Here Leoni hung his head and relapsed into moody silence; the confession that perhaps he had intended to make to me died on his lips. I saw by his shame and his depression that it was quite useless to expose the sophistical arguments of his disordered brain; his conscience had already undertaken that task.
"Listen to me," he said, when we were reconciled. "To-morrow I close the house to all my friends and go to Milan, where I have to collect a considerable sum that is still due me. While I am gone, take good care of yourself, get well, arrange all the claims of our creditors, and make preparations for our departure. In a week, or a fortnight at most, I will return and pay our debts, take you away, and live with you wherever you choose, forever."
I believed all he said; I consented to everything. He went away and the house was closed. I did not wait until I was entirely well before I set at work to put everything in order and to inspect the tradesmen's bills. I hoped that Leoni would write me on arriving at Milan as he had promised. It was more than a week before I heard from him. He wrote me at last that he was sure of collecting much more money than he owed, but that he would be obliged to remain away three weeks instead of two. I resigned myself to wait. At the end of three weeks another letter informed me that he was compelled to wait for his money until the end of the month. I was discouraged. Alone in that vast palace, where, in order to avoid the insolent attentions of Leoni's boon-companions, I was obliged to conceal myself, to lower my curtains and sustain a sort of siege, consumed with anxiety, ill and weak, abandoned to the blackest thoughts and to all the remorse which the sting of unhappiness arouses, I was tempted many times to put an end to my miserable life.
But I was not at the end of my sufferings.
One morning, when I thought that I was alone in the great salon, where I sat with an open book on my knees, never thinking of glancing at it, I heard a noise near me, and throwing off my lethargy, I saw the hateful face of Vicomte de Chalm. I uttered an exclamation, and was about to turn him out of doors, when he apologized profusely with an air that was at once respectful and ironical, and I was at a loss for a reply. He said that he had forced my door by virtue of the authority contained in a letter from Leoni, who had specially instructed him to come to inquire about my health and report to him. I put no faith in this pretext, and was on the point of telling him so. He gave me no time, however, but began to talk himself with such impudent self-possession, that it would have been impossible for me to turn him out unless by calling my servants. He had resolved to take no hints.
"I see, madame," he said to me, with a hypocritical air of friendly interest, "that you are aware of the baron's unfortunate position. Be assured that my slender resources are at his disposal; unluckily they amount to very little in the way of satisfying the prodigality of such a magnificent character. What consoles me is that he is brave, enterprising and ingenious. He has rebuilt his fortune several times; he will do it again. But you will have to suffer, madame; you who are so young and delicate, so worthy of a happier lot! It is on your account that I am profoundly distressed by Leoni's follies, and by all those he has still to commit before he obtains what he needs. Poverty is a horrible thing at your age, and when one has always lived in luxury——"
I interrupted him abruptly, for I fancied that I could see what he was coming to with his insulting compassion. I did not yet realize that creature's baseness.
Divining my suspicion, he made haste to destroy it. He gave me to understand, with all the courtesy that his cold and cunning tongue could command, that he considered himself too old and too poor to offer me his support, but that an immensely wealthy young English lord, whom he had introduced to me and who had called on me several times, entrusted to him the honorable mission of tempting me by magnificent promises. I had not the strength to reply to that insult. I was so weak and so prostrated that I began to weep, without speaking. The infamous Chalm thought that I was wavering, and, in order to hasten my decision, informed me that Leoni would not return to Venice, that he was fast bound at the feet of Princess Zagorolo, and that he had given him full power to conclude this affair with me.
Indignation at last restored the presence of mind which I needed to overwhelm that man with contempt and obloquy. But he soon recovered from his confusion.
"I see, madame," he said, "that your youth and innocence have been cruelly abused, and I am incapable of returning hatred for hatred, for you misunderstand me, and therefore accuse me, whereas I know and esteem you. I will listen to your reproaches and your insults with all the stoicism which genuine devotion should have at its command, and then I will tell you into what an abyss you have fallen and from what depths of degradation I desire to rescue you."
He said this with such emphasis and so calmly that my credulous nature was in a measure subjugated. For an instant I thought that I had, perhaps, misjudged a sincere friend in the mental disturbance caused by my misfortunes. Fascinated by the impudent serenity of his features, I forgot the disgusting words I had heard him use, and I gave him time to speak. He saw that he must make the most of that moment of hesitation and weakness, and he made haste to give me information concerning Leoni that bore the stamp of hateful truth.
