Louis and Saint-Herem remained silent for several minutes. The former was the first to speak.
"I cannot tell you how deeply your sensibility touches me, my dear Florestan," he said, at last "It is so thoroughly in accord with my own feelings at this sad moment."
"Why, what else could you expect, my dear friend? I had no affection for my uncle, as you know, but one must be heartless, indeed, not to feel deeply grieved and horrified at the mere possibility that my relatives may have shared your poor father's cruel fate. I retract nothing I have said in regard to avarice and its far-reaching consequences, though it would have given my thoughts a much more serious turn had I foreseen that the question was to affect me personally; but I can at least say, with truth, that I am not one of those persons who receive an inheritance with unalloyed delight. Now tell me, Louis,—and forgive the necessity of a question that is sure to revive your grief,—in your sorrowful search for your father did you see nothing that would lead you to hope that my uncle and his daughter might have escaped such a horrible death?"
"All I can say, Florestan, is that I remember perfectly having seen neither your uncle nor cousin among the killed and injured. As for the unfortunate persons who shared my father's fate, it was impossible to identify any of them, as they were burned almost to ashes."
"Then your supposition is probably correct, my poor Louis, as my uncle and his daughter are almost certain to have been in the same carriage as your father, and even in the same compartment. In that case, there can be little doubt that they met with the same fate. I shall write to Dreux at once, and I shall also have a careful search for their remains instituted without delay. If you hear anything more, inform me as soon as possible. But now I think of it, how about Mariette? The sad announcement you have just made to me almost made me forget the object of my visit."
"It was a cruel misunderstanding that caused all the trouble, as I suspected, Florestan. I found her more loving and devoted than ever."
"Her love will be a great consolation to you in your deep sorrow. Courage, my poor Louis, courage! All that has occurred should only serve to strengthen the bonds of friendship between us."
"Ah, Florestan, but for this friendship and Mariette's affection, I do not know how I could endure this crushing blow. Farewell, my friend. Keep me advised of the progress of your search for your uncle, I beg of you."
The two friends separated. Left alone, Louis reflected some time in regard to the course he should pursue. Finally he placed in his satchel the hidden gold he had just discovered, then, taking his father's letter, he repaired to the house of his employer, who was also the business agent and friend of his deceased parent, as he had just learned from the letter found with the gold.
The notary, deeply affected by the harrowing details of his late patron's terrible fate, tried to console Louis, and also offered to attend to the necessary legal formalities.
This arrangement made, Louis said:
"There is another question I should like to ask. Assoon as these formalities have been complied with, do I come into possession of my father's property?"
"Certainly, my dear Louis."
"Then I will tell you what I intend to do. I have brought you gold coin to the amount of more than two hundred thousand francs. I found it in a chest in the room I occupied with my father. Out of this amount, I wish you to take enough to purchase an annuity of twelve thousand francs for the godmother of a young girl that I am about to marry."
"But does this young girl's financial condition—"
"My dear patron," interrupted Louis, respectfully but firmly, "the young girl I speak of is a working girl, and supports herself and her godmother by her daily toil. I have loved her a long time, and no human power can prevent me from marrying her."
"So be it," replied the notary, understanding the uselessness of any further protest. "I will settle the desired amount upon the person designated."
"I also desire to take from this sum of money about fifteen thousand francs to set up housekeeping in a suitable manner."
"Only fifteen thousand francs!" exclaimed the notary, surprised at the modesty of this request. "Will that be enough?"
"My affianced wife is, like myself, accustomed to a frugal and laborious life, so the income from fifteen thousand francs, together with the proceeds of our labour, will more than suffice."
"The proceeds of your labour! What! do you intend—"
"To remain in your office if you do not consider me unworthy of your confidence."
"Remain a notary's clerk when you have an income of more than two hundred thousand francs a year?"
"I cannot and will not take possession of this immense fortune for a long time to come. Even whenthe death of my father has been legally established, I shall still feel a vague hope of again seeing the parent I so deeply mourn."
"Alas! I fear there is little hope of that, my poor Louis."
"Still, I shall cherish the hope as long as possible; and so long as I do, I shall not consider myself at liberty to dispose of my father's property,—at least only to the extent I have indicated to you. Will you not, therefore, continue to take charge of the estate exactly as you have done in the past?"
"I cannot but admire the course you have decided upon, my dear Louis," replied the notary, with unfeigned emotion. "Your conduct now conforms in every respect with that you have always maintained. You could not do greater honour to your father's memory than by acting thus. It shall be as you wish. I will remain the custodian of your fortune, and the annuity you spoke of shall be purchased this very day."
"There is a detail in relation to that matter, about which I should like to speak, trivial and almost absurd as it may appear to you."
"What do you mean?"
"The poor woman upon whom I desire to settle this annuity has seen so much trouble during her long life that her character has become embittered, and she feels no confidence in any one. Any promise would seem utterly valueless to her, if the promise was not based upon something tangible; so to convince the poor creature, I want to take her fifteen thousand francs in gold, which will represent very nearly the amount that will have to be expended for the annuity. It is the only way to thoroughly convince the poor creature of my good intentions."
"Take any amount you please, of course, my dear Louis. The matter shall be arranged to-morrow."
On leaving the notary's office, Louis hastened to Mariette's home. He found the young girl sewing by the bedside of her godmother, who seemed to be sound asleep.
Her lover's extreme pallor, as well as the sad expression of his face, struck the young girl at once, and running toward him, she exclaimed, anxiously:
"Oh, Louis, something terrible must have happened, I am sure."
"Yes, Mariette. Have you heard of the frightful accident that occurred on the Versailles railroad yesterday?"
"Yes, it was horrible. People say there were nobody knows how many victims."
