While these things were taking place, Madame Monléard was in a state of feverish unrest.
Since the Comte de la Bérinière had definitely offered her his hand, which she had not refused, he came every day to pay his respects to her. The ten months of widowhood, which the conventionalities demand, had passed. The count, who was in haste to witness the coronation of his flame, was already arranging the preliminaries of his marriage. Among them were gifts,—jewels and cashmere shawls,—and, on the day preceding that on which he had received Cherami's visit, he had passed the whole day taking Fanny about to see the latest styles in gowns and shawls, so that he might understand her tastes and govern his purchases accordingly. And the pretty widowhad shown no embarrassment about riding in the carriage which was soon to belong to her.
During the day following Cherami's challenge, the count, having to seek seconds for his duel, had had no time to call on Fanny. He did not see her until evening, and, like the well-bred man he was, had taken care not to mention the affair which he had on his hands because of her. The next day, his seconds had called on his adversary, and had then reported to Monsieur de la Bérinière that the time and place and all the details of the duel had been agreed upon. That had given the count further food for thought. He was no coward, and yet the duel was exceedingly disagreeable to him; his interviews with the pretty widow had shown the effects of it; he had been less amorous, less affable, and less cheerful in her presence.
When the following day came and went without a call from the count, Fanny was first surprised, then vexed, then alarmed. Twenty times she went to her mirror, which told her that she was as pretty as ever, and that her elderly adorer ought to be only too happy that she condescended to pretend to love him. Meanwhile, the day passed, and the evening, and the count did not appear.
"He means to make me some beautiful present," said Fanny to herself; "and he wants to bring it himself; but all these shopkeepers are so little to be depended on! He probably waited in vain, and didn't want to come without his present. I shall have it to-morrow."
On the morrow, the clock struck twelve, one, two, and no sign of the count.
"This isn't natural," thought Fanny. "Something must certainly have happened. I remember, now, thatMonsieur de la Bérinière was distraught, preoccupied, the last two evenings that he was here. I charged him with it, and he said I was mistaken. But I was not mistaken!—Justine, go down and ask the concierge if there isn't a letter for me; if a message hasn't come from the count. Those people often forget to tell you when anyone calls."
Justine soon returned, and informed her mistress that there were no letters and that no one had called. Fanny placed herself at the window, and still there was no arrival.
At five o'clock in the afternoon, unable to remain inactive any longer, she said to her maid:
"Take a cab by the hour; here is Monsieur de la Bérinière's address; go there, and find out from the concierge if anything has happened to him; if he is ill, ask to see him, and tell him how deeply interested I am in his health. Go quickly, so that I may know what to think."
Justine went off in her cab. The pretty widow counted the minutes and kept looking at the clock. At last her servant returned. Her breathless, dismayed air made it evident enough that she had something to tell; and as she entered the room, she cried out, wringing her hands:
"Ah! madame, indeed there is something new. Oh! the poor count! what a calamity!"
"Heavens! Justine, is he dead?"
"No, madame; he isn't dead yet, but very near it!"
"What accident has happened to him, then?"
"No accident, madame; but a fight with swords—a duel, in fact!"
"The count has been fighting a duel?"
"Yes, madame; and yesterday morning they brought him home wounded. A bad sword-wound in the side,which might have been mortal! But it seems he's going to get well; the doctor hopes he will, but doctors are mistaken so often!"
"Oh! mon Dieu! Why, this is horrible! With whom did he fight?"
"His valet doesn't know, madame. The count didn't take him with him."
"Well, I will find out, I will find out. A duel! Who besides Gustave could have had the idea of fighting with Monsieur de la Bérinière? That fellow was born to be the bane of my life.—So you didn't see the count?"
"No, madame; the doctor said that nobody must see him to-day; but to-morrow, perhaps, that order will be changed."
"The poor count! if only he doesn't die! Just think, Justine, what an awful nuisance for me!"
"So it is. But if madame were a countess, it wouldn't be but half bad."
"You say the doctor promises that he will recover?"
"So the valet told me."
"Well, I will go myself to-morrow; but I must see my sister first."
"I thought that madame did not go to her father's now?"
"Oh! because in an outburst of anger he told me not to come again. As if he remembered that! Besides, it isn't my father that I want to see, but Adolphine."
The next morning, at eleven o'clock, Madame Monléard was ushered into the presence of her sister, who uttered a cry of surprise when she saw her.
"What! is it you, Fanny?"
"To be sure; Madeleine told me that father had just gone out; I am glad of that."
"Oh! never fear; his anger has passed away. It never lasts long with him, you know."
"But I am the one who is angry now."
"You! with whom?"
"With everybody. You pretend to be surprised; but you must know what has happened?"
"No. What can have happened to irritate you so?"
"I have good reason for it. Monsieur de la Bérinière fought a duel the day before yesterday, and was badly wounded; a little more and they'd have killed him for me!"
"Mon Dieu! with whom did he fight, in heaven's name?"
"Do you ask me that? You know well enough; indeed, it's easy enough to guess."
"I certainly cannot guess."
"Who but Gustave, in his rage, because I preferred the count to him?"
"Gustave? why, that is impossible. He left Paris a week ago; he came to say good-bye to us, and Monsieur de Raincy, who has just come from England, met him there."
"Is it possible that it wasn't Gustave? Then who could it have been—unless it was that tall swashbuckler who fought with Auguste?"
"Yes, it must have been he."
"That's it! that fellow seems to have the very devil in him! As soon as I am married, or when someone thinks of marrying me, he appears with his long sword. Why, it's a perfect outrage! Ah! that Monsieur Cherami! And I have been so polite to him, too—asked him to come to see me!"
"What! you asked him to come to see you? A man who had fought with your husband?"
"Well! what has that to do with it? You know perfectly well that they made it up. But I must go to inquire for the poor count. Perhaps I can see him to-day, and find out how this duel came about. Ah! mon Dieu! if Monsieur de la Bérinière should die, I should be a widow a second time, and without being a countess!"
Fanny left Adolphine much disturbed and agitated by what she had heard. The young widow drove to Monsieur de la Bérinière's house, and found that the doctor had revoked his orders of the day before; she could see the count, on condition that she would not let him talk much.
The young woman entered the sick-room with every manifestation of the keenest interest; she uttered heartfelt exclamations, sighed profoundly, and winked her eyes so often that she succeeded in making them very red. The count smiled at his pretty visitor and held out his hand, which she seized and pressed to her bosom.