"I admire," he said, "the way in which your easily persuaded and confiding heart has clung so long to such a character. It is true that nature has endowed him with irresistible fascinations, and that he is extraordinarily skilful in concealing his villainy and assuming the outward appearance of loyalty. All the cities in Europe know him for a delightful rake. Only a very few persons in Italy know that he is capable of any villainy to gratify his innumerable whims. To-day you will see him take Lovelace for his model, to-morrow the shepherd Fido. As he is something of a poet, he is capable of receiving all sorts of impressions, of understanding and mimicking all the virtues, of studying and playing all varieties of rôles. He believes that he really feels all that he imitates, and sometimes he identifies himself so thoroughly with the character he has chosen, that he feels its passions and grasps its grandeur. But, as he is vile and corrupt at bottom, as there is nothing in him save affectation and caprice, vice suddenly springs to life in his blood, the tedium of his hypocrisy drives him into habits directly contrary to those which seemed natural to him. They who have seen him only in one of his deceptive disguises are amazed and think he has gone mad; they who know that it is his nature to be true in nothing, smile and wait quietly for some fresh invention."
Although this shocking portrait revolted me so that I was almost suffocated, yet it seemed to me that I saw in it some shafts of blinding light. I was struck dumb, my nerves contracted. I looked at Chalm with a terror-stricken expression; he congratulated himself on his success and continued:
"This revelation of his character surprises you; if you had had more experience, my dear lady, you would know that such a character is very common in the world. To have it to perfection, one must have a very superior mind; and the reason that many fools do not assume it is that they are incapable of sustaining it. You will notice that a vain man of moderate parts will almost always shut himself up in a sort of obstinacy which he deems peculiar to himself and which consoles him for another's success. He will admit that he is less brilliant, but will claim that he is more reliable and more useful. The world is inhabited by none but intolerable idiots and dangerous madmen. Everything considered, I prefer the latter; I have prudence enough to protect myself from them and tolerance enough to be amused by them. It is much better to laugh with a spiteful buffoon than to yawn with a tiresome virtuous man. That is why you have seen me living on intimate terms with a man whom I neither like nor esteem. Moreover I was attracted to this house by your amiable manners, by your angelic sweetness; I felt a fatherly affection for you. Young Lord Edwards, who from his window saw that you passed many hours motionless and pensive on your balcony, confided to me the violent passion he has conceived for you. I introduced him here, frankly and earnestly hoping that you would remain no longer in the painful and humiliating position in which Leoni's desertion left you; I knew that Lord Edwards had a heart worthy of yours, and that he would make your life happy and honorable. I have come to-day to renew my efforts and to avow his love, which you have not chosen to understand."
I bit my handkerchief in my indignation; but, absorbed by one fixed idea, I rose and said to him with emphasis:
"You claim that Leoni has authorized you to make me these infamous propositions: prove it! yes, monsieur, prove it!"
And I shook his arm with convulsive force.
"Parbleu! my dear girl," the villain retorted with his hateful sang-froid, "it's very easy to prove. But how is it that you don't understand it? Leoni no longer loves you; he has another mistress."
"Prove it!" I repeated, thoroughly exasperated.
"In a moment, in a moment," said he. "Leoni is in great need of money, and there are some women of a certain age whose countenance may be advantageous."
"Prove to me all that you say," I cried, "or I turn you out of the house instantly."
"Very well," he replied, not at all disconcerted; "but let us make a bargain: if I have lied to you, I will leave the house and never put my foot inside it again; but if I told you the truth when I said that Leoni has authorized me to speak to you about Lord Edwards, you will allow me to come again this evening with him."
As he spoke he took from his pocket a letter, on the envelope of which I recognized Leoni's handwriting.
"Yes!" I cried, carried away by the irresistible desire to know my fate; "yes, I promise."