"I can hardly doubt that my father was one of the number."
Quick as thought, Mariette threw herself, sobbing, on Louis's breast, and for a long time the two stood clasped in a silent embrace. Louis was the first to speak.
"Mariette, you know how devotedly I loved my father, so you can judge of my despair," he said, sadly.
"It is a terrible blow to you, I know, Louis."
"The only consolation I have is your love, Mariette, and I am about to ask a fresh proof of this love."
"You have but to speak, Louis."
"I want you to marry me at once."
"Can you doubt my consent? Is this the proof of love that you asked?" inquired the young girl.
Then, after a moment's reflection, she added:
"But can we marry before your period of mourning, that only begins to-day, expires?"
"I entreat you, Mariette, not to be deterred by that scruple, decent as it appears."
"I—I will do whatever you wish."
"Listen, Mariette, my heart will be torn with regrets for a long, long time. True mourning is of the soul, and, with me, it will long exceed the period fixed by custom. I know that I honour my father's memory in every fibre of my being, and it is for this very reason that I do not feel it necessary to conform to any purely conventional custom. Believe me, a marriage contracted at so sad a time as this is of a much more solemn and sacred nature than if we married under different circumstances."
"You are right, perhaps, Louis; nevertheless, custom—"
"Because you will be my wife, Mariette,—because you will mourn for my father with me,—because you will share my grief, will he be less deeply regretted? Besides, Mariette, crushed with grief, as I am, I could not live on alone, separated from you,—all I have left in the world now. It would kill me."
"I am only a poor seamstress who knows little or nothing of the laws of society, so I can only tell you how I feel about this matter, Louis. Though a moment ago the idea of marrying you at once seemed almost a breach of propriety, the reasons you give have made me change my mind. Possibly I am wrong; possibly it is the desire to please you that influences me, but now I should not feel the slightest remorse if I married you at once, and yet it seems to me that I am as susceptible as any one I know."
"Yes, and more ungrateful than any one I know," exclaimed Madame Lacombe, tartly, raising herself up in bed.
Then, seeing the surprise depicted on the features of her goddaughter and Louis, she added, in sneering tones:
"Yes, you thought the old woman asleep, and so took advantage of the opportunity to decide all about the wedding, but I heard everything you said, everything—"
"There was nothing said that we were unwilling for you to hear, madame," replied Louis, gravely. "Mariette and I have no desire to retract a single word we have uttered."
"I am certain of that, for you two think only of yourselves. You seem to have no other idea in your head except this detestable marriage. As for me, one might suppose I was already in my coffin. I tell you once for all that—"
"Permit me to interrupt you, madame," said Louis, "and to prove to you that I have not forgotten my promise."
As he spoke, he took a small box which he had deposited upon the table at his entrance, and placed it on Madame Lacombe's bed, saying, as he handed her a key:
"Will you be kind enough to open this box, madame? The contents belong to you."
Madame Lacombe took the key with a suspicious air, opened the box, looked in, and exclaimed, like one both dazzled and stupefied:
"Good God! Good God!"
Recovering from her bewilderment at last, the sick woman emptied the contents of the box out upon the bed; but it seemed as if she could not believe her eyes when she saw the big pile of glittering gold coins before her.
"Oh, what a pile of gold! What a pile of gold!" she exclaimed, ecstatically. "And it is real gold—not a counterfeit piece among it. Great Heavens! What big, handsome coins they are! They must be one hundredsou pieces at least. What an immense amount of money this must be! Enough to make two poor women like Mariette and me comfortable for life," she added, with a sigh.
"You have about fifteen thousand francs there, madame," replied Louis. "They are yours."
"Mine?" cried the sick woman, "mine?"
Then, shaking her head with an incredulous air, she said, sharply, "Why do you want to mock an old woman? How can this gold belong to me?"
"Because this gold is to purchase you an annuity of twelve hundred francs, so that, after Mariette's marriage, you can live alone or remain with your goddaughter as you prefer, for to-morrow our marriage contract will be signed, and, at the same time, you will receive papers assuring you a yearly income of twelve hundred francs in exchange for this gold. I brought the money here to convince you of the sincerity of my promises. Now, madame, as you overheard our conversation, you know my reasons for entreating Mariette to hasten our marriage. You are comfortably provided for now. If there is any other obstacle to my union with Mariette, tell us, I beseech you, madame. Anything that either she or I can do to satisfy you, we will do. Our happiness will not be complete if you, too, are not content."
The words were uttered in a kind, almost affectionate tone, but Mother Lacombe's only reply was a heavy sigh, as she turned her back upon the speaker.
Louis and Mariette gazed at each other in silent astonishment for a moment; then the girl, kneeling by the invalid's bedside, asked, tenderly:
"What is the matter, godmother?"
Receiving no reply, Mariette leaned over the old woman, and, seeing tears trickling through her wasted fingers, exclaimed:
"Good Heavens, Louis, my godmother is weeping. This is the first time in ten years!"
"What is the matter, madame? Tell us, in Heaven's name."
"I appear like a beggar. I seem to be thinking only of money, and I am ashamed of it," responded the poor creature, sobbing bitterly. "Yes, you think I care only for money; you think I am selling Mariette to you exactly as I would have sold her to that villain, if I had been a bad woman."
"Do not say that, godmother," exclaimed Mariette, embracing the invalid tenderly. "Can you suppose for one moment that Louis and I had any intention of humiliating you by bringing you this money? Louis has done what you asked, that is all."
