The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

"Don't you see how comfortable it is? But what is the matter? You are gazing at me with such a surprised, almost chagrined air," said the young woman, suddenly becoming serious. "Well, you are right. You think me indifferent to all your past, and I trust now partially forgotten, trials," added Florence, in a tone of deep feeling. "Far from it! I have sympathised with you in every grief, but this is such a happy, blissful day to me that I do not want to mar it by any unpleasant recollections."

"What, you know – "

"Yes, I have known for more than a year of your imprisonment at Poitou, your subsequent widowhood and poverty, from which you suffered more on your mother's account than on your own. I know, too, how courageously you struggled against adversity. But dear me! this is exactly what I was afraid of!" half sobbed, half laughed the young woman, dashing the tears from her eyes. "And to-day of all days in the world!"

"Florence, my dear friend, I never once doubted your sincere affection."

"Is that really true?"

"It is, indeed. But how did you learn all these particulars in regard to me?"

"Oh, some from this person, some from that! I have been leading such a busy, active life it has brought me in contact with all sorts of people."

"You?"

"Yes, I," responded Florence, with a joyous, almost triumphant air.

"Tell me all about yourself. I know nothing about your life for the past four years, or at least since your separation from M. de Luceval."

"True, M. de Luceval must have told you all about that, and about the strange way in which I managed to make my husband abandon the idea of forcing me to travel against my will, and insisting upon my remaining his wife whether or no."

"And especially how you insisted upon a separation after you learned of your financial ruin. Yes, M. de Luceval told me all about that. He does full justice to your delicacy of feeling."

"The real generosity was on his part. Poor Alexandre! but for his unceasing peregrinations and his Wandering Jew temperament he would be a very nice sort of a man, eh, Valentine?" added Florence, with a mischievous smile. "How fortunate that you met him and that you have seen so much of him during the past three months. You must have learned to appreciate him as he deserves."

"What do you mean?" asked Valentine, looking at her friend with astonishment, and colouring slightly. "Really, Florence, you must be mad."

"I am mad – with happiness. But come, Valentine, let us be as frank with each other now as we have always been in the past. There is a name that you have been impatient and yet afraid to utter ever since your arrival. It is Michel's name."

"You are right, Florence."

"Well, Valentine, to set your mind at rest, once for all, I beg leave to inform you that Michel is not, and never has been, my lover."

A gleam of hope shone in Valentine's eyes, but an instant afterwards she exclaimed, incredulously:

"But, Florence – "

"You know me. I have never lied to any one in my life. Why should I deceive you? Is not Michel free? Am I not free, also? I repeat that he is not, and that he never has been, my lover. I do not know what may happen in the future, but I am telling you the truth about the present as well as the past. Is it possible, Valentine, that you, who are delicacy itself, do not understand that if I was, or if I had been, Michel's mistress, nothing could be more painful and embarrassing to both you and me than this interview, to which I, at least, have looked forward with such delight?"

"Ah, now I can breathe freely again!" cried Valentine, springing up and embracing her friend effusively. "In spite of the joy I felt at seeing you again, I was conscious of such a dreadful feeling of constraint. I am relieved of a terrible anxiety now."

"A just punishment for having doubted me, my dear. But you ask me to be frank, so I will add that, though Michel and I are not lovers, we adore each other, as much, at least, as two such indolent creatures as ourselves can adore any one."

"So Michel loves me no longer," said Madame d'Infreville, looking searchingly at Florence. "He has forgotten me entirely, then?"

"I think the best way to answer that question is to tell you our story, and – "

"Good Heavens! what was that?" exclaimed Valentine, interrupting her friend.

"What do you mean?" asked Florence, turning her head in the direction in which her friend was looking. "What did you hear?"

"Listen."

The two friends listened breathlessly for several seconds, but the profound stillness was broken by no sound.

"I must have been mistaken, but I thought I heard a crackling sound in the shrubbery."

"It was the wind swaying the branches of that old cedar you see over there. Did you never notice what a peculiar sound evergreens make when the wind blows?" responded Florence, carelessly. Then she added: "And now I have explained this strange phenomenon, Valentine, listen to Michel's story and mine."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE STRONGEST OF INCENTIVES

MADAME D'INFREVILLE, recovering from the alarm she had felt for a moment, again turned to her friend, and said:

"Go on, Florence, I need not tell you with what curiosity, or rather with what intense interest, I am waiting."

"Ah, well then, my dear Valentine, one thing my husband cannot have told you, as he was not aware of the fact, is that I received a letter from Michel two days after your departure."

"And the object of this letter?"

"Knowing that you intended asking me to write a note to you conveying the impression that we had been spending a good deal of time together, Michel, hearing nothing from you, naturally became very uneasy, and, discovering you had left Paris in company with your mother, was anxious to ascertain where you had gone."

"Indeed. So my disappearance really disturbed him to that extent?" said Valentine, with mingled bitterness and incredulity.

"Yes, it did, and thinking I might be able to give him some information on the subject, he wrote asking permission to call on me, which, as he was my husband's cousin, seemed so natural that I consented."

"But your husband?"

"Oh, he, being ignorant that Michel was the object of the passion which had been your ruin, made no objection."

"Yes; M. de Luceval was not aware of that fact until I told him."

"So Michel called, and I told him of the distressing scene that I had witnessed. His grief touched me, and we both resolved to make every possible effort to find you; a resolution which, on his part, at least, showed no little courage, for you can understand what all this prospective trouble and effort meant to a nature like his; nevertheless – "

"Well?"

"Nevertheless, he exclaimed, naïvely: 'Ah, whether I find her or not, this is the last love affair I ever intend to have!' A feeling which corresponded exactly with that which I once expressed to you in relation to the misery of having a lover, so I must say that I considered this resolve a mark of good sense on his part, though I encouraged him in his determination to find you if possible."

"And did he really make any efforts in that direction?"

"He did, with an energy that amazed me. He kept me fully advised of his progress, but, unfortunately, the precautions your husband had taken rendered all our efforts unavailing; besides, neither of us received any letter or message from you."

"Alas! Florence, no prisoner on a desert island was ever more completely isolated than I. Surrounded by M. d'Infreville's devoted henchmen, the sending of any letter was an impossibility."

"Well, at last we were compelled to abandon all hope of finding you."

"But while you two were thus occupied, you saw Michel quite often, doubtless."