The marquis slowly unfolded the letter and handed it to me. I read:
"MY DEAR VISCOUNT,"Although you often cause me fits of anger in which I would gladly strangle you, I believe that you are really my friend and that your offers of service are sincere. However, I will not take advantage of them. I have something better than that, and my affairs are going on famously once more. The only thing that embarrasses me and frightens me is Juliette. You are right: the moment that she knows, she will upset my plans. But what am I to do? I have the most idiotic and invincible attachment for her. Her despair takes away all my strength. I cannot see her weep without falling at her feet. You think that she will allow herself to be corrupted? No, you do not know her; she will never allow herself to be persuaded by greed. But anger? you say. Yes, that is more probable. What woman is there who will not do from anger what she would not do for love? Juliette is proud, I have become perfectly certain of that lately. If you tell her a little ill of me, if you give her to understand that I am unfaithful—perhaps!—But, great God! I cannot think of it without feeling as if my heart were being torn to pieces.—Try: if she yields, I will despise her and forget her; if she resists—why, then we will see. Whatever the result of your efforts, I have either a great calamity to dread or a great heartache to endure."
"MY DEAR VISCOUNT,
"Although you often cause me fits of anger in which I would gladly strangle you, I believe that you are really my friend and that your offers of service are sincere. However, I will not take advantage of them. I have something better than that, and my affairs are going on famously once more. The only thing that embarrasses me and frightens me is Juliette. You are right: the moment that she knows, she will upset my plans. But what am I to do? I have the most idiotic and invincible attachment for her. Her despair takes away all my strength. I cannot see her weep without falling at her feet. You think that she will allow herself to be corrupted? No, you do not know her; she will never allow herself to be persuaded by greed. But anger? you say. Yes, that is more probable. What woman is there who will not do from anger what she would not do for love? Juliette is proud, I have become perfectly certain of that lately. If you tell her a little ill of me, if you give her to understand that I am unfaithful—perhaps!—But, great God! I cannot think of it without feeling as if my heart were being torn to pieces.—Try: if she yields, I will despise her and forget her; if she resists—why, then we will see. Whatever the result of your efforts, I have either a great calamity to dread or a great heartache to endure."
"Now," said the marquis when I had finished reading, "I am going to fetch Lord Edwards."
I hid my face in my hands and sat for a long time without moving or speaking. Then I suddenly hid the hateful letter in my bosom and rang violently.
"Let my maid pack a portmanteau in five minutes," I said to the servant, "and tell Beppo to bring the gondola."
"What do you mean to do, my dear child?" said the astonished viscount; "where do you propose to go?"
"To Lord Edwards, of course," I retorted with a bitter irony of which he did not understand the meaning. "Go and tell him," I added; "say that you have earned your pay and that I am flying to him."
He began to understand that I was frantic with rage and was jeering at him. He paused, uncertain what to do. I left the salon without another word, and went to put on my travelling dress. I came down again, attended by my maid, who carried the portmanteau. As I was stepping into the gondola, I felt that a trembling hand caught my cloak and held me back; I turned and saw Chalm, greatly disturbed and alarmed.
"Where in heaven's name are you going?" he said in an altered voice.
I was triumphant to have destroyed his sang-froid, the sang-froid of a villain, at last.
"I am going to Milan," I said, "and I am going to make you lose the two or three hundred sequins Lord Edwards has promised you."
"One moment," shouted the viscount furiously, "give me the letter or you shall not go."
"Beppo!" I cried, wild with anger and terror, darting toward the gondolier, "save me from this ruffian, he is breaking my arm!"
All Leoni's servants, finding me a mild mistress, were devoted to me. Beppo, a silent, resolute fellow, seized me about the waist and lifted me from the stairs. At the same time he pushed against the lowest step with his foot, and the gondola shot out into the canal just as he deposited me on the seat with marvellous dexterity and strength. Chalm was very near being dragged into the water. He disappeared, after giving me a look which was a vow of everlasting hatred and implacable revenge.
I reached Milan after travelling night and day without giving myself time to rest or reflect. I alighted at the inn which Leoni had given me as his address, and asked for him; they looked at me in amazement.
"He does not live here," the clerk replied. "He came here when he arrived and hired a small room where he put his luggage; but he only comes here in the morning to get his letters and be shaved; then he goes away."
"But where are his lodgings?" I asked.
I saw that the man looked at me with curiosity and uncertainty, and, whether from a feeling of respect or of compassion, could not make up his mind to reply. I was discreet enough not to insist, and bade them take me to the room Leoni had hired.
"If you know where he can be found at this time of day," I said to the clerk, "send for him and say that his sister has arrived."
In about an hour Leoni appeared and held out his arms to embrace me.
