LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter XVI

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      The count told half a truth when he spoke to Jenny of his marriage. Sauvresy and he had discussed the subject, and if the matter was not as ripe as he had represented, there was at least some prospect of such an event. Sauvresy had proposed it in his anxiety to complete his work of restoring Hector to fortune and society.

      One evening, about a month before the events just narrated, he had led Hector into the library, saying:

      “Give me your ear for a quarter of an hour, and don’t answer me hastily. What I am going to propose to you deserves serious reflection.”

      “Well, I can be serious when it is necessary.”

      “Let’s begin with your debts. Their payment is not yet completed, but enough has been done to enable us to foresee the end. It is certain that you will have, after all debts are paid, from three to four hundred thousand francs.”

      Hector had never, in his wildest hopes, expected such success.

      “Why, I’m going to be rich,” exclaimed he joyously.

      “No, not rich, but quite above want. There is, too, a mode in which you can regain your lost position.”

      “A mode? what?”

      Sauvresy paused a moment, and looked steadily at his friend.

      “You must marry,” said he at last.

      This seemed to surprise Hector, but not disagreeably.

      “I, marry? It’s easier to give that advice than to follow it.”

      “Pardon me—you ought to know that I do not speak rashly. What would you say to a young girl of good family, pretty, well brought up, so charming that, excepting my own wife, I know of no one more attractive, and who would bring with her a dowry of a million?”

      “Ah, my friend, I should say that I adore her! And do you know such an angel?”

      “Yes, and you too, for the angel is Mademoiselle Laurence Courtois.”

      Hector’s radiant face overclouded at this name, and he made a discouraged gesture.

      “Never,” said he. “That stiff and obstinate old merchant, Monsieur Courtois, would never consent to give his daughter to a man who has been fool enough to waste his fortune.”

      Sauvresy shrugged his shoulders.

      “Now, there’s what it is to have eyes, and not see. Know that this Courtois, whom you think so obstinate, is really the most romantic of men, and an ambitious old fellow to boot. It would seem to him a grand good speculation to give his daughter to the Count Hector de Tremorel, cousin of the Duke of Samblemeuse, the relative of the Commarins, even though you hadn’t a sou. What wouldn’t he give to have the delicious pleasure of saying, Monsieur the Count, my son-in-law; or my daughter, Madame the Countess Hector! And you aren’t ruined, you know, you are going to have an income of twenty thousand francs, and perhaps enough more to raise your capital to a million.”

      Hector was silent. He had thought his life ended, and now, all of a sudden, a splendid perspective unrolled itself before him. He might then rid himself of the patronizing protection of his friend; he would be free, rich, would have a better wife, as he thought, than Bertha; his house would outshine Sauvresy’s. The thought of Bertha crossed his mind, and it occurred to him that he might thus escape a lover who although beautiful and loving was proud and bold, and whose domineering temper began to be burdensome to him.

      “I may say,” said he, seriously to his friend, “that I have always thought Monsieur Courtois an excellent and honorable man, and Mademoiselle Laurence seems to me so accomplished a young lady, that a man might be happy in marrying her even without a dowry.”

      “So much the better, my dear Hector, so much the better. But you know, the first thing is to engage Laurence’s affections; her father adores her, and would not, I am sure, give her to a man whom she herself had not chosen.”

      “Don’t disturb yourself,” answered Hector, with a gesture of triumph, “she will love me.”

      The next day he took occasion to encounter M. Courtois, who invited him to dinner. The count employed all his practised seductions on Laurence, which were so brilliant and able that they were well fitted to surprise and dazzle a young girl. It was not long before the count was the hero of the mayor’s household. Nothing formal had been said, nor any direct allusion or overture made; yet M. Courtois was sure that Hector would some day ask his daughter’s hand, and that he should freely answer, “yes;” while he thought it certain that Laurence would not say “no.”

      Bertha suspected nothing; she was now very much worried about Jenny, and saw nothing else. Sauvresy, after spending an evening with the count at the mayor’s, during which Hector had not once quitted the whist-table, decided to speak to his wife of the proposed marriage, which he thought would give her an agreeable surprise. At his first words, she grew pale. Her emotion was so great that, seeing she would betray herself, she hastily retired to her boudoir. Sauvresy, quietly seated in one of the bedroom arm-chairs, continued to expatiate on the advantages of such a marriage—raising his voice, so that Bertha might hear him in the neighboring room.

      “Do you know,” said he, “that our friend has an income of sixty thousand crowns? We’ll find an estate for him near by, and then we shall see him and his wife every day. They will be very pleasant society for us in the autumn months. Hector is a fine fellow, and you’ve often told me how charming Laurence is.”

      Bertha did not reply. This unexpected blow was so terrible that she could not think clearly, and her brain whirled.

      “You don’t say anything,” pursued Sauvresy. “Don’t you approve of my project? I thought you’d be enchanted with it.”

      She saw that if she were silent any longer, her husband would go in and find her sunk upon a chair, and would guess all. She made an effort and said, in a strangled voice, without attaching any sense to her words:

      “Yes, yes; it is a capital idea.”

      “How you say that! Do you see any objections?”

      She was trying to find some objection, but could not.

      “I have a little fear of Laurence’s future,” said she at last.

      “Bah! Why?”

      “I only say what I’ve heard you say. You told me that Monsieur Tremorel has been a libertine, a gambler, a prodigal—”

      “All the more reason for trusting him. His past follies guarantee his future prudence. He has received a lesson which he will not forget. Besides, he will love his wife.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Parbleu, he loves her already.”

      “Who told you so?”

      “Himself.”

      And Sauvresy began to laugh about Hector’s passion, which he said was becoming quite pastoral.

      “Would you believe,” said he, laughing, “that he thinks our worthy Courtois a man of wit? Ah, what spectacles these lovers look through! He spends two or three hours every day with the mayor. What do you suppose he does there?”

      Bertha, by great effort, succeeded

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