Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"It is only right and natural that you should answer me thus, my dear child," said the marquis, interrupting Herminie. "You cannot have much confidence in me, not knowing who I am, not knowing even my name. I am M. de Maillefort."

"M. de Maillefort!" exclaimed the young girl, remembering that she had written a letter addressed to the marquis for her mother.

"You have heard my name before, then!"

"Yes, monsieur. Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil, not feeling strong enough to write herself, asked me to do it in her stead, and the letter you received on the night of her death – "

"Was written by you?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Then you must feel, my dear child, that you owe me your entire confidence. Madame de Beaumesnil had no more devoted friend than myself, – and it was upon the strength of this friendship of more than thirty years' standing, that she felt she could rely upon me sufficiently to entrust me with a sacred mission."

"Can he mean that my mother confided the secret of my birth to him?" thought Herminie.

The marquis, noticing Herminie's increasing agitation, and confident that he had at last found Madame de Beaumesnil's illegitimate daughter, continued:

"The letter you wrote for Madame de Beaumesnil requested me to come to her even at that late hour of the night. You remember this fact, do you not?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"I obeyed the summons as soon as I received it. The countess felt that her end was fast approaching," continued the hunchback, in a voice that trembled with suppressed emotion. "After commending her daughter Ernestine to my care, Madame de Beaumesnil implored me to – to do her a last service. She entreated me to – to divide my care and interest between her daughter and – and another young girl no less dear to her – "

"He knows all," Herminie said to herself, with a sinking heart. "My poor mother's sin is no secret to him."

"This other young girl," continued the hunchback, more and more overcome, "was an angel, the countess told me. Yes, those were her very words, – an angel of virtue and courage, a brave and noble-hearted girl," added the marquis, his eyes wet with tears. "A poor, lonely orphan, who, though destitute alike of friends and resources, had struggled bravely on against a most adverse fate. Ah, if you could have heard the accents of despairing tenderness in which that most unhappy woman and unfortunate mother spoke of that young girl; for I divined – though she made no such admission, deterred, doubtless, by the shame of such an avowal – that only a mother could speak thus and suffer thus on thinking of her daughter's fate. No, no, it was not a stranger that the countess commended to my care with so much earnestness on her death-bed."

The marquis, overcome by emotion, paused an instant and wiped his tear-dimmed eyes.

"Oh, my mother," Herminie said to herself, making a brave effort at self-control, "then your last thoughts were indeed of your unhappy daughter!"

"I made the dying woman a solemn promise that I would fulfil her last request, and divide my solicitude between Ernestine de Beaumesnil and the young girl the countess implored me so earnestly to protect. Then she gave me this purse," continued the hunchback, drawing it from his pocket, "which contains, she assured me, a small competence which she charged me to deliver to the young girl whose future would thus be assured. But, unfortunately, Madame de Beaumesnil breathed her last without having told me the orphan's name."

"Thank Heaven! He only has his suspicions, then!" Herminie said to herself, rapturously. "I shall not have to bear the anguish of seeing a stranger know my mother's fault. Her memory will remain untarnished."

"You can judge of my anxiety and chagrin, my dear child," continued the marquis. "How was I to comply with Madame de Beaumesnil's last request, ignorant of the young girl's name? Nevertheless, I began my search, and, at last, after many fruitless attempts, I have found that orphan girl, beautiful, courageous, generous, as her poor mother said, and that girl is – is you – my child – my dear child," cried the hunchback, seizing both Herminie's hands.

Then, in a transport of joy and ineffable tenderness, he exclaimed:

"You see I have indeed the right to call you my child. No, never was there any father prouder of his daughter!"

"Monsieur," answered Herminie, in a voice she tried hard to make calm and firm, "though it costs me a great deal to destroy this illusion on your part, it is my duty to do it."

"What!" cried the hunchback.

"I am not the person you are seeking, monsieur," replied Herminie, firmly.

The marquis recoiled a step or two and gazed at the young girl without being able to utter a word.

To resist the influence of the revelation M. de Maillefort had just made to her, Herminie needed a heroic courage born of all that was purest and noblest in her character, – filial pride.