"If you had been killed," she cried, "I should not have survived you! But who was the savage? How did this duel come about?"
"I am forbidden to talk," murmured the count, in a weak voice.
"Oh! of course, excuse me. My curiosity is very natural, however. Just a word: was it my old play-fellow with whom you fought?"
"No; it was a friend of his—named Cherami."
"Monsieur Cherami? Oh! the miserable wretch! It was he before—with Auguste. But what, in God's name, have I ever done to that man? or, rather, what have they whom I love done to him? However, my dear count, you will recover, there's no doubt of that; and then, bydint of love and loving attentions, I hope to make you forget an incident of which I was the first cause."
"You think it isn't serious?"
"No, certainly not; it will amount to nothing. God! if the wound had been dangerous—if I had had reason to fear for your life—I don't know what would have become of me! Ah! when anything happens to those who are dear to us, that is the time we feel—how dear they are to us!"
"You are too kind."
"Are you in pain?"
"Only a little; but I am exceedingly weak."
"I will go, for I am capable of talking to you too much, in spite of myself, and that would tire you. Au revoir, my dear count! I will come every day, or send to inquire for you."
"Thanks a thousand times!"
"May the thought of me be some company to you, as the thought of you will be a sweet consolation to me!—Mon Dieu! how hideous he is in bed!" said the little woman to herself as she left the room.
Three weeks passed. The count was beginning to sit up and to walk about his room; but he was still very weak, and the blood that he had lost seemed to have carried away all that he had still retained of youthfulness, activity, and amiability. Fanny had been to see him almost every day, although she was sadly bored all the time that she was with the wounded man; she was very careful, however, to conceal her ennui and to dissemble her yawns; on the contrary, she feigned to be more affectionate than ever; but his convalescence seemed to her interminable, especially because she did not fail to notice the change that had taken place in the humor of her future spouse, who seemed to have aged ten years in a fortnight.
Soon the count was able to drive out; whereupon Fanny murmured, lowering her eyes:
"I think that we might now fix the day which is to unite us forever."
But Monsieur de la Bérinière shook his head.
"I am not strong enough yet," he replied.
And the young widow said to herself:
"I am very much afraid that he never will be strong enough again!"
Things were at this point, when Madame Monléard's maid informed her mistress one morning that Monsieur Cherami requested the honor of an interview with her.
"Monsieur Cherami!" cried Fanny. "What! that man dares show himself at my house! my evil genius! But, no matter! I am curious to know what he can have to say to me.—Show the gentleman in."
Cherami, who had not omitted to make an elaborate toilet, came forward with a smiling face, saying:
"Madame Monléard did not expect a call from me?"
"No, monsieur, most assuredly not. After what has taken place between you and Monsieur de la Bérinière, I did not expect to see you here; but, since you are here, I trust that you will be good enough to tell me why you challenged a man you did not know, and who had not injured you?"
"Mon Dieu! madame, surely you can guess. I wished to avenge poor Gustave, whom you have played with like a macaroon."
"Great heaven! monsieur, what is the meaning of this frenzy of yours for taking up the cudgels for Gustave? He doesn't think of fighting duels himself, you see! he takes things as they come; he's a good boy, and doesn't lose his head; he goes away, and that's the end of it. But you! And your conduct is all the more blamable because, when I met you not long ago, you made me all sorts of offers of your services. You assured me that you would be overjoyed if you could be agreeable to me in any way; and, in order to be agreeable to me, you go to work and challenge Monsieur de la Bérinière, for no reason at all; you compel him to fight; and you run your sword into him just when he was going to marry me! If that's the kind of service you meant to offer me, I excuse you from obliging me hereafter."
"I begin by confessing, madame, that I realize my mistake. I followed the first impulse; but I was wrong.I have realized since that I made an awful blunder; and I have come humbly to beg your pardon."
"You confess your wrong-doing; that is well enough! but what is done is done, none the less."
"The count has recovered; he goes out to drive; I am sure of that."
"Yes, the count is beginning to go out; but he is not the same man; his humor has completely changed; he has lost his light, playful tone. He was a young man, now he's old. When I mention our marriage, he replies: 'My strength doesn't seem to come back.'—In short, he no longer acts as if he were in love with me; and you, monsieur, you are the cause of it."
"Very well, madame; as I have done the mischief, I propose to remedy it. The count shall become amorous again, and of a cheerful humor, and eager to marry you; for I want him to marry you now, and, par la sambleu! I will succeed! I have my cue!"
"You have a cue?"
"That's just a little phrase I'm in the habit of using; I mean that I have my scheme."
"Are you telling me the truth, monsieur? Do you really desire now to see me marry Monsieur de la Bérinière?"
"Madame, women have often deceived me; but I have always been honest with them—in order not to resemble them. I have no reason for lying to you."
"And how do you propose to set about making the count what he was?"
"Rely on me! But it is necessary that Monsieur de la Bérinière should consent to receive me. If I call on him, it's not certain that he will see me. You must have the kindness to say a few words to him in myfavor—that I realize my mistake and would be glad to apologize to him; that I have asked you to intercede for me."
"If that is all that is necessary, all right. I shall go to see the count soon; come to-morrow morning, and I will tell you what he says. Suppose it is favorable?"
"A week hence, it will all be over, and you will be a countess."
"Really? but what method do you propose to employ?"
"Don't you be disturbed; I have my cue, I tell you."
About midday, the pretty widow paid her customary visit to Monsieur de la Bérinière, whom she found installed in his easy-chairà laVoltaire, drinking herb tea.
"How are you to-day, my dear count?" she inquired, taking a seat by the convalescent's side.
"I am getting on very slowly, thank you, fair lady; the wound has entirely healed, but my strength doesn't return very fast."
"What are you drinking there?"
"An infusion of linden leaves."
"Do you think that that stuff will ever bring back your strength?"
"My doctor says that it's an excellent thing. It's very soothing."
"It seems to me that you are quite calm enough. Look you, count, I haven't much confidence in your doctor."
"But, you see, he has cured my wound."
"Your wound would have healed of itself; that wasn't a disease; but now, instead of giving you something to build you up, he puts you on herb tea and slops; he treats you like a child!"
"Perhaps you are right, dear lady. It's a fact that he is keeping me to this diet a good while, on the pretext that I must be prudent."
"If you listen to him, you'll be under the same treatment six months hence. But enough of that subject; I am intrusted with a singular errand to you."
"What is it, dear lady?"
