The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 3 of 6

"I had explained to M. d'Harville the line of conduct I had determined to pursue towards him for the future, assuring him of my future sympathy and affectionate attention to his happiness."

"How happy you must have rendered him by such gratifying words!"

"He did, indeed, at first, seem most truly happy; and so was I, likewise; for his tears and his joys caused in me a feeling of delight I never before experienced. Once I fancied I did but indulge a just revenge each time I addressed to him a reproach or a sarcasm; but it was a weak and impotent mode of torture, which always recoiled upon myself, as my better judgment pointed out the unworthiness of such conduct; while just now how great was the difference! I had inquired of my husband if he were going out, to which he mournfully replied that he had no intention of so doing, but should pass the evening alone, as he most frequently did. Ah, my lord, could you but have seen his surprise when I offered to be his companion, and how suddenly did the gloomy expression of his features give place to a bright glow of happiness! Ah, you were quite right, there is nothing more really delightful than preparing happy surprises for those around us."

"But how could so much kindness on your part have brought about the painful conversation you were alluding to just now?"

"Alas, my lord!" said Clémence, blushing deeply, "M. d'Harville, not satisfied with the hopes I felt myself justified in holding out, allowed himself to form others of a nature too tender to admit of their being realised, and in proportion to my consciousness of my utter inability to respond to such sentiments had been my anxiety not to arouse them; and, greatly as I had felt touched by the warmth of my husband's gratitude for my proffered affection, I was even still more terrified and alarmed by the passionate ardour of his manner and expressions; and when, carried away by the impetuosity of his feelings, he pressed his lips upon my hand, a cold shudder pervaded my whole frame, and I found it impossible to conceal the disgust and alarm I experienced. Doubtless this manifestation of my invincible repugnance pained him deeply, and I much lament having been unable to prevent his perceiving my feelings. But now that the blow has fallen, it will, at least, serve to convince M. d'Harville of the utter impossibility of my ever being more to him than the most tender and devoted friend."

"I pity him most sincerely, without being able to blame you in the slightest degree for the part you have acted. There are certain feelings which must ever be held sacred. But poor Albert! With his noble, generous spirit, his frank, confiding nature, his warm, enthusiastic heart, – if you only knew how long I have been vainly trying to discover the cause of the hidden melancholy which was evidently preying upon his health. Well, we must trust to the soothing effects of time and reason. By degrees he will become more sensible of the value of the affection you offer him, and he will resign himself as he did before, when he had not the consolatory hopes you now present to his view."

"Hopes which I solemnly assure you, my lord, it is my fixed determination to realise in their fullest extent."

"And now let us turn our attention to others who are also called upon to suffer and taste of heavy sorrows. You know I promised to occupy you in a charitable work, which should have all the charm of a romance of real life; and I am here to perform my promise."

"What, already, my lord? Indeed, you rejoice me greatly."

"It was a most fortunate idea of mine to hire the small chamber I told you of in the Rue du Temple; you can scarcely imagine all the curious and interesting objects it has made me acquainted with. In the first place your poor protégées in the garrets are now enjoying that happiness your presence secured to them. They have still some severe trials to undergo; but I will not enter upon the painful details at the present moment. One of these days you shall learn how many direful evils may be heaped upon one unfortunate family."

"How grateful they must feel towards you!"

"Nay, 'tis your name is ever on their lips, loaded with praises and blessings."

"Ah, my lord, is it then in my name you have succoured them?"

"To increase the value of the gift, I confess I did presume to name you as their benefactress. Besides, what have I done more than carry out your promises?"

"I cannot allow of even this pious fraud, and to-morrow they shall learn from me whom they have to thank. I will tell them the extent of their obligations to you."

"Oh, pray do no such thing, or you will spoil all my fine schemes. Remember that I have a small apartment in the house; that for the sake of much good I hope to effect, I am anxious to preserve a strict incognito there. Recollect, also, that the Morels are now beyond the reach of further distress; and, finally, let me remind you that there are other claimants for your benevolence. And now for the subject of our present intrigue. I want your generous aid and assistance in behalf of a mother and daughter, who from former affluence are at this moment reduced to the most abject penury, in consequence of having been most villainously despoiled of their just rights."

"Poor things! And where do these unfortunate beings reside, my lord?"

"I do not know."

"Then how did you become acquainted with their misfortunes?"

"Yesterday I was at the Temple, – perhaps, Madame la Marquise, you do not know what sort of place the Temple is?"

"Indeed, my lord, I do not."

"It is a bazaar of the most amusing description. Well, I went there for the purpose of making several purchases in company with a female lodger who occupies an apartment adjoining my own – "

"Indeed! A female neighbour?"

"Yes, my next-door neighbour on the fourth floor. Don't you recollect I told you I had a chamber in the Rue du Temple?"

"Pardon me, my lord, I had quite forgotten that circumstance."

"I must tell you that this same neighbour is one of the prettiest little mantua-makers you ever saw. She is called Rigolette, is for ever laughing, and never was in love."