"Wait a moment," I said, drawing back, "if you have deceived me hitherto, do not add another crime to those you have already committed against me. Here, look at this letter; did you write it? If somebody has imitated your handwriting, tell me quickly, for I hope that it is so, and I am suffocating."
Leoni glanced at the letter and turned as pale as death.
"Mon Dieu!" I cried, "I hoped that I had been deceived! I came to you, almost certain of finding that you knew nothing of this infamy. I said to myself: 'He has done much that is bad, he has deceived me before; but, in spite of everything, he loves me. If it is true that I am an annoyance to him and that I stand in his way, he would have told me so when I felt the courage to leave him, barely a month ago; whereas he threw himself at my feet and implored me to remain. If he is ambitious and a schemer, he would not have kept me, for I have no fortune, and my love is of no advantage to him in any way. Why should he complain of my importunity now? He has but a word to say to send me away. He knows that I am proud; he need not fear my prayers or my reproaches. Why should he wish to degrade me?'"
I could not continue; a flood of tears choked my voice and arrested my words.
"Why should I wish to degrade you?" cried Leoni beside himself with emotion; "to spare my tattered conscience another cause for remorse! You cannot understand that, Juliette. It is easy to see that you have never committed a crime!"
He paused; I sank into a chair and we faced each other, equally overcome.
"Poor angel!" he cried at last, "did you deserve to be the companion and victim of such a knave as I am? What did you do to God before you were born, unfortunate child, that he should throw you into the arms of a villain who is killing you with shame and despair? Poor Juliette! poor Juliette!"
And in his turn he shed a torrent of tears.
"Very well," I said; "I came to hear your justification or my sentence. You are guilty, I forgive you and I go."
"Never say that again!" he cried vehemently. "Strike that word out of our interviews forever. When you intend to leave me, make your escape adroitly, so that I cannot prevent you; but so long as a drop of blood is left in my veins, I will not consent to it. You are my wife, you are my wife, you belong to me and I love you. I can kill you with grief, but I cannot let you go."
"I will accept the grief and death," I said, "if you tell me that you still love me."
"Yes, I love you, I love you!" he cried, with his usual transports. "I love no one but you, and I never shall be able to love any other!"
"Wretch! you lie," I said to him. "You have been paying court to the Princess Zagarolo."
"True, but I detest her."
"What!" I cried, in utter amazement. "Why do you follow her then? What shameful secrets are hidden beneath all these riddles? Chalm tried to persuade me that a vile ambition bound you to that woman; that she was old—that she paid you. Ah! what things you make me say!"
"Do not believe these calumnies," said Leoni, "the princess is young and beautiful; I am in love with her."
"Very well," I said, with a profound sigh, "I would rather have you unfaithful than dishonored. Love her, love her dearly, for she is rich and you are poor! If you love her dearly, wealth and poverty will be mere words between you. I loved you so, and, although I had nothing to live on but what you gave me, I did not blush on that account; now, I should debase myself and I should be unendurable to you. So let me go. Your obstinacy in keeping me here, just to kill me by torture, is both foolish and cruel."
"That is true," said Leoni, gloomily. "Go! I am a villain to try to prevent you."
He left the room with an air of desperation. I threw myself on my knees, I prayed to heaven to give me strength, I invoked the memory of my mother, and I rose to make once more my brief preparations for departure.
When my portmanteau was locked, I ordered post-horses for the same evening, and threw myself on the bed to wait. I was so overdone by fatigue and so prostrated by despair, that I felt, as I fell asleep, something resembling the peace of the grave.
After an hour's sleep, I was aroused by Leoni's passionate kisses.
"It is of no use for you to think of going away," he said; "it is beyond my strength. I have sent away your horses and had your trunk unpacked. I have been out walking alone in the country, and I have done my utmost to force myself to give you up. I resolved not to bid you adieu. I went to the princess's and tried to persuade myself that I loved her; I hate her and I love you. You must stay."
These constant agitations weakened my mind as well as my body. I began to lose the faculty of reasoning; evil and good, esteem and contempt became vague sounds, words which I no longer cared to understand, and which frightened me as much as if they were interminable columns of figures which I was told to add. Leoni had thenceforth more than a moral influence over me; he had a magnetic power which I could not escape. His glance, his voice, his tears acted on my nerves no less than on my heart. I was simply a machine turned any way at his pleasure.