"The man with whom you fought this duel——"
"Monsieur Cherami?"
"Exactly. Monsieur Cherami called on me this morning——"
"The deuce! did he undertake to challenge you also?"
"Oh, no! far from it! He came to ask my pardon for his conduct. He realizes his mistake; he is in despair at what he did; and he wishes, as a great favor, to be allowed to come to offer you his apologies and tell you how delighted he is at your recovery."
"Pardieu! he's an extraordinary mortal! He insists upon fighting for his friend——"
"Yes; it was in a moment of exasperation."
"And now he's sorry for it! But I bear the fellow no ill-will at all. He fences very well; ah! he's an excellent blade!"
"And you will allow him to come to offer his apologies?"
"Willingly; but listen: only on condition that he will tell me who the two seconds were that he brought with him. You can't form an idea, madame, of those two men, who certainly had never assisted at such a performance before! It was enough to make you burst with laughing. De Gervier was much amused; but De Maugrillé was on the point of losing his temper; he wanted to fight them. It was altogether funny, I assure you."
"Then you are willing that Monsieur Cherami should come to see you?"
"Yes, on the condition I have suggested."
"He will readily agree to that, I fancy; he is to come to me to-morrow morning to learn your reply, and I will send him to you."
"Very good! I must say that this Monsieur Cherami seemed to me no less clever than original."
Cherami did not fail to return to Madame Monléard's on the following day; she told him that Monsieur de la Bérinière consented to receive him, on condition that he would tell him who his seconds were.
"And now," said the widow, "how do you propose to restore the count's health and good-humor?"
"Never fear, madame," replied Beau Arthur; "that is my business; the count needs to be set up mentally, as well as physically. He's like an old clock that won't go; but as long as the mainspring isn't broken, there's a way out of the difficulty; I'll set him going."
On leaving Fanny, Cherami took a cab and drove to the Palais-Royal, where he went into Corselet's and purchased a half-bottle of the finest chartreuse; then he removed the label, the seal, and everything which could lead to the identification of the liqueur, put the bottle inhis pocket, and repaired to Rue de la Ville-l'Évêque, saying to himself:
"It comes high; but one cannot make too many sacrifices when it's a question of ensuring a friend's happiness. I have only a hundred and fifty francs left of Gustave's thousand; but I will spend them with the best will in the world, if I can by that means induce our elderly lover to marry the little widow."
Monsieur de la Bérinière was informed that Monsieur Cherami craved the favor of an interview.
"Show him in," said the count.
Cherami, fashionably dressed and perfumed as in his halcyon days, presented himself before the count, who stepped forward to meet him.
"I beg you, monsieur le comte, do not rise! I understand that you are still weak; and I am too fortunate in being allowed to pay my respects to you and to offer my apologies for my insane behavior toward you."
"Let us say no more about it, Monsieur Cherami; you wanted a duel with me, and you had it—it's all over with now. Pray be seated, and just tell me, between ourselves, who those two individuals were who acted as your seconds? You will agree that their aspect—their whole manner—was very comical; and I would stake my head that it was the first time they were ever present at a duel."
"Faith! that's the truth, monsieur le comte; but what would you have? Everybody that I relied upon failed me, and I had no choice; I persuaded, albeit with much difficulty, those two men of business to attend me on the field of honor."
"Who were the fellows?"
"The elder, monsieur le comte, deals in water from Mont-Dore on a large scale; the younger is his clerk."
"Are they Auvergnats?"
"Yes, monsieur le comte."
"I would have bet anything on it. However, the younger one is as strong as an ox, apparently, for they tell me that he carried me in his arms to my carriage."
"That is true; he is very strong.—Is monsieur le comte's wound entirely cured?"
"Yes, it has cicatrized. But our meeting was six weeks ago, and my strength doesn't come back."
"Monsieur le comte, will you allow me to make you an offer?"
"What sort of an offer is it?"
"I have fought duels quite often in the course of my life."
"Oh! I believe it."
"I have been wounded several times."
"You fence very well, however; but one sometimes thrusts awkwardly."
"Well, monsieur le comte, a dear old cousin of mine, who was very fond of me in spite of my escapades, made me a present of a liquid, by the aid of which I was always on my feet in a very short time, even after the most severe wound."
"The deuce you say!"
"I have used it whenever I have been wounded, and it has never failed me yet."
"What is it made of?"
"I have no idea; that was my old cousin's secret, and she died without confiding it to me. But it must be very healthful, as it always cured me."
"Have you still got any of this liquid?"
"I have kept a few half-bottles of it, as a priceless treasure; and here is one of them, which I have taken the liberty of bringing, in the hope that monsieur le comte will have confidence in me."
"Faith, why not?"
"I shall have the honor to taste it first with monsieur le comte, to make sure that it isn't spoiled."
Monsieur de la Bérinière ordered liqueur-glasses to be brought. Cherami filled them with the superfine chartreuse, and swallowed a glass himself.
"That's good, very good!" said the count, after drinking his glass. "But it seems to me that it has just the same taste as chartreuse."
"It is true, monsieur le comte, that there is a little similarity while you are drinking it; but afterward the bouquet, the taste, is not the same at all."
"Possibly not. I never drank much chartreuse; I take liqueur very rarely."
"Then this will have all the more effect. It is a decoction of simples, of strengthening herbs, I fancy. My old cousin used often to go botanizing."
"It smells of liverwort too."
"It does, and that is very strengthening."
"It feels very warm in the chest. I seem already to feel stronger, more lively."
"It works very quickly."
"How much must I drink to be entirely cured?"
"Why, you must take this half-bottle."
"In how long a time?"
"In three days."
"Drink all that in three days!"
"Oh! this bottle doesn't hold much. Drink four small glasses to-day; to-morrow, five; the day after to-morrow,six or seven; and that will take it all. But don't mention my old cousin's remedy to your doctor. He would be sure to sneer at it; doctors are never willing that you should be cured with things that they don't prescribe."
"I know that. But, upon my word, I do feel much better."
"Take a second glass at once, and the others after dinner."
"Well, I will submit to your prescription. Yes, it has a very different taste from chartreuse; it's sweeter."
"The more you drink of it, the better you will like it."
"It is delicious; your old cousin left you something of great value."
"She passed all her time compounding remedies. This will give you an appetite too. You can eat a lot, and everything; it would digest a stone."
"Enchanting! On my word of honor! I feel my legs twitching. It seems to me that I could dance."