"I know that, but it was the fear of dying in the street, and of seeing you after marriage far more miserable than you are now, that made me ask for this money. I knew very well that I had no right to any money, but think what it must be to be afraid of being turned into the street when one is old and infirm. I asked for entirely too much, and I did very wrong. What do I really need? Only a mattress in some corner, and a morsel to eat now and then, and, above all, that Mariette will not desert me. I am so used to seeing her around. If she left me I should feel as lonely as if I were in the grave. Besides, there is nobody else in the world who would be so kind and so patient with a cross old sick woman like me. All I ask is to stay with Mariette. To have all this gold thrown in my face, as it were, humiliates me. One may be a mere worm, and yet have a little pride left. When that scoundrel came and offered me gold if I would sell Mariette to him, it made me mad, that is all; but this time it is very different, it makes me weep,—a thing I haven't done before for ten years, as you said yourself, child. This cuts me to the heart."
"Come, come, my dear Madame Lacombe, you need not give yourself the slightest uneasiness with regard to the future," said Louis, deeply touched. "Mariette willnot leave you; we will all live, not luxuriously, but very comfortably together."
"Are you in earnest? Will you let me live with you, really and truly?"
At this fresh proof of the unfortunate woman's unconquerable distrust, Louis and Mariette again exchanged compassionate glances, and taking her godmother's hand, the girl said, tenderly:
"Yes, godmother, yes; we will keep you with us, and care for you as if you were our own mother. You shall see if we do not make you very, very happy."
"It will be no fault of ours if we do not, you may be sure of that," added Louis, earnestly.
The tone and expression of the two young people would have convinced the most skeptical, but it was so hard for this unfortunate woman to believe that such happiness could ever be hers, that, though she tried to conceal her doubts for fear of wounding Mariette and her lover, it was with an involuntary sigh that she replied:
"I believe you, children. Yes, I believe that M. Louis has money, and I believe you both mean well toward me, but after awhile I am afraid you'll find me very much in the way. Newly married people like to be alone, and—"
"What, godmother, you still doubt us, after all we have said?"
"Forgive me, children, I don't mean to," sobbed the poor woman; then, with a heart-broken smile, she added: "Perhaps it is all the better for me that I do doubt, for if, after fifty years of trouble and poverty, I should really come to believe that there was such a thing as happiness for me, I might go mad."
Then, in accents of inexpressible bitterness, she added:
"It wouldn't surprise me if I did. It would be just my luck."
Five years have elapsed since the events we have just related, and on the evening of the 12th of May, 18—the anniversary of the terrible catastrophe on the Versailles railroad, the following scene was taking place.
It was half-past nine in the evening, and a young woman about twenty-five years of age, a decided brunette, with a perfect figure, and a remarkably spirituelle and high-bred face, was just completing a superb evening toilet with the assistance of two maids, one of whom had just clasped a necklace of diamonds as big as hazelnuts around the neck of her beautiful mistress, while another adjusted a magnificent diadem of the same costly gems upon the lady's beautiful black hair. The low corsage, too, of pale green satin, trimmed with superb lace and bows of pale pink satin ribbon, also glittered with precious stones.
The selection of diamonds as ornaments seemed to have been the result of careful reflection, for on a table close by were several cases containing complete and no less costly garnitures. Two of them, one composed of enormous rubies, the other of magnificent pearls of extraordinary size and lustre, would have excited the admiration of any jeweller.
One of the attendants, who was much older than her companion, seemed—thanks, probably, to her long service—to be on quite familiar terms with her mistress, who, like herself was a Russian, and the other maid, a young Frenchwoman, not understanding theRussian language, consequently heard without understanding the following conversation between the Comtesse Zomaloff and her trusted maid, Mlle. Katinka:
"Does madame like the way in which I have adjusted her diadem?"
"Very well," replied the countess.
And with a final glance in the glass, she added, as she rose:
"Where is my bouquet?"
"Here, madame."
"What, that horrid withered thing!" cried Madame Zomaloff.
"It is the one M. le duc sent for madame la comtesse."
"I recognise his taste," said Madame Zomaloff, shrugging her shoulders. Then she added, with a mocking air, "It is one he picked up at a bargain, I'll be bound. Some lover who quarrelled with his sweetheart yesterday morning failed to send last evening for the bouquet he had ordered. It takes M. de Riancourt to discover such bargains."
"Ah, madame cannot suppose M. le duc is as stingy as all that. He is so rich."
"All the more reason that he should be."
Some one rapped at the door of the chamber adjoining the dressing-room, and the French maid who went to answer the summons returned in a moment to say:
"M. le Duc de Riancourt has come, and is awaiting madame's pleasure."
"Let him wait," replied Madame Zomaloff. "The princess is in the drawing-room, I suppose."
"Yes, madame la comtesse."
"Very well. Here, Katinka, fasten this bracelet," continued the young woman, holding out her beautiful arm. "What time is it?"
But as Katinka was about to reply, Madame Zomaloff added, with a mocking smile:
"After all, what is the use of asking that question? The duke has just arrived, consequently it must be exactly half after nine."
The clock on the mantel interrupted the countess by striking the half-hour designated, and the lady laughed heartily as she exclaimed:
"What did I tell you, Katinka? M. de Riancourt is as punctual as the clock itself."
"That only proves his ardour and his love."
"I should prefer a less well-regulated emotion, I think. Persons who adore you at a stated time always seem to me to have a watch in place of a heart. Hand me a smelling-bottle,—no, not that one. Yes, this one will do. I am almost sorry that I am dressed, so I cannot keep the poor duke waiting longer to punish him for his tiresome punctuality."
"Why, madame, how unjust you are to him! Why do you marry him if you feel this way toward him?"
"Why do I marry M. de Riancourt?" the countess replied, as she took one more look in the mirror. "You have more curiosity than I have, Katinka. Does any woman ever know why she marries a second time?"
