The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Iii Part 46

"An oath?"

"Yes, madame, I have sworn to be secret to justice, and the persons employed in this prison, as to the series of events by which I was brought hither. Yet, madame, if you will make me a promise--"

"Of what nature?"

"To keep my secret. I may, thanks to you, madame, without breaking my oath, comfort most worthy persons who, no doubt, are excessively uneasy on my account."

"Rely on my discretion. I will only say what you authorise me to disclose."

"Oh, thanks, madame! I was so fearful that my silence towards my benefactors would appear like ingrat.i.tude!"

The gentle accents of Fleur-de-Marie, and her well-selected phrases, struck Madame d'Harville with fresh surprise.

"I will not conceal from you," said she, "that your demeanour, your language, all surprise me in a remarkable degree. How could you, with an education which appears polished,--how could you--"

"Fall so low, you would say, madame?" said Goualeuse, with bitterness.

"Alas! It is but a very short time that I have received this education.

I owe this benefit to a generous protector, who, like you, madame, without knowing me, without even having the favourable recommendation which you have received in my favour, took pity upon me--"

"And who is this protector?"

"I do not know, madame."

"You do not know?"

"He only makes himself known, they tell me, by his inexhaustible goodness. Thanks be to Heaven, he found me in his path!"

"And when did you first meet?"

"One night,--in the Cite, madame," said Goualeuse, lowering her eyes, "a man was going to beat me; this unknown benefactor defended me courageously; this was my first meeting with him."

"Then he was one of the people?"

"The first time I saw him he had the dress and language; but afterwards--"

"Afterwards?"

"The way in which he spoke to me, the profound respect with which he was treated by the persons to whom he confided me, all proved to me that he had only a.s.sumed the exterior disguise of one of the men who are seen about the Cite."

"But with what motive?"

"I do not know."

"And do you know the name of this mysterious protector?"

"Oh, yes, madame," said La Goualeuse, with excitement; "thank Heaven!

For I can incessantly bless and adore that name. My preserver is called M. Rodolph, madame."

Clemence blushed deeply.

"And has he no other name," she asked, quickly, of Fleur-de-Marie.

"I know no other, madame. In the farm, where he sent me, he was only known as M. Rodolph."

"And his age?"

"Still young, madame."

"And handsome?"

"Oh, yes! Handsome,--n.o.ble as his own heart."

The grateful and impa.s.sioned accent with which Fleur-de-Marie uttered these words caused a deeply painful sensation in Madame d'Harville's bosom. An unconquerable and inexplicable presentiment told her that it was indeed the prince. "The remarks of the inspectress were just,"

thought Clemence. "Goualeuse loves Rodolph; that was the name which she p.r.o.nounced in her sleep. Under what strange circ.u.mstance had the prince and this unfortunate girl met? Why did Rodolph go disguised into the Cite?"

The marquise could not resolve these questions. She only remembered what Sarah had wickedly and mendaciously told her as to the pretended eccentricities of Rodolph. Was it not, in fact, strange that he should have extricated from the dregs of society a girl of such excessive loveliness, and evidently so intelligent and sensible?

Clemence had n.o.ble qualities, but she was a woman, and deeply loved Rodolph, although she had resolved to bury that secret in her heart's very core.

Without reflecting that this was unquestionably but one of those generous actions which the prince was accustomed to do by stealth, without considering that she was, perchance, confounding with love a sentiment that was but excess of grat.i.tude, without considering that, even if this feeling were more tender, Rodolph must be ignorant of it, the marchioness, in the first moment of bitterness and injustice, could not help looking on Goualeuse as her rival. Her pride revolted when she believed she was suffering, in spite of herself, with such a humiliating rivalry; and she replied, in a tone so harsh as to contrast cruelly with the affectionate kindness of her first words:

"And how is it, then, mademoiselle, that your protector leaves you in prison? How comes it that you are here?"

"Oh, madame," said Fleur-de-Marie, struck at this sudden change of tone, "have I done anything to displease you?"

"In what could you have displeased me?" asked Madame d'Harville, haughtily.

"It appeared to me just now that you spoke to me so kindly, madame."

"Really, mademoiselle, is it necessary that I should weigh every word I utter? Since I take an interest in you, I have, I think, a right to ask you certain questions!"

Scarcely had Clemence uttered these words, than she regretted their severity; first from a praiseworthy return of generosity, and then because she thought by being harsh with her rival she might not learn any more of what she was so anxious to know. In fact, Goualeuse's countenance, just now so open and confiding, became suddenly alarmed.

Like the sensitive plant, which, on the first touch, curls up its leaves and withdraws within itself, the heart of Fleur-de-Marie became painfully contracted. Clemence replied, gently, in order that she might not awaken her protegee's suspicions by too sudden a return to a milder tone:

"Really I must repeat that I cannot understand why, having so much to praise your benefactor for, you are left here a prisoner. How is it that, after having returned with all sincerity to the paths of rect.i.tude, you could have been apprehended, at night, in a forbidden place? All this, I confess to you, appears to me very extraordinary. You speak of an oath, which has bound you to silence; but this very oath is so strange!"

"I have spoken the truth, madame--"

"I am sure of that; it is only to see and hear you to be convinced that you are incapable of falsehood; but what is so incomprehensible in your situation makes me the more curious and impatient to have it cleared up; and to this alone must you attribute the abruptness of my language just now. I was wrong, I feel I was, for, although I have no claim to your confidence beyond my anxious desire to be of service to you, yet you have offered to disclose to me what you have not yet told to any person; and I can a.s.sure you, my poor girl, that this proof of your confidence in the interest I feel for you touches me very nearly. I promise you to keep your secret most scrupulously, if you confide it to me, and I will do everything in my power to effect what you may wish to have done."

Thanks to this skilful patching up (the phrase will be excused, we trust), Madame d'Harville regained La Goualeuse's confidence, which had been for a moment repressed. Fleur-de-Marie, in her candour, reproached herself for having wrongly interpreted the words which had wounded her.

"Excuse me, madame," she said to Clemence; "I was, no doubt, wrong not to tell you at once what you desired to know, but you asked me for the name of my preserver, and, in spite of myself, I could not resist the pleasure of speaking of him."

"Nothing could be more praiseworthy, and it proves how truly grateful you are to him. Tell me how it was that you left the worthy people with whom you were, no doubt, placed by M. Rodolph? Is it to this event that the oath you were compelled to take, refers?"

"Yes, madame; but, thanks to you, I think I may still keep my word faithfully, and, at the same time, inform my benefactors as to my disappearance."