Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"You must be accustomed to that pleasure, mademoiselle. It is true that the jealousy of others does afford one a vast amount of amusement, as you so wittily remarked a moment ago."

"Oh, I am not so wonderfully witty," responded Ernestine, with an admirable semblance of overweening conceit; "but I am very fond of my own way and can't bear any one to oppose or contradict me. That is why I hate old people so. They are for ever preaching to young folks. Do you like old people, monsieur?"

"You mean mummies, mademoiselle. The chief aim of life should be pleasure."

And the imperious necessity of executing a figure in the quadrille having interrupted M. de Macreuse at this point, he took advantage of the excellent opportunity thus afforded to change the expression of his countenance entirely, and to assume the most joyous dare-devil air imaginable. A similar change, too, was apparent in his dancing. It was much more lively and animated. The young man straightened himself up, lifted his head high in the air, and whenever he found an opportunity he bestowed upon Mlle. de Beaumesnil glances which were now as impassioned as the former ones had been timid and discreet.

While he was assuming this new character, the abbé's protégé was all the while saying to himself:

"How strange! the girl is an arrant hypocrite evidently, inasmuch as she succeeded in deceiving Mlle. de la Rochaiguë so completely in regard to her real character. I strongly suspect, though, that my excellent friend was afraid that she would frighten me if she told me the truth about the girl. She little knows me. I'm glad that the girl is silly and vain, and that she thinks herself witty and beautiful and capable of out-shining all the pretty women here to-night. Deceitfulness, ignorance, and vanity – it must be a fool indeed that can not use three such potent factors as these to advantage. But now to the main question! With a simpleton like this, reserve is unnecessary, nor can one pile on the flattery too thickly. Complaisance must extend almost to baseness, for the girl has evidently been utterly spoiled by her wealth. She knows perfectly well that anything is permissible in her, – that any offence will be condoned in the richest heiress in France."

So as he returned to his place M. de Macreuse remarked to Ernestine:

"You accused me just now of being too grave, mademoiselle. You must not suppose that I am in the most hilarious spirits now, but the happiness of being with you intoxicates me."

"And why?"

"If Mlle. Helena, in encouraging me to hope that some day, when you learned to know me better, you might think me worthy to consecrate my life to you, – if Mlle. Helena was mistaken in this – "

"By the way, speaking of Mlle. Helena, you must admit that she is a frightful bore."

"That is true, but she is so good."

"So good! Well, that did not prevent her from saying something dreadful to me about you the other day."

"About me?"

"Yes, she made you out such a paragon of goodness that I said to myself: 'Great Heavens, how intolerable that man must be with all his virtues. A person as perfect as that must be a frightful nuisance! And then to be always at church or engaged in charitable works, the mere idea of it is enough to make one die of ennui.' I did not say this to Mlle. Helena, but I thought it all the same. Judge then, monsieur, I, who would marry only to be as free as air and amuse myself from morning till night, to be always on the go, to be the most fashionable woman in Paris, and above all to be able to go to the masked ball at the Opera house! Oh, that ball, it sets me crazy just to think of it! Mercy! what is the use of being as rich as I am if one cannot enjoy everything and do exactly as one pleases?"

"When one is as rich as you are," replied M. de Macreuse, with unblushing effrontery, "one is queen everywhere, above all in one's own home. The man you honour with your choice should, to follow out my comparison, be the prime minister of your kingdom of pleasure, – no, your chief courtier, and as such be ever submissive and eager to do your bidding. His one thought should be to save you from the slightest annoyance, and leave you only the flowers of existence. The birds of the air should not be freer than you; and if your husband understands his duty, your pleasures, your wishes, and even your slightest caprice, should be sacred to him. Is he not your slave, and you his divinity?"

"Good, monsieur, that would suit me perfectly, but from what Mlle. Helena has told me about you, and from what I myself have seen – "

"And what have you seen, mademoiselle?"

"I have seen you giving alms to the poor and even talking with them."

"Certainly, mademoiselle, and I – "

"In the first place, I have a horror of poor people, – they are so loathsome in their rags they fairly turn one's stomach."

"They are horrible creatures, it is true, but one has to throw them a little money now and then as one throws a bone to a starving dog to keep him from biting you. It is merely a matter of policy."

"I understand, then, for I wondered how you could feel any interest in such repulsive creatures."

"Good Heavens, mademoiselle," replied Macreuse, more and more earnestly, "you must not wonder at certain apparent contradictions between the present and the past. If any do exist you are the cause of them, so ought you not to pardon them? What did I tell you from the very first? Did I not confess that you had wrought a complete change in my life? Ah, yes, I had sorrows, but I have them no longer. I was devout, but henceforth there is only one divinity for me, yourself. As for my virtues," added M. de Macreuse, with a cynical smile, "they need not worry you. Only too happy to lay the others at your feet, I will retain only such as may please you."

