The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Iv Part 33

"I have three hours before me, and can fly."

"Where can you go without money? But look at the other side of the matter. This last forged bill retired, you will be again in a splendid position; you will only have a few debts. Come, promise me that you will again speak to your d.u.c.h.ess. You are such a fellow for the women!

You know how to make yourself interesting in spite of your errors; and, let the worst come to the worst, they will like you a little the worse, or not at all; but they will extricate you from your mess. Come, come, see your lovely and loving friend once more. I will run to Pet.i.t-Jean, and I feel sure I shall get a respite of an hour or two."

"h.e.l.l! Must I, then, drink the draught of shame to the very dregs?"

"Come, come, good luck; be tender, pa.s.sionate, charming. I will run to Pet.i.t-Jean; you will find me there until three o'clock; later than that will be useless; the attorney-general's office closes at four o'clock."

And M. Badinot left the apartment.

When the door was closed, they heard Florestan exclaim in accents of the deepest despair: "_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_"

During this conversation, which unveiled to the comte the infamy of his son, and to Madame de Lucenay the infamy of the man she had so blindly loved, both had remained motionless, scarcely breathing, beneath this fearful disclosure. It would be impossible to depict the mute eloquence of the agonising scene which took place between this young lady and the comte when he had no longer any possible doubt as to Florestan's crime.

Extending his arms to the room in which his son was, the old man smiled with bitterest sarcasm, casting an overwhelming look on Madame de Lucenay, which seemed to say, "And this is the man for whom you have braved all shame,--made every sacrifice! This is he whom you have reproached me for abandoning?"

The d.u.c.h.ess understood the reproach, and, bowing her head, she felt all the weight of her shame. The lesson was terrible. By degrees, however, a haughty indignation succeeded to the cruel anxiety which had contracted the features of Madame de Lucenay. The inexcusable faults of this lady were at least palliated by the sincerity and disinterestedness of her love, by the boldness of her devotion and the boundlessness of her generosity, by the frankness of her character, and by her inexorable aversion from all that was contemptible and base.

Still too young, too handsome, too _recherche_, to feel the humiliation of having been merely made a tool of, when once the feeling of love was suddenly crushed within her, this haughty and decided woman felt no longer hatred or anger, but instantaneously, and without any transition, a deadly disgust, an icy disdain, at once destroyed all that affection hitherto so strong. She was no longer the mistress, unworthily deceived by her lover, but the lady of high blood and rank detecting a man of her circle to be a swindler and a forger, and driving him forth. Supposing that there were even some extenuating circ.u.mstances for the ignominy of Florestan, Madame de Lucenay would not have admitted them; for, in her estimation, the man who crossed certain bounds of honour, whether from vice, weakness, or persuasion, no longer had an existence in her eyes, honourable demeanour being with her a question of existence or non-existence. The only painful feeling which the d.u.c.h.ess experienced was excited by the terrible effect which this unexpected revelation produced on her old friend, the comte.

For some moments he seemed neither to see nor hear; his eyes were fixed, his head bowed, his arms hanging by his side, his face livid as death; whilst from time to time a convulsive sigh heaved his breast. With such a man, as resolute as energetic, such a condition was more alarming than the most violent transports of anger. Madame de Lucenay regarded him with great uneasiness.

"Courage, my dear friend," she said to him, in a low voice, "for you,--for me,--for this man,--I know what remains for me to do."

The old man looked steadfastly at her, and then, as if aroused from his stupor by a violent internal commotion, he raised his head, his features a.s.sumed a menacing appearance, and, forgetting that his son could hear him, he exclaimed:

"And I, too, for you,--for me,--and for this man,--I know what remains for me to do."

"Who is there?" inquired Florestan, surprised.

Madame de Lucenay, fearing to find herself in the vicomte's presence, disappeared by the little door, and descended the secret staircase.