"Upon my word, a most uncommon specimen of her class!"

"She even admits that her indifference to the tender passion arises less from prudence than because she has not time to think about love or lovers, both of which she says would take up too much of her time; as, working from twelve to fifteen hours daily, it is with difficulty she manages to earn twenty-five sous a day, yet on that trifling sum she lives contentedly."

"Is it possible?"

"Possible! Why, she even launches out into luxuries, – has a couple of birds, who consume as much food as herself, arranges her chamber with the most scrupulous and pretty neatness, while her dress would make a modern belle grow pale with envy."

"And all this effected upon five and twenty sous a day? It is almost difficult to believe it."

"I assure you my fair neighbour is a pattern of industry, order, economy, and practical philosophy; and as such I beg to recommend her to your notice in her capacity of dressmaker, in which she is reported to have much skill. If you will honour her with your commands, her fortune will be surely made; although there is no occasion for your carrying your beneficence so far as to wear the dresses you permit her to make."

"Oh, I will take care to give her employment immediately. Poor girl! living honestly and contentedly upon a sum squandered by the rich for the most trifling whim or caprice."

"Well, now then that you have undertaken to interest yourself in my deserving young neighbour, let us proceed to the little adventure I was about to relate to you. I went, as I told you, to the Temple with Mlle. Rigolette in order to purchase many articles necessary for the comfort of the poor family in the garret, when, accidentally examining the drawers of an old secrétaire exposed for sale, I found the fragment of a letter in a female hand, in which the writer bitterly deplored the destitution to which herself and daughter were exposed in consequence of the villainy of the person in whose hands their money had been placed. I inquired of the mistress of the shop how she became possessed of the piece of furniture in question. She told me it was part of a lot of very common household goods she purchased of a person still young, who had evidently disposed of all her effects from stern necessity, and being without any other means of raising money. Both mother and daughter, continued my informant, seemed much superior to their condition, and each bore their distress with a proud yet calm fortitude."

"And do you not know where these poor ladies can be found, my lord?"

"I do not, unfortunately, at the present moment, but I have given directions to M. de Graün to use every effort to discover them, and, if needs must be, even to apply to the police for assistance. It is just probable that the unfortunate parent and child, finding themselves stripped of their little stock of furniture, may have sought refuge in some obscure lodging; and if so, there is every chance of discovering their abode, since the keepers of lodging-houses are obliged to write a daily report of every fresh inmate they receive."

"What a singular combination of events!" said Madame d'Harville, much astonished: "Your account is, indeed, a most interesting one."

"You have not heard all yet. In a corner of the fragment of writing found in the old secrétaire, are these words, 'To write to Madame de Lucenay.'"

"Oh, how fortunate!" exclaimed Madame d'Harville, with much animation. "No doubt the duchess can tell me all about these unfortunate ladies. But then," added she, thoughtfully, "I do not see, after all, how we shall be able to describe them, as we do not even know their name."

"Nay, it will be easy to inquire whether she is acquainted with a widow still in the prime of life, whose air and manner indicate her being far superior to her present circumstances, and who has a daughter about sixteen years of age named Claire. I am sure it was Claire the woman told me the younger female was called."

"How very strange! That is my child's name; and furnishes an additional reason for my interesting myself in their misfortunes."

"I forgot to tell you that the brother of this unhappy widow died by his own hands a very few months ago."

Madame d'Harville was silent for some minutes, as though reflecting deeply; at length she said:

"If Madame de Lucenay be in any way acquainted with this unfortunate family, these particulars will be quite sufficient to identify them; besides which the lamentable end of the brother must have fixed every circumstance connected with them more strongly in her memory. How impatient I feel to question the duchess on the subject! I will write her a note this very evening, begging of her not to go out to-morrow till I have seen her. Who can these interesting people be? From your account, my lord, I should say they certainly belong to the higher class of society, and must, therefore, feel their present distress so much the more keenly. Alas, to such as they the falling into such utter destitution must inflict a deeper, keener sting!"

"And all their sufferings have arisen from the knavery of an unprincipled scoundrel, – a notary, named Jacques Ferrand. But I am in possession of other acts of villainy on his part equally black with this."

"That is the name of the person acting as the legal adviser both of my husband and mother-in-law," exclaimed Clémence; "and, indeed, my lord, I think you must be mistaken in your opinion of him, for he is universally regarded as a person of the strictest honour and probity."

"I assure you I have the most irrefragable proofs of what I assert. Meanwhile let me beg of you to be perfectly silent as to the character I assign this man, who is as subtle as unprincipled; and the better to unmask his nefarious practices, it is necessary he should be allowed to think himself secure from all danger; a few days will enable me to perfect my schemes for bringing him to a severe reckoning. He it was who brought such unmerited affliction upon the interesting females I have been telling you of, by defrauding them of a large sum, which, it appears, was consigned to his care by the brother of the unfortunate widow."

"And this money?"

"Was their sole dependence."

"This is, indeed, a crime of the most heinous description!"