"The day after to-morrow, you will be in a condition to dance. Permit me to return a few days hence, monsieur le comte, to inquire for your health?"
"Whenever you choose, Monsieur Cherami; you are an excellent doctor, and I feel better already for your medicine."
"Au revoir, then, monsieur le comte! follow my prescription carefully."
"Oh! I shall take good care not to forget it."
Cherami took his leave, saying to himself:
"It can't possibly hurt him; it will warm him up a little, that's all; and he needs it, he was turning to pulp."
The young widow was preparing to call on the count on the day following that on which she had sent Cherami to him, being very curious to know if he had already improved her fiancé's health, when her maid announced Monsieur de la Bérinière.
Fanny could not restrain a cry of surprise when the count entered her apartment as briskly as before his duel. It was the second day of the chartreuse treatment, and the count had taken three glasses before leaving home; that liqueur, which is really very strengthening when used with moderation, had restored his vigor; it had revived his mental powers; and Monsieur de la Bérinière, overjoyed at a change which he took as evidence of a return to his normal condition, had determined to go in person to inform the young widow of it.
Fanny expressed all the joy she felt at finding him restored to health.
"Yes, I am feeling very well," said Monsieur de la Bérinière. "My strength is coming back with a rapidity that surprises me. Would you believe, dear lady, that our good friend Monsieur Cherami is the one to whom I owe it all?"
"Can it be? Is he a doctor?"
"No; but he has a potion left him by an old cousin, which restores convalescents to full health in a twinkling. I have been taking it only two days, and I am a different man. To-morrow, Tuesday, I shall finish the bottle;and at the end of the week, I will lead you to the altar. I will make all my arrangements accordingly."
"Oh! how happy I am to have you entirely well again! You have recovered your former amiability, your merry humor."
"Yes, I have recovered a lot of things; and when I have taken the rest of my elixir, you'll have a husband of twenty-five!"
"Indeed, you seem hardly more than that to-day."
"Really, you are too kind! I preferred to come myself to tell you of this blessed change. Now I must leave you, to go to my banker's. I must make him give me a lot of money, for I propose to cover you with jewelry and fine clothes."
"Oh! monsieur le comte, don't be foolish, I beg!"
"It's not foolish, simply to try to please you. Ah! to-morrow, what quantities of things I will buy, and perhaps I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you; but expect me the day after to-morrow, about noon, with all my little gewgaws."
"You are always welcome, monsieur le comte."
Monsieur de la Bérinière took his leave after kissing the young widow's hand; while she abandoned herself without reserve to the most intense delight.
"At last," she cried, "I am going to be a countess! Oh! that Monsieur Cherami is a delightful man! And when I am a countess and have my carriage and forty thousand francs a year, which I won't lose by speculating in stocks, then father won't think that I did wrong to refuse a second time to marry Gustave; for, in this world, it seems to me that it is one's duty to think of one's self first."
When the count woke on the third day of the new treatment, he was amazed to find that he felt almost asweak as before he began to drink the precious liquid; he did not realize that the strength which it gave him was purely artificial and vanished with the spirits which it contained. He summoned his valet, bade him give him the precious bottle, drank two glasses in quick succession, and soon felt revivified.
"I will drink it all to-day!" said the count to himself, while his valet was dressing him.—"How many more glasses are there in the bottle, François?"
"I should think there were at least six, monsieur le comte, besides the two you have drunk."
"That will make eight; but I shall be as lively as a cricket."
"Doesn't monsieur think that it may excite him too much?"
"No, no! Mere herbs! they're very strengthening! Give me a glass."
"Here it is, monsieur le comte."
"Ah! it's good! I am beginning to like it much. It's an extraordinary thing, the good it does me. I feel like pirouetting, François."
"Don't do it, monsieur; it would make you dizzy."
"Let us see: I have a lot of errands to do to-day, tradesmen to see, gifts to buy for my bride that is to be; for I am to be married on Saturday, François!"
"Indeed! so much the better, monsieur."
"I am going to make a list of the things I want to buy. I shall have a tiresome day. Give me another glass, François."
"Yes, monsieur."
"I don't know just where I shall dine to-day. I think I shall not come back here."
"At Madame Monléard's, perhaps?"
"Oh, no! that would embarrass her. I will dine at a restaurant, with the first friend I happen to meet. Have you ordered the carriage?"
"Yes, monsieur; it is waiting for you."
"I am off. Pardieu! another glass before I go."
"Monsieur is very much flushed now."
"So much the better! That's my natural color coming back. Just put the bottle in the carriage; I will finish it while I do my errands."
The count swallowed his fifth glass of chartreuse, made a demi-pirouette, and almost fell, because he was very dizzy; but his valet held him up, and he finally succeeded, after much bumping against walls, in reaching his carriage, into which he threw himself, saying:
"Deuce take me! I believe I am quite capable of climbing a greased pole!"
The day was passed by the future bridegroom in visiting emporiums of jewelry, laces, and shawls; he gave his orders, and from the multitude of those pretty trifles which are said to be necessaries of life, and with which ladies adorn their whatnots, he made a selection well calculated to flatter her who was to bear his name. This took a great deal of time, but he found leisure to finish the bottle he had brought with him; he had an unfamiliar burning sensation in his breast; he was tremendously thirsty, and said to himself:
"I will drink seltzer with my dinner."
About five o'clock, as he was leaving a famous fancy-goods shop, he spied his two seconds, Messieurs de Maugrillé and de Gervier, coming toward him arm in arm. He went forward eagerly to meet them.
"Good afternoon, messieurs! Where are you going?"
"Why, we are going to dine."
"With friends?"
"No; at the first restaurant we see, provided that it's a good one."
"Then you will give me the pleasure of dining with me; we will celebrate my recovery and my approaching marriage."
"So be it."
"Get into my carriage; we can sit close together. I will take you to Philippe's; will that suit you?"
"Perfectly; one can dine very well there."
They entered the carriage. As they drove along, Monsieur de Maugrillé glanced very often at the count. Finally, he said to him:
"Are you completely cured?"
"As you see."
"Your face seems to me very much flushed; your eyes gleam with supernatural brilliancy."
"That's the result of the medicine I have been taking; a very agreeable remedy, I give you my word."
"Something that your doctor prescribed?"
"No; I got it from my opponent, Monsieur Cherami."
"Your opponent! You have seen him again?"
"To be sure; we are the best of friends. He's a hot-head, but a very good fellow."
