Avarice - Anger: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"Then I do not understand the cause of your reproaches."

"And that is very unfortunate, for if you had been more clear-sighted, you would long since have discovered what has happened."

"Good Heavens! what has happened, monsieur?"

"Sabine loves your nephew."

"Mademoiselle!"

"She loves him, I tell you."

"Mademoiselle loves Onésime! Monsieur cannot be in earnest. It is impossible."

"Impossible, and why?"

"Because the poor boy is as timid as a girl; because he is not at all good-looking; because he sees very badly, a defect that makes him commit twenty blunders a day, at which mademoiselle is not unfrequently the first to laugh. He does not resemble a hero of romance in the least. Oh, no, monsieur, you need feel no anxiety on that score. Mademoiselle has always been very kind and considerate to Onésime, because he is my nephew, and she pitied him, but — "

"Ah, blind woman that you are, not to have foreseen that, in a person of Sabine's character, in a person of her extreme sensibility and angelic kindness of heart, pity was almost certain to lead to a more tender sentiment, — as it has!"

"Can it be possible that mademoiselle would condescend to look at a poor fellow like Onésime?"

"It is precisely because he is poor and helpless and timid, and because his infirmity places him in such an exceptional and painful position, that Sabine was almost certain to love him, and you, who know her as well as I do, should have foreseen this. I hope to Heaven that your blindness may not prove disastrous in its consequences."

"Ah, monsieur," responded the housekeeper, contritely, "your words enlighten me, now, when it is too late. But no, I cannot believe what you have just told me. Mlle. Sabine has not admitted that she loves Onésime, has she?"

"Oh, no; she has not admitted it, but I am satisfied of the fact. She is so candid and so sincere that one can read her heart as one reads an open book. She does love him, I tell you, and this destroys all the plans I had formed. But what is the matter? Why are you sobbing so? Suzanne, Suzanne, get up," cried Cloarek, seeing the housekeeper throw herself at his feet.

"I have such a dreadful fear."

"Explain."

"Good Heavens, monsieur, what if you should suppose that in asking my nephew here I was actuated by a desire to interest mademoiselle in him, and so bring about a marriage between them!"

"Suzanne, you do me a gross injustice by supposing me capable of such a suspicion."

"Tell me, oh, tell me that you do not believe me capable of such a thing."

"I repeat that you have been thoughtless and imprudent. That is all, and that is enough; but as for accusing you of any such shameful plotting, that would be utterly absurd on my part. I understand, too, how certain peculiarities in your nephew's character seemed a sufficient guarantee against any such possibility, and that you never suspected that any such danger could threaten my daughter."

"Alas! that is the truth, monsieur. I didn't consider Onésime any more dangerous than an infant."

"I believe you, but the evil is done, nevertheless."

"But it can be repaired. Onésime shall leave the house at daybreak, to-morrow morning, and never set foot in it again."

"And Sabine? His sudden departure would grieve her terribly, it might even kill her, weak and nervous as she is, — for she is her poor dear mother over again, in her sensitiveness and extreme susceptibility."

"Mon Dieu, I see, I see! How culpable I have been!" sobbed the governess. "What are we to do, monsieur? What are we to do?"

"I have no idea myself."

"Cloarek paced the room in silence several minutes, then he asked, suddenly:

"Where is your nephew?"

"In the Blue Boom, monsieur. I told him to wait there until I could let him know the result of my interview with you."

"Send him to me."

"Here, monsieur?"

"Yes."

"Oh, monsieur, have pity on him, have pity on him, I beseech you!" cried Suzanne, clasping her hands imploringly. "I swear to you that it was not his fault. The poor boy is innocent of any wrong-doing, even in thought. He hasn't the slightest suspicion of all this, I am sure. Have pity on him, I implore you!"

"Send him to me, I say."

"He shall leave the house this very night, monsieur, I swear it!"

"And my daughter! You want her to die of grief, perhaps!"

"One word, monsieur. It may be that mademoiselle's affection for Onésime is only a youthful fancy that time and absence will soon cause her to forget."

"But what if she does not forget it? What if this love is really deep and true, as it must be, if it has once really taken root in a heart like Sabine's? No, no, it would be an insult to the poor child to believe her capable of loving in that way. She is her mother over again, I tell you."

"Alas! monsieur, what you say nearly breaks my heart, and yet I am forced to admit that you are right. I never realised, until this very moment, all the possible consequences of this deplorable intimacy; for, unfortunately, this is not the only thing that must be considered."

"What do you mean?"

"Monsieur — "

"Speak, speak, I say."

"What if, — and it would not be his fault, remember, monsieur, — what if he should not share the affection he has inspired in mademoiselle — "

"Damnation!" exclaimed Cloarek.

Then after a moment's silence he said, sternly:

"Send your nephew here."

"Do not ask me to do that, monsieur!" pleaded Suzanne, in terror.

"Obey me, do you hear?"

"Not if you kill me, monsieur," replied Suzanne, resolutely; "no, he shall not come. I will make him leave the house. I will not expose him to — "

"To what? To my violence, my anger, I suppose you mean. Don't you see that my daughter's love for him renders him sacred in my eyes?"