Avarice - Anger: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins

CHAPTER X.

THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED

When Louis Richard entered the room occupied by Mariette and her godmother, he paused a moment on the threshold, overwhelmed with grief and despair at the affecting scene that presented itself to his gaze.

Mariette was lying to all appearance lifeless on a mattress on the floor. Her features, which were overspread with a death-like pallor, contracted convulsively from time to time. Her eyes were closed, and there were still traces of tears on her marble cheeks, while in one of the clenched hands crossed upon her breast was the envelope containing the fragments of the letter she had received from Louis.

Madame Lacombe's usually grim and sardonic face showed that she was a prey to the most poignant grief and distress. Kneeling beside the mattress on which her goddaughter was lying, she was supporting Mariette's head upon her mutilated arm, and holding a glass of water to the girl's inanimate lips with the other.

Hearing a sound, Madame Lacombe turned hastily, and her features resumed their usually hard and irascible expression, as she saw Louis standing motionless in the doorway.

"What do you want?" she demanded, brusquely. "Why do you come in without knocking? I don't know you. Who are you?"

"My God! in what a terrible condition I find her!" exclaimed Louis.

And without paying any attention to Madame Lacombe's question, he sprang forward, and, throwing himself on his knees beside the pallet, exclaimed, imploringly:

"What is the matter, Mariette? Answer me, I beseech you."

Madame Lacombe, who had been as much surprised as annoyed at the young man's intrusion, now scrutinised his features closely, and, after a moment's reflection, said, sullenly:

"You are Louis Richard, I suppose?"

"Yes, madame, but in Heaven's name what has happened to Mariette?"

"You have killed her, that is all!"

"I? Great God! But, madame, something must be done. Let me run for a doctor. Her hands are like ice. Mariette, Mariette! Oh, my God! my God! she does not hear me."

"She has been in this state ever since last night, and it was your letter that caused it."

"My letter! What letter?"

"Oh, you intend to deny it now, I suppose. You needn't, for last night the poor child couldn't bear it any longer, and told me all."

"Great Heavens! What did she tell you?"

"That you never wanted to lay eyes on her again, and that you had deserted her for another. That is always the way with you men!"

"On the contrary, I wrote to Mariette that — "

"You lie!" exclaimed the old woman, more and more incensed. "She told me what was in the letter. She has it here in her hand. I haven't been able to get it away from her. Hadn't she enough to bear without your treating her in this way? Get out of this house, you scoundrel! Mariette was a fool, and so was I, to refuse the offer made us, and I told her so at the time. 'See how we shall be rewarded for our honesty,' I said to her. And my words have come true. She is dying, and I shall be turned out into the street, for we are behind in our rent, and the little furniture we have will be taken from us. Fortunately, I have a quarter of a bushel of charcoal left," she added, with a grim smile, "and charcoal is the friend and deliverer of the poor."

"This is horrible!" cried Louis, unable to restrain his tears; "but I swear to you that we are all the victims of a most deplorable mistake. Mariette, Mariette, arouse yourself! It is I — I, Louis!"

"You are determined to kill her, I see!" exclaimed Madame Lacombe, making a desperate effort to push the young man away. "If she recovers consciousness, the sight of you will finish her!"

"Thank God!" exclaimed Louis, resisting Madame Lacombe's efforts, and again bending over Mariette; "she is moving a little. See! her hands are relaxing; her eyelids are quivering. Mariette, darling, can't you hear me? It is Louis who speaks to you."

The girl was, in fact, gradually recovering consciousness, and her tear-stained eyes, after having slowly opened and wandered aimlessly around for a moment, fixed themselves upon Louis. Soon, an expression of joyful surprise irradiated her features, and she murmured, faintly:

"Louis, is it really you? Ah, I never expected — "

Then, the sad reality gradually forcing itself upon her mind, she averted her face, and, letting her head again fall upon Madame Lacombe's bosom, she said, with a deep sigh:

"Ah, godmother, it is for the last time! All is over between us!"

"Didn't I tell you how it would be?" exclaimed Madame Lacombe. "Go, I tell you, go! Oh, the misery of being so weak and infirm that one cannot turn a scoundrel out of one's house!"

"Mariette," cried Louis, imploringly, "Mariette, in pity, listen to me. I do not come to bid you farewell; on the contrary, I come to tell you that I love you better than ever!"

"Good God!" exclaimed the young girl, starting up as if she had received an electric shock; "what does he say?"

"I say that we are both the victims of a terrible mistake, Mariette. I have never for one moment ceased to love you, no, never! and all the time I have been away I have had but one thought and desire, — to see you again and make all the necessary arrangements for our speedy marriage, as I told you in my letter."

"Your letter!" exclaimed Mariette, in heart-broken tones, "he has forgotten. Here, Louis, here is your letter."

And, as she spoke, she handed the young man the crumpled, tear-blurred fragments of the letter.

"He will deny his own writing, see if he don't," muttered Madame Lacombe, as Louis hastily put the torn pieces together. "And you will be fool enough to believe him."

"This is what I wrote, Mariette," said Louis, after he had put the letter together:

"'My Dearest Mariette: — I shall be with you again the day after you receive this letter. The short absence, from which I have suffered so much, has convinced me that it is impossible for me to live separated from you. Thank God! the day of our union is near at hand. To-morrow will be the sixth of May, and as soon as I return I shall tell my father of our intentions, and I do not doubt his consent.

"'Farewell, then, until day after to-morrow, my beloved Mariette. I love you madly, or rather wisely, for what greater wisdom could a man show than in having sought and found happiness in a love like yours.

    "'Yours devotedly, Louis.

"'I write only these few lines because I shall reach Paris almost as soon as my letter, and because it is always painful to me to think that another must read what I write to you. But for that, how many things I would say to you.

    Yours for ever.
    "'L.'"

Mariette had listened to the letter with such profound astonishment that she had been unable to utter a word.

"That, Mariette, is what I wrote," remarked Louis. "What was there in my letter to make you so wretched?"

"Is that really what was in the letter, M. Louis?" asked Madame Lacombe.

"See for yourself, madame," said Louis, handing her the scraps of paper.

"Do you suppose I know how to read?" was the surly response. "How was it that the letter was read so differently to Mariette, then?"

"Who read my letter to you, Mariette?" asked Louis.

"A scrivener."