"Did you ask him who those two Mohicans were who acted as his seconds?"
"Yes; one was a rich landed proprietor of Auvergne, who sends water here from Mont-Dore; the other was his clerk."
"Ah, yes! the so-called Pole, Monsieur de Chamousky. I shall know those two worthies again."
They arrived at Philippe's. The count ordered a dainty dinner, with wines of the finest vintages; and as he felt very thirsty, he deemed it advisable to begin with champagne frappé. His guests celebrated the count's recovery, and drank to his future bride; Monsieur de Gervier, who was in very high spirits, insisted on drinking to Cherami's seconds, whom he felt sure of meeting some day, when he proposed to buy some Mont-Dore water of them. The count did not spare himself, but tossed off glass after glass of champagne, crying:
"This is the end of my bachelor life!"
"Be careful, my dear De la Bérinière," said Monsieur de Maugrillé; "for a convalescent, you go rather fast; you don't spare yourself at all."
"I have never felt so well."
Suddenly Monsieur de Gervier, who had gone to the window for a breath of air, burst into a roar of Homeric laughter, and shouted:
"There they are; yes, those are they; I recognize them."
"Who, pray?"
"The dealers in Mont-Dore water. Come, look at them! they're going along the street, and their cask with them."
Monsieur de Maugrillé looked out, and exclaimed in dire wrath:
"Water-carriers! they were water-carriers!"
The count, having also looked out, declared that he did not recognize them; at last, Monsieur de Gervier observed:
"Oh, well! to be sure, it isn't Mont-Dore water that they sell; but, after all, it's a kind of water that's even more indispensable. For my part, this makes the affairall the more amusing, and that duel will be one of my most delightful recollections."
Monsieur de Maugrillé made a wry face and held his peace, and the count returned to the table.
"Come, messieurs," he said, "this need not prevent our drinking to my approaching happiness; it's extraordinary how thirsty I am to-night!"
The dinner lasted until a late hour, but at last they left the table and parted: Monsieur de Gervier going to see his Dulcineas, Monsieur de Maugrillé to play his game of whist, and the count to bed; he was very tired.
It was Wednesday, and the pretty widow was awaiting all the gifts which her fiancé had promised her.
"I flatter myself that it won't be to-day as it was that other time," she thought; "I shall not wait in vain. He won't have another duel on his hands; there's nobody to challenge him now. Monsieur Cherami is on my side; he wants me to marry the count. It's strange how he has turned about; perhaps he has had a row with Gustave; the main point is that he has kept his promise; he has restored Monsieur de la Bérinière's health, and that's a service I shall not forget."
But the clock struck twelve, and one, and two; and neither the bridegroom nor his presents appeared. Fanny paced her room impatiently, muttering:
"Oh! what a bore it is to wait! It may not be the count's fault, but for some time past it has seemed as if I were destined to be vexed and thwarted all the time."
When the clock struck four, the young woman could restrain her impatience no longer.
"Justine," she said to her maid, "you must hurry to Monsieur de la Bérinière's again and find out what has happened, what prevents him from coming. I can't passmy whole life waiting for that man. Go quickly, take a cab by the hour. I am ruining myself in cabs for him; it's to be hoped that he will make it up to me."
Justine obeyed her mistress; but when she returned, it was with a woe-begone face, as before.
"Mon Dieu! what has happened now?" cried Fanny.
"Monsieur le comte returned home late last night, about ten o'clock, madame, with a violent headache; he had been dining at a restaurant. He was hardly in bed when he had an attack of fever, followed by delirium; they sent for the doctor, who said that he had indigestion, inflammation of the intestines, and also of the lungs. In fact, he's very ill."
"Oh! Justine, what an unlucky creature I am! The idea of having indigestion just when you are going to be married!"
"It's inexcusable, madame."
"And to think that it has come just when everything was ready! There are people with him, I suppose?"
"Oh! yes, madame."
"Do you think that I might go there this evening?"
"What's the use, madame, when he is delirious? He wouldn't know you."
"All right! I will go to-morrow. Ah! I am really greatly to be pitied."
Three days later, on Saturday, Cherami betook himself to Rue de la Ville-l'Évêque, to see what effect the tonic had had on the count.
"It was on Sunday that I gave it to him," he reflected; "he must be vigorous and lively now, or else he never will be."
According to his custom, Cherami did not stop to speak to the concierge; he went up to the count'sreception-room, and found there the valet de chambre holding a handkerchief to his eyes.
"What's the trouble, my friend; how's your master?"
"Monsieur le comte died last night," the valet replied, with a sigh.
"Died!" cried Cherami. "What do you mean? Dead so soon! What in the devil did he die of?"
"Inflammation, indigestion. He took to his bed on Tuesday night, and the doctor said at once there was no hope."
"Poor count! Ah! that really causes me great distress.—It may be," thought Cherami, as he went away, "that we heated the oven a little too hot."
A month had passed since the Comte de la Bérinière's death. Was it from grief? was it from anger? Madame Monléard had shut herself up in her apartment ever since, and had been to see no one, not even her father or her sister. She must have known, however, that Adolphine would be the first to sympathize with her woes; but unfeeling persons never believe in the keen sensibility of others; and if anybody seems to pity them, they are always convinced that, in reality, that person rejoices in their misfortune. The proverb rightly says that we judge others by ourselves.
Monsieur Batonnin, who was always the first to be informed of anything that happened to disturb his friends oracquaintances, learned of the count's death very soon after it occurred, and went at once to Monsieur Gerbault's.
"Have you heard of the cruel accident, the misfortune that has befallen your elder daughter?" he said. "The Comte de la Bérinière is dead, and before he had married her."
"I should say," rejoined Monsieur Gerbault, "that the misfortune was the count's, not my daughter's."
"Oh! of course; but, after all, the count was no longer a young man; while your daughter was going to be a countess and have forty thousand francs a year; and I believe that the count agreed to make a will when he married her, making her his heir. A woman doesn't find such a husband every day."
"Monsieur Batonnin, it's a sad business to speculate on the death of the person one marries!"
"That is true, it's very sad; but still it's done."
"You may say what you please; I do not pity my daughter."
"You astonish me!"
Adolphine, finding that her sister did not come, went to see her; but the concierge always said to her: "Madame Monléard has gone out;" and the girl understood at last that her sister did not choose to see her.
One morning, Cherami was preparing to go out, when Madame Louchard came up to his room, and said, with an air of mystery:
"There's a person below who wants to know if you are visible; and I came up to make sure that you were dressed from top to toe."