I forgave him. I abandoned myself to his caresses; I promised him whatever he chose. He told me that the Princess Zagarolo, being a widow, had thought of marrying him; that the brief and trivial fancy he had had for her had made her believe in his love; that she had foolishly compromised herself for him; and that he must either spare her pride and cut loose from her gradually, or have trouble with the whole family.
"If it were simply a matter of fighting with all her brothers, cousins and uncles," he said, "I should worry very little about it; but they will act as great noblemen, denounce me as acarbonaro, and have me thrown into prison, where I may have to wait ten years before the authorities will deign to look into my case."
I listened to all these absurd fables with the credulity of a child. Leoni had never taken any part in politics, but I was still fond of persuading myself that all that was problematical in his life was connected with some great enterprise of that kind. I consented to pass for his sister in the hotel, to go out seldom, and never with him—in short, to leave him absolutely at liberty to leave me at any moment at a nod from the princess.
That life was perfectly frightful, but I endured it. The tortures of jealousy had been unknown to me hitherto; now they awoke, and I exhausted them all. I spared Leoni the tedium of combating them; indeed I had not enough strength left to express them. I resolved to allow myself to die in silence; I felt sick enough to hope for death. Ennui consumed me at Milan, even more than at Venice; I suffered more, and had less distraction. Leoni lived openly with the Princess Zagarolo. He passed the evening in her box at the play, or at some ball with her. He made his escape to come to see me for an instant, then returned to sup with her, and did not come back to the hotel until six o'clock in the morning. He went to bed utterly exhausted and often in ill-humor. He rose at noon, taciturn and distraught, and went to drive with his mistress. I often saw them pass. Leoni when with her had the same discreetly triumphant air, the same coquettish bearing, the same fond and happy expression that he once had with me; now I had only his complaints and a narrative of his vexations. To be sure, I preferred to have him come to me careworn and disgusted by his slavery, to being tranquil and indifferent, as sometimes happened. It seemed at those times that he had forgotten the love he had once had for me and that which I still had for him. He found it altogether natural to confide to me the details of his intimacy with another, and did not perceive that the smile on my face as I listened to him was a mute convulsion of pain.
One evening, at sunset, I was coming out of the cathedral, where I had prayed fervently to God to call me back to him and to accept my sufferings in expiation of my faults. I walked slowly through the magnificent portal and leaned from time to time against a pillar, for I was very weak. A slow fever was consuming me. The excitement of prayer and the atmosphere of the church had bathed me in a cold perspiration. I resembled a spectre risen from the sepulchral vaults of the edifice to look once more upon the last rays of the sun. A man who had been following me for some time, without attracting my attention particularly, spoke to me, and I turned, without surprise or alarm, with the apathy of a dying woman. I recognized Henryet.
Instantly, the memory of my home and my family awoke in me with a violent throb. I forgot that young man's strange behavior towards me, the terrible power that he wielded over Leoni, his former love, which I had welcomed so coldly, and the detestation I had felt for him afterward. I thought only of my father and mother, and eagerly offering him my hand, I overwhelmed him with questions. He was in no hurry to reply, although he seemed touched by my emotion and my eagerness.
"Are you alone here?" he said to me; "can I talk to you without exposing you to any danger?"
"I am alone; no one here knows me or pays any attention to me. Let us sit down on this stone bench, for I am not well; and, for the love of heaven, tell me about my parents! It is a whole year since I have heard their names."
"Your parents!" said Henryet sadly; "there is one of them who no longer weeps for you."
"My father is dead!" I cried, rising. Henryet did not reply. I fell back, utterly crushed, on the bench, and said under my breath: "My God, who wilt soon reunite us, bid him forgive me!"
"Your mother," said Henryet, "was ill a long while. Then she tried to find relief in society; but she had lost her beauty with much weeping, and could find no consolation there."
"My father dead," I said, clasping my nerveless hands, "my mother aged and heart-broken! What of my aunt?"
"Your aunt tries to console your mother by proving that you do not deserve her regrets; but your mother will not listen to her and fades more and more every day in solitude and weariness. And you, madame?"
Henryet uttered these last three words in a chilling tone, in which, however, I could detect compassion beneath the apparent contempt.
"I, as you see, am dying."
He took my hand and tears came to his eyes.
"Poor girl!" he said to me; "it is not my fault. I did all that I could to keep you from falling over the precipice, but you insisted."
