Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"You are right, monsieur," replied Herminie, though she still blushed deeply with wounded pride and indignation; "contempt, the most profound contempt is all that such an insult merits."

"Undoubtedly; but, unfortunately, your loneliness and unprotected condition are probably to a great extent accountable for this unwarranted presumption on the part of a stranger, my poor child, so, as you permit me to talk in all sincerity, why have you never thought of boarding with some respectable elderly woman, instead of living alone?"

"I have thought of doing that more than once, but it is difficult to find the right person – that is when one is as exigeante as I am," she added, smiling.

"You admit that you are very exigeante, then?" asked the marquis, also smiling.

"Really I cannot help it, it seems to me, monsieur; could I find such surroundings as these in the home of a person whose means are as modest as mine? Besides, I ought not to say it, perhaps, but I am so keenly sensitive to certain faults of education and manner that I should positively suffer at times. It is silly and ridiculous, I know, for lack of breeding does not lessen the virtue and kindness of most of the people of the class to which I belong, but to which my education has rendered me somewhat superior. Still it is intensely repugnant to me, and I consequently prefer to live alone, in spite of the many inconveniences of such an isolated position. Another objection is that I should be under an obligation to any person who would receive me into her family, and I fear that I might be made to feel this obligation too much."

"All this is very natural," said the hunchback, after a moment's reflection. "It would scarcely be possible for one of your proud nature to act or feel otherwise, and this pride, which I admire so much in you, has been, and I am sure always will be, your best safeguard. But this will not prevent me, with your permission, of course, from coming now and then to see if I can serve you in any way."

"Can you doubt the pleasure, the very great pleasure it will give me to see you?"

"I will not so wrong you as to doubt it, my dear child."

Seeing M. de Maillefort rise to take leave, Herminie felt strongly tempted to make some inquiry concerning Ernestine de Beaumesnil, whom he had probably seen ere this; but the young girl feared she might betray herself and arouse M. de Maillefort's suspicions by speaking of her sister.

"Farewell, my dear child," said the marquis, rising. "I came here in the hope of finding a daughter to love and protect, and I shall not return with an empty heart. And now again, farewell – and au revoir."

"And soon, I hope, M. le marquis," responded Herminie, with respectful deference.

"Nonsense!" said the hunchback, smiling. "There is no marquis here, but an old man who loves you, – yes, loves you with all his heart. Don't forget that."

"Oh, I shall never forget it, monsieur."

"Good, that promise atones for everything. Once more au revoir, my child."

And M. de Maillefort departed, still in doubt as to Herminie's identity, and no less in doubt in regard to the best means of carrying out Madame de Beaumesnil's last wishes.

The young girl, left alone, reflected long upon the incidents of the day, which, after all, had proved a happy one for her, for by refusing a gift which proved her mother's deep solicitude for her welfare, but which might compromise that mother's memory, the young girl had gained M. de Maillefort's warm friendship.

But the payment made to M. Bouffard by a stranger was a terrible blow to Herminie's pride.

"I must seem despicable, indeed, in the eyes of a person who dared to take such a liberty as that," the proud girl was saying to herself just as there came a timid ring at the door.

Herminie opened it to find herself confronted by M. Bouffard and a stranger.

This stranger was Gerald de Senneterre.

CHAPTER XXX

AN APOLOGY ACCEPTED

On seeing the Duc de Senneterre, who was an entire stranger to her, Herminie coloured with surprise, and said to M. Bouffard, with much embarrassment:

"I did not expect to have the pleasure of seeing you again so soon, monsieur."

"No more did I, mademoiselle. No more did I! It was this gentleman who forced me to return."

"But I do not know the gentleman," Herminie answered, more and more astonished.

"No; I have not the honour of being known to you, mademoiselle," said Gerald, with an expression of the deepest anxiety on his handsome features, "and yet, I have come to ask a favour of you. I beseech you not to refuse it."

Gerald's handsome face showed so much frankness, his emotion seemed so sincere, his voice was so earnest, his manner so respectful, and his appearance so elegant and distingué, that it never once occurred to Herminie that this could be the stranger she was so bitterly reproaching.

Besides, reassured by M. Bouffard's presence, and unable to imagine what favour the stranger could have come to ask, the duchess, turning to her landlord, said, timidly:

"Will you have the goodness to come in, monsieur?"

And as she spoke, she led the way into her own room.

The young duke had never seen a woman who compared with Herminie in beauty, and this beauty alike of form and feature was greatly enhanced by the dignified modesty of her demeanour.

But when Gerald followed the girl into her room and saw the countless indications of refined habits and exquisite taste everywhere apparent, he felt more and more confused, and in his profound embarrassment he could not utter a word.

Amazed at the stranger's silence, Herminie turned inquiringly to M. Bouffard, who said:

"It will be best to begin at the beginning, my dear young lady. I will explain why this gentleman – "

"Allow me," said Gerald, interrupting M. Bouffard. Then, turning to Herminie, he continued, with a charming mixture of frankness and deference:

"I may as well confess that it is not a favour I have come to ask, but forgiveness."

"Of me, monsieur – and why?" asked Herminie, ingenuously.

"My dear mademoiselle," said M. Bouffard, with a meaning gesture, "this is the young man who paid me that money, you know. I met him just now, and – "

"It was you, monsieur?" cried Herminie, superb in her indignation. And looking Gerald full in the face, she repeated, witheringly:

"It was you?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, but listen, I beg of you."

"Enough, monsieur, enough!" said Herminie. "Such audacity seems inconceivable! You have at least the courage to insult, monsieur," added Herminie, with crushing contempt.

"But, mademoiselle, do not suppose for one moment – " pleaded Gerald.

"Monsieur," said the young girl, again interrupting him, but in a voice that trembled violently, for she could feel tears of grief and humiliation rising to her eyes, "I can only beg that you will leave my house. I am a woman, – and I am alone."

These last words were uttered in such tones of intense sadness that Gerald was moved to tears in spite of himself, and when the young girl raised her head after a violent effort to conquer her emotion, she saw two big tears gleaming in the eyes of the stranger, who, after bowing low without a word, started towards the door.

But M. Bouffard, seizing Gerald by the arm, exclaimed:

"Why, stop a second! You surely are not going like that!"

And we must admit that M. Bouffard added mentally:

"And my little apartment on the third floor, am I to lose my chance of renting that?"