"Who is this person, pray, who makes so much fuss about coming to my room?"
"A pretty young woman."
"A pretty young woman coming to call on me! Ah! my excellent hostess, methinks I have returned to the days of my early prowess!"
"I'll go and tell her to come up."
"One moment! Let me brush my hair a little, straighten the parting, and see if my whiskers are well combed."
"Look at the flirt!"
"It is never wrong to beautify one's self. Go, show this lady up. I have my cue!"
A lady of small stature, very well dressed, and of distinguished bearing, soon entered Cherami's room; when she was sure that he was alone, she raised her veil, saying:
"Good-morning, monsieur! do you recognize me?"
"God bless my soul! it's Madame Monléard, the fascinating widow. Pray be seated, fair lady; excuse me if I do not receive you in a palace, but for the moment I have only this hovel at my disposal. To what am I indebted for the honor of your visit?"
"I desired to have a little conversation with you. Such a melancholy thing has happened since we last met."
"Don't speak of it! The poor count's death upset me completely; I couldn't believe it."
"Especially as he seemed to be entirely restored to health. What was it that you gave him to take, in heaven's name?"
"Mon Dieu! just plain chartreuse—an excellent, strengthening liqueur. But it seems that he dined with two friends, that he did not spare himself, that the champagne made him ill, and——"
"Well, he's dead; we must make the best of it. But it is doubly unfortunate for me. I lose a great fortune, a title, which I had in my grasp."
"True; you lose all that!"
"And then I—I also lose—I lose—the husband with whom I broke off relations—in order to become a countess."
"True—you lose both. You are almost thrice a widow."
"And yet, it seems to me that I was excusable for being blinded for a moment by ambition. Mon Dieu! who in this world has not been? We all want to raise ourselves."
"That is the first thing to which we aspire when we are born."
"Monsieur Cherami, are you still on friendly terms with Gustave?"
"With Gustave? Oh! ours is a friendship for life and death; there will never be any break in our friendship. He's a man for whom I would throw myself into the fire."
"Ah! that is very fine. And tell me, do you know whether he will return to Paris soon?"
"Hum! I see what you are driving at!" thought Cherami, stroking his whiskers.
"Why, no, I don't," he replied. "According to what I learned at his uncle's house, it seems that Gustave, instead of returning to France, is going to Russia, where he will probably stay a long time—perhaps a year or two—or four."
Fanny made a gesture of disgust.
"What an idea! To go to Russia, where you freeze all the time! When one can be so comfortable in France—especially in Paris!"
"Oh! I beg your pardon; the women in Russia aren't frozen. It seems that there are some very pretty ones there, and some immensely rich! Gustave is a good-looking fellow, he'll turn some high-born damsel's head there, and make a marriage set in diamonds."
The little widow rose abruptly, lowered her veil, and said:
"Adieu, Monsieur Cherami! I must leave you."
"What! already? Had madame nothing else to say to me?"
"No. Frankly, I came because I wanted to learn something about Gustave; but what you have told me—— However, perhaps he will change his mind; he won't stay in Russia, he'll be bored to death there. In any event, if you learn anything about him, if you find out just where he is, it will be very good of you to let me know."
"Madame, I shall always be delighted to be able to gratify you."
"Adieu, Monsieur Cherami!"
Cherami looked after Fanny as she went away, saying to himself:
"I think I see myself telling her where Gustave is, even if I knew! I believe, God bless me! that she is inclined to go after him, that she hopes to catch him in her net again! Gad! he must either be stupid or bewitched. But there are some men, men of intelligence, too, whom love makes as stupid as earthen pots. I lied to the little widow when I told her that Gustave was going to Russia. On the contrary, when I went to ask about him, the day before yesterday, the concierge, who knows me now, told me that he expected him in a few days. Par la sambleu! I guess I'll go again; he may have come."
Cherami lost no time in making his way to the banker's house, where the concierge said to him:
"Monsieur Gustave Darlemont returned yesterday; he's at home."
Thereupon our friend scaled the stairs; in a few seconds he was at his young friend's door, and began by throwing himself into his arms. That first outburst of emotion passed, Cherami looked at Gustave and suddenly ejaculated:
"Ten thousand devils! What does that mean?"
That exclamation was drawn from him by the sight of a great scar, which started from the young man's forehead, crossed his left eyebrow, and came to an end at the lower part of the cheek.
"That?" replied Gustave, with a smile. "That is the result of a duel with swords with an Irish officer. You fought my battles here, my dear Cherami; the least I could do was to look after my own affairs across the channel."
"What! have you heard? But let me embrace you again! That scar is tremendously becoming to you, and I am delighted that you have had this duel, in which your adversary evidently didn't fight with a dead arm. Damnation! what a slash!—Ah! people won't say now that I fight instead of you; this will put a stopper on all the sneering tongues. But what did you fight about?"
"It was the sequel of a breakfast party of artists, business men, and this one Irish officer. We had plenty to eat and drink. The conversation fell on women, that inexhaustible subject of conversation among young men; I said that the French women, even those who were least pretty, always outdid the women of other countries in dress and carriage; thereupon the Irishman lost his temper, and called me a greenhorn. I threw my napkin in his face; after that, a duel with swords—that was the weapon chosen by my adversary; and this wound healed very slowly and kept me in bed six weeks; otherwise, I should have come home long ago."
"Dear Gustave! Ah! what a noble scar! It is very becoming, and I congratulate you again."
"But I have no congratulations for you, but reproaches! Pray tell me why you challenged that poor Comte de la Bérinière? what had he done to you?"
"Nothing, to me; but he had done something to you, having stolen your promised bride from you."
"Oh! my friend, if you reflect a moment, you certainly must feel that, on the contrary, he did me a very great service. But for him, I should have married a woman who never had the slightest affection for me, and who did not hesitate to toss me aside like a coat which you discard when you see an opportunity to get a handsomer one at the same price. That woman, who, as a reward of my constancy and the suffering she had caused me, did not hesitate to be a traitor to me a second time! Ah! my friend, I know her now, and I appreciate her at her real worth. A hard, selfish heart, overflowing with vanity, caring for nothing but money, recognizing no merit except that of wealth, incapable of the slightest sacrifice for others, and considering that everything is rightfully due to her. That's the kind of wife I should have had! Should I not be profoundly grateful to the man who was the cause of my rupture with her?"