"The reason seems apparent to every one. The duke, though he has no gold mines in the Crimea, and no silver mines in the Ural Mountains—"
"Spare me this tiresome enumeration of my worldly possessions, Katinka."
"Well, madame, though M. le duc cannot boast of such immense possessions as you have, he is one of the wealthiest and most powerful noblemen in France. He is young and good-looking; he has not led a life of dissipation like so many other young men; on the contrary, he is very devout, and—"
"Oh, yes, he is a paragon of virtue, of course. Bring me a heavy wrap; the nights are still cool."
"Has madame any orders to give for the twentieth?"
"Orders?"
"Is it possible that madame forgets her marriage is to take place one week from to-morrow?"
"What! as soon as that?"
"Certainly, madame. You decided on the twentieth of May, and this is the twelfth."
"If I said the twentieth, it will have to be the twentieth. But how strange it is. One is leading a delightful life; one is young and free, and one hates restraint, and yet one cannot give oneself another master too soon."
"A master? A man as kind and gentle as M. le duc? Why, you can make whatever you please of him, madame!"
"I shall never make a charming man of him, and yet I shall marry him. Ah, aunt, aunt, you are responsible for all this. There is one good thing about it, though. One will at least escape the bother of having to ask oneself what one had better do."
The countess proceeded in a leisurely fashion to the drawing-room, where she found her aunt and the Duc de Riancourt awaiting her.
The Princesse Wileska, Madame Zomaloff's aunt, was a tall, distinguished-looking woman, with gray hair which she wore slightly powdered. The Duc de Riancourt was a small man, about thirty years of age, with a thin, rather crooked neck, long, straight hair parted in the middle, a somewhat sanctimonious air, and eyes set rather obliquely, while his slow, precise movements indicated a remarkable amount of self-control.
When Madame Zomaloff entered the room, he advanced to meet her, bowed profoundly, and raised nearly to his lips the pretty hand the countess carelessly offered him, then, straightening himself up, he gazed at her a moment as if dazzled, exclaiming:
"Ah, madame la comtesse, I never saw you arrayed in all your diamonds before! I do not believe there are any other diamonds like them in the world. Howbeautiful they are! Good Heavens! how beautiful they are!"
"Really, my dear duke, you quite overpower me by your admiration—for my diamonds; and as my necklace and diadem arouse such tender emotion in your breast and inspire you with such graceful compliments, I will tell you, in strict confidence, the name of my jeweller. It is Ezekiel Rabotautencraff, of Frankfort."
While M. de Riancourt was trying to find some suitable response to Madame Zomaloff's raillery, the aunt of that young lady gave the duke a reproachful look, remarking, with a forced smile:
"See how this mischievous Fedora delights in teasing you. It is a very common way of concealing the affection one feels for people, I believe."
"I humbly admit, my dear princess, that, dazzled by these magnificent jewels, I failed to render due homage to their wearer," said M. de Riancourt, in the hope of repairing his blunder. "But—but may not a person be so dazzled by the sun as to be unable to see even the most beautiful of flowers?"
"I am so impressed by this comparison of yours that I am almost tempted to believe that the same glaring sunshine you speak of must have withered these poor blossoms," retorted the mischievous young woman with a gay laugh, holding up for the duke's inspection the rather faded bouquet he had sent her.
That gentleman blushed up to his very ears; the princess frowned with an impatient air, while the countess, perfectly indifferent to these signs of disapproval, coolly remarked, as she walked toward the door:
"Give your arm to my aunt, M. de Riancourt. I promised my friend, the wife of the Russian ambassador, that I would be at her house very early, as she wishes to present me to one of her relatives, and you know we have first to inspect that wonderful mansion—that enchanted palace everybody is talking about."
After waiting a few seconds in the vestibule, the countess and her aunt saw a clumsy landau, drawn by two emaciated horses, lumber up to the door, and the young widow, turning to the duke in evident surprise, said:
"Why, this is not your carriage! What has become of that dark blue berlin drawn by two handsome gray horses that you placed at our disposal yesterday morning?"
"Under the circumstances I feel no hesitation about confessing a little detail of domestic economy to you, my dear countess," replied the duke, with touchingnaïveté. "To save my grays, for which I was obliged to pay a good round sum, I assure you, I always hire a carriage in the evening. It is very much more economical than to risk one's own turnout at night."
"And you are perfectly right, my dear duke," the princess hastened to say, fearing another shaft of ridicule from her niece. M. de Riancourt's footman was in attendance. He opened the door of the antiquated vehicle. The princess, assisted by the duke, quickly entered it, but as that gentleman offered his hand to the young widow for the same purpose, the petulant beauty paused with the tip of her white satin slipper lightly poised on the carriage step, and said, with an air of the deepest apprehension:
"Do examine every nook and corner of the carriage carefully, aunt, I beseech you, before I get in."
"But why, my dear?" inquired the princess, naïvely. "What is the necessity of this precaution?"
"I am afraid some red-headed girl or some stout shopkeeper may have been left in a corner, as it is in vehicles of this description that worthy shopkeepers drive about all day with their families when they treat themselves to an outing."
Laughing heartily, the young widow sprang into the carriage. As she seated herself, the princess said to her, in a low tone, but with a deeply pained air:
"Really, Fedora, I do not understand you. You are strangely sarcastic toward M. de Riancourt. What can be your object?"
"I want to cure him of his shameful stinginess. How could I better manifest my interest in him?"
Just then the duke took the seat opposite them. He seemed to endure with Christian meekness the ridicule of this young woman who possessed such magnificent diamonds, as well as all sorts of gold and silver mines; but the furtive glance he bestowed on her now and then, and a certain contraction of his thin lips, indicated that a sullen rage was rankling in his heart.