Florestan having again asked who was there, and receiving no reply, entered the salon. He found the comte there alone. The old man's long beard had so greatly altered him, and he was so miserably clad, that his son, who had not seen him for several years, not recognising him at the moment, advanced towards him with a menacing air.

"What are you doing there? Who are you?"

"The husband of that woman!" replied the comte, pointing to the picture of Madame de Saint-Remy.

"My father!" exclaimed Florestan, recoiling in alarm, as he recalled the features of the comte, so long forgotten.

Standing erect, with threatening air, angry look, his forehead scarlet, the comte looked down upon his son, who, with his head bent down, dared not raise his eyes towards him. Still, M. de Saint-Remy, for some motive, made a violent effort to remain calm, and conceal his real feelings and resentment.

"My father!" said Florestan, half choked. "You were there?"

"I was there."

"You heard, then?"

"All!"

"Ah!" cried the vicomte, in agony, and hiding his face in his hands.

There was a minute's silence. Florestan, at first as much astonished as annoyed at the unexpected appearance of his father, began to reflect upon what advantage he could derive from this incident.

"All is not lost," he said to himself; "my father's presence is a stroke of fate. He knows all; he will not have his name dishonoured. He is not rich, but he must possess more than twenty-five thousand francs. A little skill, and I may leave my d.u.c.h.ess at peace, and be saved!" Then, giving to his handsome features an expression of grief and dejection, moistening his eye with the tears of repentance, a.s.suming his most touching tone of voice, he exclaimed, clasping his hands with a gesture of despair:

"Ah, father, I am indeed wretched! After so many years,--to see you--at such a moment! I must appear to you most culpable; but deign to listen to me! I beseech you, allow me, not to justify myself, but to explain to you my conduct! Will you, my father?"

M. de Saint-Remy made no reply; his features remained rigid; but, seating himself, his chin leaning on the palm of his hand, he contemplated the vicomte in silence. Had Florestan known the motives which filled the mind of his father with fury and vengeance, alarmed by the apparent composure of the comte, he would not, doubtless, have tried to dupe him. But, ignorant of the suspicions respecting the legitimacy of his birth, and of his mother's lapse of virtue, he had no doubt of the success of his deceit, thinking his father, who was very proud of his name, was capable of making any sacrifice rather than allow it to be dishonoured.

"My father," resumed Florestan, timidly, "allow me to endeavour, not to exculpate myself, but to tell you by what a series of involuntary temptations I have done, in spite of myself,--such--an infamous action."

The vicomte took his father's silence for tacit consent, and continued:

"When I had the misfortune to lose my mother--my poor mother!--I was alone, without advice or support. Master of a considerable fortune, used to luxury from my cradle, it became to me a necessity. Ignorant how difficult it is to earn money, I was immeasurably prodigal.

Unfortunately, my expenses, foolish as they were, were remarkable for their elegance. By my taste, I eclipsed men ten times richer than myself. This first success intoxicated me, and I became a man of extravagance, as one becomes a man of arms, or a statesman. Yes, I liked luxury, not from vulgar ostentation, but I liked it as a painter loves his art. Like every artist, I was jealous of my work, and my work was to me luxury. I sacrificed everything to its perfection. I wished to have it beautiful and complete in everything, from my stable to my drawing-room, from my coat to my house. I wished my life to be the emblem of taste and elegance. In fact, as an artist, I sought the applause of the mob and the admiration of the elite. This success is rare, but I acquired it."

As he spake, Florestan's features gradually lost their hypocritical a.s.sumption, and his eyes kindled with enthusiasm. He looked in his father's face, and, thinking it was somewhat softened, continued:

"Oracle and regulator of the world, my praise or blame were law: I was quoted, copied, boasted of, admired, and that by the best circle in Paris, which is to say in Europe--in the world. The women partic.i.p.ated in the general enthusiasm, and the loveliest contended for the pleasure of being invited to certain fetes which I gave, and everywhere wonder was expressed at the incomparable elegance and taste displayed at these fetes, which millionaires could not equal. In fine, I was the monarch of fas.h.i.+on. This word will tell you all, my father, if you comprehend it."