"Is it really you that I am listening to, Gustave? You, talking in this strain of Fanny? Why, then you must be cured at last of your passion for her?"
"Oh, yes! radically cured; indeed, Cherami, what would you think of me if I still loved her after her last outrage?"
"I should think that she had cast a spell on you, although I haven't much belief in magic. But you have ceased to love her, that's the main point. You knowthat the poor count died before he had married her? but not of his wound; he had an attack of indigestion."
"It is very unfortunate for her; but I confess that I don't pity her."
"There is one thing that you don't suspect—that she is now contemplating running after you."
"Let her run, my dear fellow; I promise you that she will never catch me."
"You are quite sure of yourself?"
"Oh, yes! perfectly sure."
"You see, she is a damnably shrewd little wheedler, is the widow! I should feel surer of you if you loved somebody else."
"Somebody else! You must admit, Cherami, that my love for Fanny hasn't resulted in a way to encourage me."
"All women are not Fannys; there are some who are tender-hearted, sweet, affectionate; who would be so happy to be loved by you."
"Happy to be loved by me! What, in heaven's name, makes you think so?"
"I think so—because I am sure of it."
"You are sure that there is someone who would love me?"
"Oh! better than that; I am sure that someone does love you—cherishes a secret passion for you—a sentiment which she has always hidden, kept locked up in the depths of her heart; because it was hopeless, because she was simply the confidante of your love for another."
"Mon Dieu! what do you mean?" cried Gustave, as if his eyes were suddenly opened; "you think that Adolphine——"
"Ah! you have guessed—so much the better; that proves that you had thought of the thing before."
"No, indeed. What makes you think that Adolphine ever gives me a thought?"
"If you hadn't been in love with another woman, you would have discovered it yourself long ago. I had already guessed it from a multitude of little things: the way she looked at you—for a woman doesn't look at the man that she loves in the same way as at other men; I have studied that subject; but what proved conclusively to me that she loved you was what happened when I went to Monsieur Gerbault's to tell him of poor Auguste's unhappy end. I was embarrassed about telling the story, and I didn't make my meaning clear; Mademoiselle Adolphine thought that it was your death I was trying to tell them of. Instantly she gave a shriek of despair, and fainted; we had a great deal of difficulty in reviving her, and I had to keep saying again and again: 'It isn't Gustave who is dead!' before she recovered her senses. So that I whispered to myself: 'It's this one, and not the other, who cares for my young friend;' and I have a shrewd idea that Papa Gerbault reasoned just as I did."
"Why did you never tell me all this, Cherami?"
"Because it wasn't worth while to sing a pretty tune to a deaf man; you were daft then over your Fanny, you wouldn't have listened to me."
"Thanks, my friend, thank you for having observed it all. You cannot conceive the emotion it causes me."
"Why, yes, it's always pleasant to know that one has turned the head of a pretty young girl."
"Poor Adolphine! If it were true! If she really does love me!"
"Why, think of all the offers she has refused! I think I have heard that the count himself wanted to marry her; and a Monsieur de Raincy, and many more. What reason had she for refusing everybody who came forward, if she hadn't love for somebody in her heart? and that somebody was you—and yet she had no hope of marrying you. Oh! what a difference between her and her sister! Well, I've told you what I had to tell you; now, you may act as you please.—But, at all events, you are back again. I trust that you're not going to start off to-morrow?"
"Oh! I shall not go away again; I've had enough of travelling; I am going to settle down in Paris now."
"Good!vive la joie!But do you know that your uncle is still unrelenting to me? He received me very coldly when I asked him for employment."
"Never fear, my friend; I am here now, I will look about for you, and we will arrange all that."
"Very good; I will go, for you must have much to do; when shall I see you again?"
"Come in a few days, and I will tell you—yes, I will tell you what I have done."
"Agreed. Au revoir! My friend has returned; I have my cue!"
Gustave remained for a long time buried in thought; what Cherami had said to him on the subject of Adolphine had moved him profoundly. With a heart so easily touched, a heart made to love, Gustave had as yet met with nothing but falsehood and perfidy. He remembered now a thousand occasions on which Fanny's sister had shown the deepest interest in him; she was always kind to him, always had some consolation to give him; he recalled, too, her habitual melancholy, her sad smile, and the sighs which she tried in vain to restrain when he held her hand. Having passed in review all these memories, the young man hastily left the house, saying to himself:
"I will go to see her; I will read in her eyes whether she really loves me."
Adolphine was in her room, working at her embroidery frame; Madeleine was hovering about her mistress, pretending to arrange the furniture. Madeleine was an excellent girl, who had divined that her mistress was in love. She had noticed that she never smiled or seemed happy, except when Gustave came to see her; but she had heard it said that he was going to marry her mistress's sister, whereupon Adolphine had become more melancholy than ever. Later, it was said that the marriage was broken off, and yet Adolphine never smiled; to be sure, the young man who always brought a smile to her lips had ceased to come.
Madeleine would have been glad to have her young mistress confide her secret to her; but she confined in the lowest depths of her heart a passion which she believed to be well hidden. However, the maid succeeded occasionally, by dint of beating about the bush, in extorting a few words, which she made the most of.
"Mamzelle," said Madeleine, "isn't it very strange that madame your sister never comes to see you now?"
"My father was angry with her, you know."
"That didn't prevent her coming here when she wanted to find out who had had the audacity to fight with her count. She was sure it was Monsieur Gustave. But you told her she was mistaken, and you were right. Why should Monsieur Gustave fight for her, I should like to know, when she keeps making sport of him? A man doesn't fight, except for a person he loves; and I am very sure, for my part, that Monsieur Gustave never gives your sister a thought now."
"You think not, Madeleine?"
This question was asked with an eagerness which would have betrayed Adolphine's secret, if her maid had not already guessed it.
"But Fanny isn't married!" murmured Adolphine sadly, a moment later.
"Well, mamzelle, for my part, I am glad of it! She'd have kicked up altogether too much dust if she had been a countess."
"But when will Gustave come back?"
"Why, you don't suppose that he will still want to marry your sister, do you?"
"Why not? He loved her so much!"
"Well, I'll bet that he won't. Think of it, mamzelle, after two such affronts as that! for you told me it wasthe second time she had broken with him. Why, he would have to be a downright fool for that. Is Monsieur Gustave a fool?"
"Oh, no! far from it."