The footman having asked for orders, M. de Riancourt replied:
"To the Hôtel Saint-Ramon."
"Pardon me, M. le duc," answered the footman, "but I don't know where the Hôtel Saint-Ramon is."
"At the end of the Cours la Reine," responded M. de Riancourt.
"Does M. le duc mean that large house on which they have been working several years?"
"Yes."
The footman closed the door, and repeated the instructions to the coachman who applied the whip vigorously to his bony steeds, and the landau started in the direction of the Cours la Reine.
M. de Riancourt's clumsy equipage moved so slowly that when it reached the entrance to the Cours la Reine a pedestrian, who was proceeding in the same direction, kept pace with it without the slightest difficulty.
This pedestrian, who was very poorly dressed, did not seem to be very active, for he leaned heavily on his cane. His long beard, his hair, and his bushy eyebrows were as white as snow, while the swarthy hue of his wrinkled face gave him the appearance of an aged mulatto. When M. de Riancourt's carriage had advanced about half way up the Cours la Reine, its progress was still further impeded by a long line of vehicles, which were evidently also on the way to the Hôtel Saint-Ramon; so the old man passed the landau, and walked on until he came to an avenue glittering with gaily coloured lamps, and filled from end to end with a long procession of carriages.
Though the old man seemed deeply absorbed in thought, his attention was naturally attracted to the large crowd that had assembled near the handsome gateway that served as an entrance to this brilliantly lighted avenue, so he paused, and, addressing one of the bystanders, inquired:
"Can you tell me what all these people are looking at?"
"They are looking at the guests who are going to the opening of the famous Saint-Ramon mansion."
"Saint-Ramon?" murmured the old man, with evident surprise. "How strange!"
Then he added aloud:
"What is this Hôtel Saint-Ramon, monsieur?"
"The eighth wonder of the world, people say. It has taken five years to build it, and the owner gives a house-warming to-night."
"To whom does this house belong, monsieur?"
"To a young man worth several millions."
"And what is his name?"
"Saint-Harem, or Saint-Herem, I believe."
"I thought as much," the old man said to himself. "But, in that case, why do they call it the Saint-Ramon mansion?" Then, turning to the same bystander again, he asked aloud: "Will you be kind enough to tell me what time it is?"
"Half-past ten, exactly."
"Thank you, monsieur," responded the old man, getting a little nearer to the gate. "Half-past ten," he said to himself. "I need not be at Chaillot until midnight, so I have plenty of time to solve this mystery."
After a moment's hesitation, the old man passed through the gateway, and proceeded up a walk shaded with magnificent elms, to a brilliantly lighted half-circle in front of the house itself, which was a veritable palace,—a superb example of the palmiest days of Renaissance architecture.
Crossing the half-circle, the old man found himself at the foot of the imposing perron leading to the peristyle. Through the glass doors that enclosed the entire front of this peristyle, he saw a long row of tall, powdered footmen clad in gorgeous liveries, but all the while the carriages that drew up at the foot of the perron were depositing men, women, and young girls, whose plain attire contrasted strangely with the splendour of this fairy palace.
The old man, to whom allusion has already been made, urged on, apparently, by an almost irresistible curiosity, followed several of these newcomers up under the peristyle, where two tall Swiss, halberds in hand, opened the broad portals of the large glass double door to all, making their halberds ring noisily on the marble floor as each guest entered. Still mingling with a party of invited guests, the old man passed through a double row of footmen in bright blue livery, profusely trimmed with silver, into a large reception-room, where numerous valets, clad in bright blue jackets, black satin knee breeches, and white silk stockings, were in attendance, all manifesting the utmost deference to these guests whose unpretending appearance seemed so out of harmony with the princely luxury of the abode. The guests passed from this room into a large music-room, fitted up for concerts, and from that into an immense circular hall surmounted by a dome. This hall served as a nucleus for three other large apartments,—or rather four in all, including the music-room,—one intended for a ballroom, another for a banquet-hall and the other for a cardroom.
It is impossible to describe the splendour, elegance, and sumptuous furnishings of these large, brilliantly lighted apartments, whose lavish adornments in the shape of paintings, statuary, and flowers were multiplied again and again in the enormous mirrors that lined the walls. The most illustrious artists of the time had assisted in this work of ornamentation. Masterpieces by Ingres and Delacroix hung side by side with those of Scheffer and Paul Delaroche; while the future fame of Couture and Gérôme had evidently been divined by the wealthy and discerning builder of this palace. Among the most magnificent works of art, we must not forget to mention an immense sideboard in the banquet-hall, loaded with superb silver, worthy of the master hand of Benvenuto Cellini, and consisting of candelabra,pitchers, epergnes, and fruit-dishes, each and every one entitled to an honoured place in a museum, by reason of its rare beauty of form and exquisite ornamentation.
One word more in relation to a peculiar feature of the spacious rotunda. Directly over a gigantic white marble mantel, a monument to the genius of David of Angers, the French Michael Angelo, with allegorical figures inalto-relievo, representing the Arts and Sciences at the base, was a portrait that might with reason have been attributed to Velasquez. It represented a pale, austere-looking man with strongly marked features, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes. A brown robe similar to those worn by monks imparted to this person the impressive character of those portraits of saints or martyrs so frequently encountered in the Spanish school of art,—a resemblance that was heightened by a sort of halo which shone out brightly against the dark background of the picture, and seemed to cast a reflected radiance upon the austere and thoughtful countenance. On the frame below, in German text, were the words:
SAINT-RAMON.
