shows all that he thinks, whose eye betrays what he is going to say before he opens his mouth.”

      Bertha was mistaken. Hector was not as cold and indifferent as she imagined. He was simply wearied, utterly exhausted. He could scarcely sit up after the terrible excitements of the last twenty-four hours. He soon asked permission to retire. Sauvresy, when left alone with his wife, told her all that happened, and the events which resulted in Tremorel’s coming to Valfeuillu; but like a true friend omitted everything that would cast ridicule upon his old comrade.

      “He’s a big child,” said he, “a foolish fellow, whose brain is weak but we’ll take care of him and cure him.”

      Bertha never listened to her husband so attentively before. She seemed to agree with him, but she really admired Tremorel. Like Jenny, she was struck with the heroism which could squander a fortune and then commit suicide.

      “Ah!” sighed she, “Sauvresy would not have done it!”

      No, Sauvresy was quite a different man from the Count de Tremorel. The next day he declared his intention to adjust his friend’s affairs. Hector had slept well, having spent the night on an excellent bed, undisturbed by pressing anxieties; and he appeared in the morning sleek and well-dressed, the disorder and desperation of the previous evening having quite disappeared. He had a nature not deeply impressible by events; twenty-four hours consoled him for the worst catastrophes, and he soon forgot the severest lessons of life. If Sauvresy had bid him begone, he would not have known where to go; yet he had already resumed the haughty carelessness of the millionnaire, accustomed to bend men and circumstances to his will. He was once more calm and cold, coolly joking, as if years had passed since that night at the hotel, and as if all the disasters to his fortune had been repaired. Bertha was amazed at this tranquillity after such great reverses, and thought this childish recklessness force of character.

      “Now,” said Sauvresy, “as I’ve become your man of business, give me my instructions, and some valuable hints. What is, or was, the amount of your fortune?”

      “I haven’t the least idea.”

      Sauvresy provided himself with a pencil and a large sheet of paper, ready to set down the figures. He seemed a little surprised.

      “All right,” said he, “we’ll put x down as the unknown quantity of the assets: now for the liabilities.”

      Hector made a superbly disdainful gesture.

      “Don’t know, I’m sure, what they are.”

      “What, can’t you give a rough guess?”

      “Oh, perhaps. For instance, I owe between five and six hundred thousand francs to Clair & Co., five hundred thousand to Dervoy; about as much to Dubois, of Orleans—”

      “Well?”

      “I can’t remember any more.”

      “But you must have a memorandum of your loans somewhere?”

      “No.”

      “You have at least kept your bonds, bills, and the sums of your various debts?”

      “None of them. I burnt up all my papers yesterday.”

      Sauvresy jumped up from his chair in astonishment; such a method of doing business seemed to him monstrous; he could not suppose that Hector was lying. Yet he was lying, and this affectation of ignorance was a conceit of the aristocratic man of the world. It was very noble, very distingue, to ruin one’s self without knowing how!

      “But, my dear fellow,” cried Sauvresy, “how can we clear up your affairs?”

      “Oh, don’t clear them up at all; do as I do—let the creditors act as they please, they will know how to settle it all, rest assured; let them sell out my property.”

      “Never! Then you would be ruined, indeed!”

      “Well, it’s only a little more or a little less.”

      “What splendid disinterestedness!” thought Bertha; “what coolness, what admirable contempt of money, what noble disdain of the petty details which annoy common people! Was Sauvresy capable of all this?”

      She could not at least accuse him of avarice, since for her he was as prodigal as a thief; he had never refused her anything; he anticipated her most extravagant fancies. Still he had a strong appetite for gain, and despite his large fortune, he retained the hereditary respect for money. When he had business with one of his farmers, he would rise very early, mount his horse, though it were mid-winter, and go several leagues in the snow to get a hundred crowns. He would have ruined himself for her if she had willed it, this she was convinced of; but he would have ruined himself economically, in an orderly way.

      Sauvresy reflected.

      “You are right,” said he to Hector, “your creditors ought to know your exact position. Who knows that they are not acting in concert? Their simultaneous refusal to lend you a hundred thousand makes me suspect it. I will go and see them.”

      “Clair & Co., from whom I received my first loans, ought to be the best informed.”

      “Well, I will see Clair & Co. But look here, do you know what you would do if you were reasonable?”

      “What?”

      “You would go to Paris with me, and both of us—”

      Hector turned very pale, and his eyes shone.

      “Never!” he interrupted, violently, “never!”

      His “dear friends” still terrified him. What! Reappear on the theatre of his glory, now that he was fallen, ruined, ridiculous by his unsuccessful suicide? Sauvresy had held out his arms to him. Sauvresy was a noble fellow, and loved Hector sufficiently not to perceive the falseness of his position, and not to judge him a coward because he shrank from suicide. But the others!—

      “Don’t talk to me about Paris,” said he in a calmer tone. “I shall never set my foot in it again.”

      “All right—so much the better; stay with us; I sha’n’t complain of it, nor my wife either. Some fine day we’ll find you a pretty heiress in the neighborhood. But,” added Sauvresy, consulting his watch, “I must go if I don’t want to lose the train.”

      “I’ll go to the station with you,” said Tremorel.

      This was not solely from a friendly impulse. He wanted to ask Sauvresy to look after the articles left at the pawnbroker’s in the Rue de Condo, and to call on Jenny. Bertha, from her window, followed with her eyes the two friends; who, with arms interlocked, ascended the road toward Orcival. “What a difference,” thought she, “between these two men! My husband said he wished to be his friend’s steward; truly he has the air of a steward. What a noble gait the count has, what youthful ease, what real distinction! And yet I’m sure that my husband despises him, because he has ruined himself by dissipation. He affected—I saw it—an air of protection. Poor youth! But everything about the count betrays an innate or acquired superiority; even his name, Hector—how it sounds!” And she repeated “Hector” several times, as if it pleased her, adding, contemptuously, “My husband’s name is Clement!”

      M. de Tremorel returned alone from the station, as gayly as a convalescent taking his first airing. As soon as Bertha

Скачать книгу