"Do not speak of that," I said; "it is impossible for me to discuss it with you. Tell me if my mother tried to find me after my flight?"
"Your mother sought you, but not earnestly enough. Poor woman! she was thunderstruck and lost her presence of mind. There is no vigor in the blood that you inherit."
"That is true," said I indifferently. "We were all indolent and placid in my family. Did my mother hope that I would return?"
"She hoped so, foolishly and childishly. She still expects you and will expect you till her last breath."
I began to sob. Henryet let me weep without saying a word. I believe that he was weeping too. I wiped my eyes to ask him if my mother had been distressed by my dishonor, if she blushed for me, if she still dared to mention my name.
"She has it always on her lips," he replied. "She tells her grief to everybody; people are a little tired of the story now, and they smile when your mother begins to sob; or else they avoid her, saying: 'Here comes Madame Ruyter to tell us about her daughter's abduction again!'"
I listened to this without anger and said, raising my eyes to his:
"And do you despise me, Henryet?"
"I no longer love you or esteem you," he replied; "but I pity you and I am at your service. My purse is at your disposal. Do you wish to write to your mother? Would you like me to take you back to her? Speak, and do not fear to abuse me. I am not acting from affection but from a sense of duty. You have no idea, Juliette, how much sweeter life becomes to those who lay down rules for themselves and observe them."
I made no reply.
"Do you mean, then, to remain here alone and deserted? How long ago didyour husbandleave you?"
"He has not left me," I replied; "we live together; he objects to my going away, which I have long been planning to do, but which I no longer have the strength to think about."
I relapsed into silence; he gave me his arm as far as our hotel. I did not know when we arrived there. I fancied that I was leaning on Leoni's arm and I strove to conceal my sufferings and say nothing of them.
"Shall I come again to-morrow to learn your intentions?" said Henryet, as he left me at the door.
"Yes," I replied, not thinking that he might meet Leoni.
"At what time?"
"Whenever you choose," I answered with a dazed air.
He came the next day a few moments after Leoni had gone out. I had forgotten that I had given him permission to come, and I exhibited so much surprise that he was obliged to remind me. Thereupon, there came to my mind certain words I had overheard between Leoni and his companions, the meaning of which had hitherto been quite vague in my mind, but which seemed applicable to Henryet and to imply a threat of assassination. I shuddered as I reflected upon the danger to which I exposed him.
"Let us go out," I said in dismay; "you are not safe here."
He smiled, and his face expressed utter contempt for the danger I dreaded.
"Believe me," he said, as I seemed inclined to insist, "the man of whom you speak would not dare raise his hand against me, as he dares not even raise his eyes to mine."
I could not hear Leoni spoken of in that way. Despite all the wrongs he had done me, despite all his faults, he was still dearer to me than all the world. I requested Henryet not to refer to him in such terms before me.
"Overwhelm me with contempt," I said; "reproach me for being a heartless girl, utterly without pride; for having abandoned the best parents that ever lived; and for trampling on all the laws that are imposed upon my sex; I will take no offence, I will listen to you, weeping, and I will be none the less grateful to you for the offers of service you made me yesterday. But let me respect Leoni's name, it is the only treasure which, in the privacy of my heart, I can still oppose to the malediction of the world."
"Respect Leoni's name!" cried Henryet with a bitter laugh. "Poor woman! However, I will consent if you choose to start for Brussels! Go home and comfort your mother, return to the path of duty, and I promise to leave in peace the villain who has ruined you, and whom I could crush like a wisp of straw."
"Return to my mother!" I replied. "Oh! yes, my heart bids me do it every moment in the day; but my pride forbids me to return to Brussels. How should I be treated by all the women who were jealous of my splendor, and who rejoice now at my degradation?"
"I am afraid, Juliette," said he, "that is not your strongest reason. Your mother has a country house where you can live with her far away from the hardhearted world. With your fortune you can live anywhere you please where your disgrace is not known, and where your beauty and your sweet nature would soon bring you new friends. But confess that you do not wish to leave Leoni."
"I do wish to," I replied, weeping, "but I cannot."
"Unfortunate, most unfortunate of women!" said Henryet sadly; "you are naturally good and beautiful, but you lack pride. Where noble pride is lacking, there is nothing to build upon. Poor weak creature! I pity you from the bottom of my soul, for you have profaned your heart, you have soiled it by contact with a vile heart, you have bent your neck under a hand stained with crime, you love a dastard! I ask myself how I could ever have loved you, but I also ask myself how I could fail to pity you now."