"I do comprehend it, and I am sure that at the galleys you will invent some refined elegance in your fas.h.i.+on of wearing your chain that will become the mode in your gang, and will be called _a la_ Saint-Remy,"

said the old man, with cutting irony, adding, "and Saint-Remy,--that is my name!" And again he was silent.

Florestan had need of all his self-control to conceal the wound which this bitter sarcasm inflicted. He continued in a more humble tone:

"Alas! Father, it is not from pride that I revive the recollection of my success, for, I repeat to you, it is that success which has undone me.

Sought, envied, and flattered, not by interested parasites, but by persons much superior in position to myself, I no longer calculated my fortune must be expended in a few years; that I did not heed. Could I renounce this favourite, dazzling life, in which pleasures succeeded pleasures, every kind of intoxication to every kind of enchantment? Ah, if you knew, father, what it is to be hailed as the hero of the day, to hear the murmur which greets your entrance into the salon, to hear the women say, 'That is he! There he is!'--oh, if you knew--"

"I know," said the old man, without moving from his att.i.tude,--"I know.

Yes, the other day, in a public place, there was a crowd; suddenly a murmur was heard, like that which greets you when you enter some place; then the women's eyes were all turned eagerly on a very handsome young man, just as they are turned towards you, and they pointed him out to one another, saying, 'That's he! There he is!' just as if they were directing attention to you."

"And this man, my father?"

"Was a forger they were conveying to gaol."

"Ah!" exclaimed Florestan, with concentrated rage. Then affecting the deepest affliction, he added, "My father, you are pitiless,--what shall I then say to you? I do not seek to deny my errors, I only desire to explain to you the fatal infatuation which has caused them. Well, then, even if you should overwhelm me still with your bitterest sarcasms, I will endeavour to go through with this confession,--I will endeavour to make you comprehend this feverish excitement which has destroyed me, because then, perchance, you may pity me,--yes, for there is pity for a madman, and I was mad! Shutting my eyes, I abandoned myself to the dazzling whirl into which I was drawn, and drew with me the most charming women, the most delightful men. How could I check myself? As easily say to the poet who exhausts himself, and whose genius preys upon his health, 'Pause in the midst of the inspiration which urges you!' No!

He could not--I could not, abdicate the royalty which I exercised, and return shamed, ruined, and mocked at, into the unknown mob, giving this triumph to those who envied me, and whom, until then, I had defied, controlled, overpowered! No! No! I could not, voluntarily, at least.

"Then came the fatal day, when, for the first time, money failed me. I was surprised as much as if such a moment never could have arrived. Yet I had still my horses, my carriages, the furniture of this house. When my debts were paid there would, perhaps, still remain to me about sixty thousand francs. What could I do in such misery? It was then, father, that I made my first step in the path of disgrace; until this time I was honourable,--I had only spent what belonged to me, but then I began to incur debts which I had no chance of paying. I sold all I had to two of my domestics in order to pay my debt to them, and to be enabled to continue for six months longer, in spite of my creditors, to enjoy the luxury which intoxicated me.

"To supply my play debts and extravagant outlay I first borrowed of the Jews, then, to pay the Jews, of my friends, then, to pay my friends, of my mistresses. These resources exhausted, there was another period of my life; from an honest man I became a gambler, but, as yet, I was not criminal--I still hesitated--I desired to take a violent resolution. I had proved in several duels that I did not fear death. I determined to kill myself!"

"Ah! Bah! Really?" said the comte, with fierce irony.

"You do not believe me, father?"

"It was too soon or too late!" replied the old man, still unmoved, and in the same att.i.tude.

Florestan, believing that he had moved his father by speaking to him of his project for committing suicide, thought it necessary to increase the effect by a _coup de theatre_. He opened a drawer, took from it a small bottle of greenish gla.s.s, and said to the comte, depositing it on the table:

"An Italian quack sold me this poison."