"Well, then——"
At that moment the bell rang; Adolphine started, without knowing why, and Madeleine cried:
"There, suppose it was him? Speak of the devil——"
It was, in fact, Gustave, and Madeleine's face was wreathed in smiles when she announced him to her mistress. The young man entered with more or less embarrassment, caused by Cherami's disclosures. But Adolphine held out her hand, and he pressed it in his with such force that the girl was deeply moved; for Gustave had never manifested so much pleasure at sight of her.
In a moment she spied the scar, and exclaimed in dismay:
"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Gustave, you are wounded!"
"No; it is all healed."
"But you surely have been terribly wounded. What was it?"
"A sword-cut."
"You have had a duel?"
"Yes, with an Irish officer. I was in London then."
"And why? For—whom did you fight?"
"Oh! it was for a mere trifle. A quarrel following a hearty breakfast."
"Mon Dieu! if you had been killed!"
"I shouldn't be with you now."
"Was the wound serious?"
"Yes, it kept me housed six weeks. But for that, I should have been at home more than a month ago."
"More than a month! Ah! then you were anxious to return at once as soon as you learned—what had happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, the thing that caused—oh! surely you know?"
"No, I do not know. I intended to return, because I had finished my uncle's business, because I was horribly bored in England, and because I had no reason for staying away from Paris any longer."
"Was that all?"
"To be sure. What other reason are you thinking of, pray?"
"Don't you know that the Comte de la Bérinière is dead?"
"Certainly I know it."
"And that he died before he had married my sister?"
"I know all that."
"You do? and that wasn't what brought you home?"
"Oh! mademoiselle, is it possible that you think that I can love your sister still! Oh, no! you cannot think it, for you would despise me if you had such an opinion of me as that."
"What! can it be possible? Gustave, Monsieur Gustave, you no longer love my sister? Oh! what joy! Mon Dieu! I don't know what I am saying. I mean that I think you will be happier now; and you have been sad and unhappy so long!"
"Yes, for a long, long time. And don't you think that I deserve to be rewarded for my constancy by finding at last a heart that does understand me, a woman who has—a little love for me?"
"A little? Oh! you will find one who loves you dearly! At least, I should think so, because you deserve it so well!"
"Dear Adolphine! Oh! I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, for presuming still to address you in that way."
"Why, it doesn't offend me—far from it."
"You have always been so kind to me! If you knew what pleasure it gives me at this moment to be sitting beside you again, looking at you, and reading what is written in your lovely, soft eyes! Oh! do not look away! Let me seek in them the hope of a sincere affection and an untroubled happiness!"
"Oh! mon Dieu! you make me tremble. Oh! pray don't say such things to me, if you don't mean them; for, you see, I too have been unhappy for such a long time! I have suffered in silence; for I dared not avow my sentiments; and I had to look on at the happiness of another, who was loved, adored, although she did not deserve such good-fortune; and I—I had to conceal all that I felt!"
Gustave seized Adolphine's hands and fell at her feet.
"Then it is true!" he cried; "you do love me? Ah! my whole life will be too short to pay you for this love! How many days of happiness I owe you in exchange for the torments I have caused you!"
"But it wasn't your fault, Gustave; you could not guess that I loved you. Besides, you loved my sister then; but now you don't love her any more, do you? Oh! tell me again that you don't love her!"
"As if it were possible for me to love her! Ah! my heart does not divide its allegiance, and now it is yours, yours only!"
"Mon Dieu! I must be dreaming, I am so happy!—Madeleine! Madeleine! come here! It is I whom he loves, it is I whom he wants to marry—and he knows that I will never refuse him!"
Madeleine was not far away. Servants are never far from people who are talking. She came skipping into the room like a crazy person, for she was really happy in her mistress's happiness.
"We were just talking about you when you came, monsieur," she said to Gustave; "I often talk about you to mamzelle, because I have found that that's the best way to make her listen to me.Dame!I'm from the country, but I guessed, all the same, what made mamzelle so sad; and now I'm sure that she'll be happy like me! and that she'll sing and dance like me!"
Monsieur Gerbault's arrival put an end to Madeleine's antics. He was surprised, as usual, to find Gustave in his house; but he was especially impressed on this occasion by the joy and happiness which he read on every face.
"Bless my soul!" he said, shaking hands with Gustave; "are you just back from the war, my friend? At all events, you have received a wound which proves that you don't turn your back on the foe."
"No, monsieur; it's the result of a duel. I am not quarrelsome, as you know, but a man cannot always be sure of himself."
"Have you returned to Paris for some time?"
"For always! I have no further desire to travel. My uncle, who is good enough to say that I understand the business very well, told me yesterday that he would make me his partner."
"The deuce! that's very nice, indeed; for your uncle's business is very extensive, I believe?"
"His profits never fall below sixty thousand francs a year."
"Of which you will have half. That makes you a richparti!—Talking ofpartis, Adolphine, I have another oneto propose to you; and this time perhaps you will accept, for you surely don't intend to die an old maid."
Adolphine looked anxiously at her father; Gustave himself had a vague feeling of apprehension. Monsieur Gerbault eyed them both with a sly expression, and continued:
"Yes, my child; a new suitor has come forward. He will never see twenty-five again, and he is not very rich; but he has a competence and an honorable position in society. It is Monsieur Batonnin."
"Monsieur Batonnin! Oh! I won't marry him. I won't marry anybody—that is to say—any of those who——"
Gustave made haste to interrupt Adolphine, and, going up to Monsieur Gerbault, said to him with the utmost seriousness:
"Monsieur, a long time ago I was to have been your son-in-law. Circumstances prevented it, and, if I must confess it, I think that I have every reason to thank destiny therefor. To-day, I come once more to ask your permission to become a member of your family. Mademoiselle Adolphine has consented to be my wife, and something tells me that she will not retract her word."
"Yes, father, yes.—Oh! I can't refuse Gustave. And you are willing that he should be my husband, aren't you?"
"Especially," replied Monsieur Gerbault, as he embraced his daughter, "especially as you have loved him for a long time!"
"What, father! you knew it? How strange! I never told anyone my secret."
"But a father's eyes are sharp-sighted, dear heart; and now I trust that you will recover your good spirits."
"Oh! father, I am so happy!"
"Take her, Gustave; she will not throw you over for another man. For, even when she could not possibly hope to be your wife, she refused all offers in order to be at liberty to love you. As for Monsieur Batonnin, I was sure beforehand of your reply; but, in order to soften your refusal, I will tell him that he came too late, because you are going to marry Gustave."