Avarice - Anger: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"But if he does not love her, monsieur?"

"If he does not love her?" exclaimed Cloarek, becoming frightfully pale; then, without adding a word, and before the housekeeper, overcome with consternation, could make so much as a movement to prevent it, he rushed out of the parlour and into the room where Onésime was waiting to hear the result of his aunt's interview with the master of the house.

To open the door of this room, and close and lock it behind him, to prevent Suzanne from entering and Onésime from leaving it, was only the work of an instant, and he thus found himself alone with Suzanne's nephew.

CHAPTER XIII.

ONÉSIME'S CONQUEST

On hearing the violent opening and closing of the door, Onésime sprang up surprised and alarmed, for he was expecting to see only his aunt, and the heavy tread of the person who had just entered so boisterously indicated the presence of a stranger.

Cloarek, who had recovered the composure which had momentarily deserted him, scrutinised Onésime with anxious curiosity. At the first glance the countenance of the young man seemed gentle and prepossessing, but soon, forgetting the infirmity that prevented him from gaining more than a vague idea of objects a few feet from him, and seeing him gaze at him intently without giving any sign of recognition, he began to consider Onésime's manner extremely insolent, even audacious.

Suzanne's nephew, surprised at the prolonged silence, advanced a step or two in the hope of recognising the intruder, and at last asked, hesitatingly:

"Who is it?"

Cloarek, still forgetting the young man's infirmity, thought the question impertinent, and replied:

"Who is it! It is the master of the house, I would have you know."

"M. Cloarek!" exclaimed Onésime, recoiling a little, for the speaker's manner and tone indicated only too plainly that his, Onésime's, presence in the house was unwelcome to Sabine's father, so after a moment he said, in a trembling, almost timid voice:

"In complying with the wishes of my aunt, I believed, monsieur, that her request was made with your approval, or at least that you would not disapprove her kindness to me. But for that, I should not have thought of accepting her invitation."

"I hope so, indeed."

"I must therefore beg you to excuse an indiscretion of which I have been the involuntary accomplice, monsieur. I will leave your house to-morrow."

"And where will you go? What will you do?" demanded Cloarek, abruptly. "What will become of you afterward?"

"Not understanding the feeling that prompts these questions, you cannot be surprised that I hesitate to answer them," responded Onésime, with gentle dignity.

"My feeling may be kindly, and it may be the opposite, — that depends upon circumstances. I shall know presently, however."

"You seem to constitute yourself the sole arbiter of my destiny, monsieur!" exclaimed Onésime, with respectful firmness. "By what right, may I ask?"

"On the contrary, you seem to have made yourself the arbiter of my destiny," exclaimed Cloarek, impetuously.

"I do not understand you, monsieur."

"Do you dare to look me in the face and answer me in that way?"

"Look you in the face, monsieur? I wish that I could, but alas! at this distance I am utterly unable to distinguish your features."

"True, monsieur," replied Cloarek, with much less brusqueness, "I had forgotten your infirmity. But though you cannot see, you may rest assured that I have an eye that nothing escapes. It is one advantage that I have over you, and one that I shall profit by, I assure you."

"I assure you that this advantage will be of very little service to you so far as I am concerned. I have never had anything to conceal in my life."

This odd mixture of frankness and gentleness, of melancholy and dignity, touched Cloarek; nevertheless he tried to resist its softening influence.

"I am blessed with a very small amount of penetration, monsieur," continued Onésime, "but your questions and the tone in which they are asked, as well as some of your remarks, lead me to suppose that you have a grievance against me, though I am unfortunately ignorant of the cause."

"You love my daughter?" said Cloarek, gazing searchingly at the youth as if resolved to read his inmost thoughts.

Onetime turned red and pale by turns, and felt so much like falling that he was obliged to reseat himself at a small table and bury his face in his hands.

In his attempt to cover his face the handkerchief that was bound around his hand fell off, disclosing to view the terrible burn he had received, and though Cloarek was accustomed to seeing all sorts of hurts, the grave nature of this one made him shudder and say to himself:

"Poor wretch, how he must suffer! A person must have a good deal of courage to endure such torture uncomplainingly. Such courage, combined with such amiability of character, as well as quiet dignity, at least indicates nobility of heart."

Seeing how completely overcome Onésime seemed to be, Yvon asked, in rather more friendly tones:

"How am I to interpret your silence? You do not answer me."

"What can I say, monsieur?"

"You confess it, then?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And is my daughter ignorant of this love?"

"Ignorant of it! Why, monsieur, I would rather die than reveal it to her. I thought I had concealed my secret in the depths of my innermost soul, so I have no idea how you can have discovered what I have almost succeeded in hiding from myself."

"Why did you not endeavour to overcome a feeling that could only make you unhappy?"

"Believing every one ignorant of it, I abandoned myself to it with delight. Up to this time I have only known misfortune. This love is the first happiness of my life, as it will be the only consolation of the dreary destiny that awaits me."

"You would be separated from my daughter sooner or later. Did that thought never occur to you?"

"No, monsieur, I did not stop to reflect. I think I loved merely for the happiness of loving. I loved without hope, but also without fear and without remorse."

"So you were not even deterred by a fear that I would find out about this love some day or other?"

"I did not reflect at all, as I told you just now. I loved only for the pleasure of loving. Ah, monsieur, when one is as I am, almost entirely isolated from external objects and the diversion of mind they cause, it is easy to yield oneself entirely to the solitary enjoyment of a single, all-absorbing passion."

"But if your sight is so bad, you can scarcely know how my daughter looks."

"During all the weeks I have been living in this house, I never saw Mlle. Sabine distinctly until this evening."

"And why this evening rather than any other evening?"

"Because she insisted on aiding my aunt in dressing a severe burn on my hand, and, while she was doing this, she came near enough for me to be able to distinguish her features perfectly."

"In that case, how did you come to love her?"

"How did I come to love her? Why, what I love in her," exclaimed Onésime, "is her noble and generous heart, the sweetness of her disposition, the charms of her mind. What do I love in her? Why, her sweet and soothing presence and her voice, — her voice, so gentle and touching when she utters words of friendly interest or consolation."