The aged stranger, who had continued to advance with the crowd, at last found himself opposite this fireplace, but, on seeing the portrait, he paused as if overwhelmed with astonishment. His emotion was so great that tears rose to his eyes, and he murmured, almost unconsciously:
"My poor friend, it is indeed he! But why has the word 'saint' been added to his name? Why has this aureole been placed around his head? And this strange entertainment, how is it that a person as poorly clad as I am, and a stranger to the master of the house, besides, should be allowed to enter here unhindered?"
Just then a servant, carrying a large waiter loaded with ices, cake, and similar dainties, paused in front ofthe old man, and offered him refreshments. This offer was declined, however, by the stranger, who was striving, though in vain, to determine the social status of those around him. The men, who were for the most part plainly but neatly dressed, some in coats and others in new blouses, while they seemed delighted to participate in the fête, appeared perfectly at ease, or, in other words, perfectly at home, and not in the least astonished at the wonders of this palatial abode; while the women and the young girls, many of whom, by the way, were extremely pretty, were evidently much more deeply impressed by the splendour around them. The young girls, particularly, who were nearly all attired in inexpensive, though perfectly fresh, white dresses, exchanged many admiring comments in low tones.
The venerable stranger, more and more anxious to solve this mystery, at last approached a group composed of several men and women who had paused in front of the fireplace to gaze at the portrait of Saint-Ramon.
"You see that picture, Juliette," he heard a sturdy, pleasant-faced young man say to his wife. "It is only right to call that worthy man Saint-Ramon. There is many a saint in paradise who is not to be compared with him, judging from the good he has done."
"How is that, Michel?"
"Why, thanks to this worthy saint, I, like most of my fellow workmen here, have had lucrative employment for the last five years, and we all owe this good fortune to the original of this portrait, M. Saint-Ramon. Thanks to him, I have not been out of work for a single day, and my wages have not only been liberal enough to support us comfortably, but also to enable us to lay aside a snug little sum for a rainy day."
"But it was not this worthy man whose portrait we see here that ordered and paid for all this work. It was M. de Saint-Herem, who is always so pleasant andkind, and who said so many nice things to us just now when we came in."
"Of course, my dear Juliette, it was M. de Saint-Herem who employed us, but, as he always said to us when he came to see how we were getting on: 'Ah, boys, if it were not for the wealth I inherited from another person, I could not give you employment or pay you as such industrious and capable workmen ought to be paid, so always hold in grateful remembrance the memory of the person who left me all this money. He accumulated it, penny by penny, by depriving himself of every comfort, while I have the pleasure of spending his wealth. In fact, it is my bounden duty to spend it. What is the good of money, if it is not to be spent? So hold in grateful remembrance, I say, the memory of yonder good old miser. Bless his avarice, for it gives me the pleasure of accomplishing wonderful things, and you, liberal wages, richly earned.'"
"Still, while we are, of course, under great obligations to this worthy miser, we ought to be equally grateful to M. de Saint-Herem, it seems to me. So many wealthy people spend little or nothing; or, if they do employ us, haggle about the price of our work, or keep us waiting a long time for our money."
The venerable stranger listened to this conversation with quite as much interest as astonishment. He also lent an attentive ear to other conversations that were going on around him, and everywhere he heard a chorus of praises and benedictions lavished upon Saint-Ramon, while M. de Saint-Herem's nobility of soul and liberality were lauded to the skies.
"Is all this a dream?" the old man said to himself. "Who would ever believe that these eulogiums and protestations of respect were addressed to the memory of a miser,—of a person belonging to a class of people that is almost universally despised and vilified? And it is the spendthrift heir of this miser who thus eulogiseshim! But what strange whim led him to invite all his workmen to his entertainment?"
The astonishment of the old man increased as he began to note a strange contrast that was becoming apparent between the guests, for quite a number of correctly dressed and extremely distinguished-looking men—many with decorations in their buttonholes—were now moving about the spacious rooms with exquisitely dressed ladies on their arms.
Florestan de Saint-Herem, handsomer, gayer, and more brilliant than ever, seemed to be entirely in his element in this atmosphere of luxury and splendour. He did the honours of his palace delightfully, receiving every guest with wonderful grace and perfect courtesy. He had stationed himself near the door of the large circular hall into which the reception-room opened, and no woman or young girl entered to whom he did not address a few of those cordial and affable words which, when they are sincere, never fail to charm even the most timid, and make them perfectly at ease.
Florestan was thus engaged when he saw the Comtesse Zomaloff, accompanied by the Princesse Wileska and the Duc de Riancourt, enter the hall.
Saint-Herem had never seen the Comtesse Zomaloff and her aunt before, but he had known M. de Riancourt a long time, so on seeing him enter, accompanied by two ladies, Florestan stepped quickly forward to meet him.
"My dear Saint-Herem," said the duke, "permit me to introduce to you Madame la Princesse Wileska and Madame la Comtesse Zomaloff. These ladies hope they have not been indiscreet in accompanying me here this evening to see your new house and its wonders."
"I am delighted to have the honour of receiving the ladies, and shall be only too glad to show them what you are pleased to call the wonders of my house."
"And M. de Riancourt is right, for, on entering here, I must confess that it is difficult to decide what one should admire most, everything is so beautiful," remarked the countess.
"I also feel it my duty to tell you, my dear Saint-Herem, that Madame Zomaloff's visit is not altogether one of curiosity," remarked the duke, "for I have told the countess of your intentions in regard to the house, and as I shall be so fortunate as to have the honour of bestowing my name on the countess a week from now, you understand, of course, that I can come to no decision in this matter without consulting her."
"Really, madame, as M. de Riancourt thus gives himself all the airs of a married man in advance, don't you think it only fair that he should submit to the consequencesof his revelation?" exclaimed Florestan, gaily, turning to Madame Zomaloff. "So, as a husband never gives his arm to his wife, will you not do me the honour to accept mine?"