"How infamous!" thought Ernestine. "To attract my attention, or, rather, to excite my interest, this man made a pretence of being charitable, virtuous, devout, and a most devoted son; now he denies his virtues, his charity, his mother, and even his God, to please me, and attain his object, viz., to marry me for my money, while the detestable faults I affect do not shock him in the least; he even praises and exalts them."

Mlle. de Beaumesnil, who was little versed in dissimulation, and who had been obliged to exercise the greatest self-restraint in order to enact the rôle which would assist her in unmasking M. de Macreuse, could no longer conceal her scorn and disgust, and, in spite of all her efforts, her face betrayed her real feelings only too plainly, as she listened to M. de Macreuse's last words.

That gentleman, like all the disciples of his school, made a constant study of the countenance of the person he wished to deceive or convince; and the quick contraction of Mlle. de Beaumesnil's features, her smile of bitter disdain, and a sort of impatient indignation that she made little or no attempt to conceal at the moment, were a sudden and startling revelation to M. de Macreuse.

"I am caught," he said to himself. "It was a trap. She distrusted me and wanted to try me. She pretended to be silly, capricious, vain, heartless, and irreligious, merely to see if I would have the courage to censure her, and if my love would survive such a discovery. Who the devil would have suspected such cunning in a girl of sixteen? But if she has feigned all these objectionable proclivities, her real instincts must be good and generous," this beloved disciple of Abbé Ledoux said to himself. "And if she was anxious to put me to the test she must have had some idea of marrying me. All is not lost. I must recover my lost ground by a bold stroke."

These reflections on the part of the pious youth lasted only for an instant, but that instant sufficed to prepare him for another transformation.

The same brief interval had also given Mlle. de Beaumesnil time to calm her indignation, and summon up courage to end this interview by covering Macreuse with shame and confusion.

"So you are really willing to sacrifice all your virtues on my account?" exclaimed Ernestine. "Few persons are as obliging as all that. But the quadrille is ended. Instead of escorting me back to my seat, won't you take me to that conservatory I see at the other end of the room?"

"I am all the more pleased to comply with your request, mademoiselle, as I have a few words, very serious words they are, too, that I wish to say to you."

M. de Macreuse's tone had changed entirely. It was grave now, even stern.

Ernestine glanced at the pious young man in astonishment. His expression had become as sad as at the beginning of the quadrille, but the sadness was no longer of a melancholy, touching character, but stern, almost wrathful.

More and more amazed at this sudden metamorphosis which Macreuse intensified, so to speak, during their walk through the salon to the conservatory, Mlle. de Beaumesnil asked herself what could be the cause of this strange change in her companion.

The long gallery, enclosed in glass, which they entered, was bordered on each side with masses of flowering plants and palms, and at the farther end was an immense buffet loaded with the choicest viands. As nearly all the gentlemen were engaged in escorting their partners to their seats, there were very few people in the gallery at the time, so M. de Macreuse had an excellent opportunity to say all he had to say.

"May I ask, monsieur," asked the orphan, flippantly, seeing that she must not yet abandon her rôle – "may I ask what very important thing you have to say to me. Grave is about the same thing as being tiresome, it seems to me, and I have a horror of everything that is tiresome, you know."

"Grave or tiresome, you will, nevertheless, have to listen to these words, which are the last you will ever hear from my lips, mademoiselle."

"The last during this quadrille, evidently."

"They are the last words I shall ever say to you in my life, mademoiselle."

There was something so sad and yet so proud in the voice, face, and bearing of this model young man that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was overwhelmed with astonishment.

Nevertheless, she continued, still trying to smile:

"What, monsieur, I am never to see you again after all – all Mlle. Helena has said about – about – "

"Listen, mademoiselle," said M. de Macreuse, interrupting her; "it is impossible for me to keep up this farce any longer – or to express any longer sentiments that are and ever will be farthest from my thoughts."

"To what farce do you allude, monsieur?"

"I came here, mademoiselle, expecting to find in you the pious, sensible, generous, kind-hearted, honest young girl of whom Mlle. Helena has always spoken in terms of the highest praise. It was to such a girl that my first remarks were addressed, but the frivolous, sneering manner in which they were received disappointed and even shocked me."

"Can I believe my ears?" thought Ernestine. "What on earth does he mean?"

"Then a terrible doubt seized me," continued M. de Macreuse, with a heavy sigh. "I said to myself that perhaps you did not possess those rare virtues which I so greatly admire and which I was confident I should find in you, but I could not and would not believe it at first, preferring to attribute your words to the thoughtlessness of youth. But alas! your frivolity, vanity, hardness of heart, and impiety became more and more apparent as our conversation proceeded. I wished to convince myself thoroughly, however, and though my heart bled each moment, I wanted to overcome your insensibility to all that is pitiable, your contempt for all that is sacred. I even went so far as to seem to scoff at that which is dearest to me in life, – my religion and the memory of my mother."

And a tear glistened on the lashes of the abbé's disciple.

"It was a test, then, in his case, as in mine," thought Ernestine.