The young girl's heart revolted at the mere thought of confessing her mother's disgrace to a stranger by acknowledging herself to be Madame de Beaumesnil's daughter.

For what right had Herminie to confirm this stranger's suspicions by revealing a secret the countess herself had been unwilling to confess to her most devoted friend, a secret, too, which her mother had had the strength to conceal from her when clasped to her bosom, her child's heart-throbs mingled with her own.

While these generous thoughts were passing swiftly through Herminie's mind, the marquis, astounded by this refusal on the part of a young girl whose identity he could not doubt, tried in vain to discover the reason of this strange determination on her part.

At last he said to Herminie:

"Some motive, which it is impossible for me to fathom, prevents you from telling me the truth, my dear child. This motive, whatever it may be, is certainly noble and generous; then, why conceal it from me, your mother's friend, a friend who feels that he is obeying your mother's last wishes in coming to you?"

"This conversation is as painful to me as it is to you, M. le marquis," Herminie replied, sadly, "for it brings to mind a person who treated me with the greatest kindness during the brief time I was called upon to minister to her as a musician, and in no other capacity, I give you my word. I think that this declaration should be sufficient, and that you should spare me further entreaties on this subject. I repeat that I am not the person you are seeking."

On hearing this assurance again repeated, some of M. de Maillefort's doubts returned; but unwilling to abandon all hope, he exclaimed:

"No, no, I cannot be mistaken. Never shall I forget Madame de Beaumesnil's anxiety, nor her prayers for – "

"Permit me to interrupt you, M. le marquis, and to say to you that, under the painful influence of a scene that must have been particularly trying to you, you doubtless mistook the nature of the interest Madame de Beaumesnil felt in the orphan of whom you speak. To defend Madame de Beaumesnil's memory against such a mistake, I have no other right than that of gratitude, but the respectful regard I and every one else felt for Madame la comtesse convinces me that this is an error on your part."

This manner of looking at the matter accorded too well with M. de Maillefort's own secret hopes for him to turn an entirely deaf ear to this argument. Still, remembering the terrible anguish of the countess when she commended the orphan to his protection, he said:

"This much is certain: no one would speak in such terms of a stranger."

"How do you know that, M. le marquis?" retorted Herminie, gaining ground inch by inch. "I have heard many instances cited of Madame de Beaumesnil's boundless generosity. Her affection for some persons she assisted was, I have heard, as great as that she manifested for the orphan she asked you to protect, and as this girl, you say, is as deserving as she is unfortunate, it seems to me a sufficient explanation of the great interest the countess took in her. Possibly, too, she felt her protection to be a duty. Possibly some friend had confided the girl to Madame de Beaumesnil's care, as that lady in turn confided her to yours."

"But in that case, why should she have laid such stress upon concealing the name of the donor from the person to whom I was to deliver this money?"

"Because Madame de Beaumesnil, in this case, perhaps, as in many others, wished to conceal her benevolence."

And Herminie having now entirely recovered her coolness and composure, presented these arguments with such readiness that the marquis at last began to think that he had been deceived, and that he had suspected Madame de Beaumesnil unjustly.

Then a new idea occurred to him, and he exclaimed:

"But even admitting that the merit and the misfortunes of this orphan are her only claim, do not these conditions seem especially applicable in your own case? Why should it not be you the countess meant?" he asked.

"I knew Madame de Beaumesnil too short a time for me to deserve any such mark of her bounty, M. le marquis; besides, as the countess did not designate me by name, how can I, – I appeal to your own delicacy of feeling, – how can I accept a large sum of money on the mere supposition that it may have been intended for me?"

"All that would be very true if you did not deserve the gift."

"And in what way have I deserved it, M. le marquis?"

"By your attentions to the countess, and the alleviation of suffering she secured through you. Why is it at all unlikely that she should have desired to compensate you as she did others?"

"I do not understand you, monsieur."

"The will of the countess contained several legacies. You seem to be the only person who was forgotten, in fact."

"I had no right to expect any bequest, M. le marquis. I was paid for my services."