In this way Florestan escaped the necessity of offering his arm to the princess, who seemed likely to prove a much less agreeable companion than her young and pretty niece, who graciously accepted her host's proffered arm, while M. de Riancourt, as in duty bound, offered his arm to the princess.
"I have travelled a great deal, monsieur," said Madame Zomaloff, "but I have never seen anything to compare, not with the magnificence, for any millionaire could compass that,—but with the exquisite taste which has presided over every detail in the construction of this mansion. It is really a superb museum. You will pardon me, I trust, but I really cannot refrain from expressing the admiration the superb decoration of this ceiling excites."
"The artist's reward should follow admiration for his work, do you not think so, madame?" inquired Florestan, smiling. "So it depends upon you to make the artist who painted that ceiling both proud and happy."
And as he spoke Saint-Herem pointed out to Madame Zomaloff one of the most illustrious masters of the modern school of art.
"I thank you a thousand times, monsieur, for this piece of good fortune!" exclaimed the young woman, advancing with Florestan toward the artist.
"My friend," Saint-Herem said to him, "Madame la Comtesse Zomaloff wishes to express to you her intense admiration for your work."
"Not only my admiration, but my gratitude as well," added the lady, graciously. "The profound pleasure the sight of such achef-d'œuvreexcites certainly places the beholder under a deep obligation to the creator of it."
"However pleasing and flattering such praise may beto me, I can take only a part of it to myself," replied the illustrious painter, with great modesty and good taste. "But leaving my own works out of the question entirely, so I may be able to express myself more freely, let me advise you to notice particularly the decorations of the ceiling of the music-room. They are the work of M. Ingres, our Raphael, and will furnish pilgrims of art in days to come with as many objects of adoration as the finest frescoes of Rome, Pisa, or Florence, yet thischef-d'œuvrewould not be in existence but for my friend Saint-Herem. Really, madame, in this extravagant but essentially materialistic age, is it not a delightful phenomenon to meet a Medici, as in the palmy days of the Italian republics?"
"That is true, monsieur," replied the countess, quickly, "and history has been only just in—"
"Pardon me for interrupting you, madame la comtesse," said Saint-Herem, smiling, "but I am no less modest than my famous friend here, so for fear that your enthusiasm may lead you astray, I must point out the real Medici to you. There he is," added Florestan, pointing to the portrait of Saint-Ramon, as he spoke.
"What an austere face!" exclaimed the countess, scrutinising the portrait with mingled surprise and curiosity; then seeing the name inscribed upon the frame, she asked, turning to Florestan in evident astonishment, "Saint-Ramon? What saint is that?"
"A saint of my own making, madame. He was my uncle, and, though I am not a pope, I have ventured to canonise this admirable man as a reward for his long martyrdom and for the miracles he has wrought since his death."
"His long martyrdom! The miracles he wrought after his death!" Madame Zomaloff repeated, wonderingly. "You are jesting, monsieur, are you not?"
"Far from it, madame. My uncle imposed the severest privations upon himself during his life, for hewas a confirmed miser. That was his martyrdom. I inherited his wealth; so the artistic achievements you so much admire really owe their origin indirectly to him. These are the miracles to which I alluded."
Madame Zomaloff, more and more impressed by Saint-Herem's originality, was silent for a moment, but M. de Riancourt, who had been standing a little distance off, now approached Florestan, and said:
"There is a question I have been wanting to ask you ever since our arrival, my dear Saint-Herem. Who are these people? I have recognised three or four great painters and a celebrated architect among them, but who are the others? The princess and I have been trying in vain to solve the mystery."
"As M. Riancourt has ventured to ask this rather indiscreet question, I must confess that I share his curiosity, monsieur," added Madame Zomaloff.
"You have doubtless noticed, madame, that most of the persons I have taken such pleasure in welcoming this evening do not belong to the fashionable world."
"That is true."
"Still, you were much pleased just now, were you not, madame, to meet the great artist whose work you so greatly admired?"
"Yes, monsieur; I told you how much pleasure the opportunity to meet him afforded me."
"You must consequently approve, I think, of my having extended an invitation to him as well as to a number of his colleagues."
"It seems to me that such an invitation was almost obligatory upon you, monsieur."
"Ah, well, madame, I feel that it was likewise obligatory upon me to extend the same invitation to all who had assisted in any way in the construction of this house, from the famous artists to the humblest mechanic, so they are all here with their families enjoying the beautiesthey have created, as they, in my opinion, at least, have an undoubted right to do."
"What!" exclaimed M. de Riancourt, "do you mean to say that you have the carvers, and gilders, and locksmiths, and carpenters, and paper-hangers, and even the masons, here? Why, this passes my comprehension."
"Do you know anything about the habits of bees, my dear duke?"
"Not much, I must admit."
"You might consider their habits exceedingly reprehensible, my dear duke, inasmuch as the insolent creatures insist upon occupying the cells they themselves have constructed; and, what is worse, they even assert their claim to the delicious honey they have accumulated with so much skill and labour for their winter's need."
"And what conclusion do you draw from all this?"
"That we drones should give the poor and industrious human bees the innocent satisfaction of enjoying, at least for a day, the gilded cells they have constructed for us,—for us who subsist upon the honey gathered by others."
Madame Zomaloff had dropped Florestan's arm a few moments before. She now took it again, and walking on a few steps, so as to leave her aunt and the duke a little way behind her, she said to Saint-Herem, with deep earnestness:
"Your idea is charming, monsieur, and I do not wonder at the expression of contentment I notice on the faces of your guests. Yes, the more I think of it, the more just and generous the idea seems to me. After all, as you say, this superb mansion represents the combined labour of artisans of every degree, high and low; hence, in your eyes, this house must be much more than a marvel of good taste and luxury, as the associations connected with its construction will always be unspeakably precious to you. That being the case—"
"Go on, madame."
"I cannot understand how—"
"You hesitate, madame. Speak, I beg of you."
"M. de Riancourt has informed you of our intended marriage, monsieur," said Madame Zomaloff, with some embarrassment, after a moment's silence. "A couple of days ago, while talking with him about the difficulty of securing as large and handsomely appointed house as I desired, M. de Riancourt happened to remember that some one had told him that you might be willing to dispose of the house you had just completed."
"Yes, madame, M. de Riancourt wrote, asking to be allowed to go through the house, and I advised him to wait until this evening, as I intended to give an entertainment, and he would consequently be much better able to judge of the arrangement and appearance of the reception-rooms, but I did not expect to have the honour of receiving you, madame."
"I have ventured to ask you several questions already, monsieur," remarked the young woman, with marked hesitation, "and I am going to hazard one more. How, monsieur, can you have the courage or the ingratitude to think of abandoning this home which you have created with so much interest and love, this home with which so many kind and generous memories are already associated?"
"Good Heavens! madame," replied Saint-Herem, with the most cheerful air imaginable, "I am going to sell the house because I am ruined, utterly ruined! This is my last day as a man of wealth, and you must admit, madame, that, thanks to your presence here, the day could not have a happier or more brilliant ending."
Florestan de Saint-herem had uttered the words, "I am ruined, utterly ruined," with such unruffled good-humour and cheerfulness that Madame Zomaloff stared at him in amazement, unable to believe her ears; so after a moment, she exclaimed:
"What, monsieur, you are—"
"Ruined, madame, utterly ruined. Five years ago my sainted uncle left me a fortune of nearly or quite five millions. I have spent that and nearly eighteen hundred thousand francs more, but the sale of this house and its contents will pay what I owe and leave me about one hundred thousand francs, upon which I can live in comfort in some quiet retreat. I shall turn shepherd, perhaps. That existence would be such a charming contrast to my past life, when impossibilities and marvellous dreams were changed into realities for me and my friends by the vast wealth of which I had so unexpectedly become the possessor, and when all that was beautiful, elegant, sumptuous, and rare was blended in my dazzling career. Would you believe it, madame, I was famed for my liberality through all Europe? Europe? Why! did not a Chandernagor lapidary send me a sabre, the handle of which was encrusted with precious stones, with the following note: 'This scimitar belonged to Tippoo-Sahib; it ought now to belong to M. de Saint-Herem. The price is twenty-five thousand francs, payable at the house of the Rothschilds in Paris.'Yes, madame, the rarest and most costly objects of art were sent to me from every part of the world. The finest English horses were in my stables; the most costly wines filled my cellar; the finest cooks quarrelled for the honour of serving me, and the famous Doctor Gasterini—you know him, madame, do you not?"
"Who has not heard of the greatest gourmand in the known world?"
"Ah, well, madame, that famous man declared he dined quite as well at my table as at his own—and he did not speak in equally flattering terms of M. de Talleyrand's cuisine, I assure you. Believe me, madame, I have the consoling consciousness of having spent my fortune generously, nobly, and discriminately. I have no cause to reproach myself for a single foolish outlay or unworthy act. It is with a mind filled with delightful memories and a heart full of serenity that I see my wealth take flight."
Saint-Herem's tone was so earnest, the sincerity of his sentiments and his words were so legibly imprinted upon his frank and handsome face, that Madame Zomaloff, convinced of the truth of what he said, replied:
"Really, monsieur, such a philosophical way of viewing the subject amazes me. To think of renouncing a life like that you have been leading without one word of bitterness!"
"Bitterness! when I have known so many joys. That would be ungrateful, indeed!"
"And you can leave this enchanted palace without one sigh of regret, and that, too, just as you were about to enjoy it?"
"I did not know that the hour of my ruin was so close at hand until my rascally steward showed me the state of my bank account hardly a week ago, so you see I have lost no time. Besides, in leaving this palace which I have taken so much pleasure in creating, I am like a poet who has written the last verse of his poem,like the artist who has just given the last touch to his picture, after which they have the imperishable glory of having achieved a masterpiece to console them. In my case, madame,—excuse my artistic vanity,—this temple of luxury, art, and pleasure will be a noble monument; so how ungrateful I should be to complain of my lot! And you, madame, will reign here as the divinity of this temple, for you will purchase the house, I am sure. It would suit you so well. Do not let the opportunity to secure it pass. M. de Riancourt may or may not have told you, but he knows that Lord Wilmot has made me a handsome offer for it. I should be so sorry to be obliged to sell to him, for he is so ugly, and so is his wife and his five daughters as well. Think what presiding spirits they would be for this splendid temple, which seems somehow to have been built expressly for you. I have one favour to ask, though, madame. That large painting of my uncle is a fine work of art, and though the name and face of Saint-Ramon appear several times in the medallions that adorn the facade, it would be a pleasure to me to think that this worthy uncle of mine would gaze down for ages to come upon the pleasures which he denied himself all his life!"
The conversation between the countess and Saint-Herem was here interrupted by M. de Riancourt. The party had been making a tour of the reception apartments as they talked, and the duke now said to Florestan:
"The house is superb, and everything is in perfect taste, but eighteen hundred thousand francs is entirely too much to ask for it, even including furniture and silver."
"I have no personal interest in the matter, I assure you, my dear duke," replied Florestan, smiling. "The eighteen hundred thousand francs will all go to my creditors, so I must needs be unpleasantly tenacious inregard to price; besides, Lord Wilmot offers me that amount, and is urging me to accept it."