"Why, what in the name of heaven has Leoni done," I demanded, terrified and appalled by his manner and his language, "that you assume the right to speak of him in this way?"
"Do you doubt my right, madame? Do you wish me to tell you why Leoni, who is personally brave,—that is beyond question,—and who is the best swordsman that I know, has never thought fit to pick a quarrel with me, who never touched a sword in my life, and who drove him out of Paris with a word, out of Brussels with a glance?"
"That is inconceivable," I said, in dire distress.
"Is it possible that you don't know whose mistress you are?" continued Henryet earnestly; "has no one ever told you the marvellous adventures of Chevalier Leoni? have you never blushed for having been his accomplice and for having fled with a swindler after robbing your father's shop?"
I uttered a cry of anguish and hid my face in my hands; then I raised my head and exclaimed with all my strength:
"That is false! I never was guilty of such a despicable act! Leoni is no more capable of it than I am. We had not travelled forty leagues on the way to Geneva when Leoni stopped in the middle of the night, asked for a box, and put all the jewels in it to send them back to my father."
"Are you quite sure that he did that?" inquired Henryet with a contemptuous laugh.
"I am sure of it!" I cried; "I saw the box, I saw Leoni put the diamonds into it."
"And you are sure that the box didn't accompany you all the rest of your journey? you are sure that it wasn't unpacked at Venice?"
These words cast such a dazzling gleam of light into my mind, that I could not avoid seeing what it disclosed. I suddenly remembered what I had previously tried in vain to remember: the first occasion on which my eyes had made the acquaintance of that fatal box. At that moment the three times that I had seen it were perfectly clear in my mind and linked themselves together logically to force me to an irresistible conclusion: the first, the night we passed in the mysterious château, when I saw Leoni put the diamonds in the box; the second, the last night at the Swiss chalet, when I saw Leoni mysteriously disinter the treasure he had entrusted to the earth; the third, the second day of our stay in Venice, when I had found the empty box and the diamond pin on the floor with the packing material. The visit of Thaddeus the Jew, and the five hundred thousand francs which, according to the conversation I had overheard between Leoni and his friends, had been advanced by him at the time of our arrival in Venice, coincided perfectly with the memories of that morning. I wrung my hands, then raised them toward heaven and cried, speaking to myself:
"So everything is lost, even my mother's esteem; everything is poisoned, even the memory of Switzerland! Those six months of love and happiness were devoted to covering up a theft."
"And to eluding the pursuit of the police," added Henryet.
"No! no!" I cried wildly, looking at him as if to question him; "he loved me! it is certain that he loved me! I cannot think of that time without being absolutely certain of his love. He was a thief who had stolen a maid and a jewel-chest, and who loved them both."
Henryet shrugged his shoulders; I realized that I was wandering; and, struggling to recover my reason, I insisted upon knowing the explanation of the incredible power he possessed over Leoni.
"You want to know that?" he said. He reflected a moment, then continued: "I will tell you, I can safely tell you; indeed, it is impossible that you can have lived with him a year without suspecting it. He must have made dupes enough at Venice under your eyes."
"Made dupes! he! how so? Oh! be careful what you say, Henryet! he is burdened with accusations enough already."
"I believe that you are incapable as yet of being his accomplice, Juliette; but beware that you do not become so; be careful for your family's sake. I do not know to what point the impunity of a swindler's mistress extends."
"You are killing me with shame, monsieur; your words are cruel; pray complete your work and break my heart altogether by telling me what gives you the right of life and death, so to speak, over Leoni? Where have you known him? what do you know of his past life? I know nothing of it myself, alas! I have seen so many contradictory things about him that I no longer know whether he is rich or poor, noble or plebeian; I do not even know if the name he bears belongs to him."
"That is the only thing that chance saved him the trouble of stealing," Henryet replied. "His name is really Leone Leoni, and he belongs to one of the noblest families of Venice. His father had a small fortune and occupied the palace in which you recently lived. He had an unbounded fondness for this only son, whose precocious talents indicated a superior mental organization. Leoni was educated with care, and, when he was fifteen years old, travelled over half of Europe with his tutor. In five years he learned with incredible ease the language, literature and manners of the countries he visited. His father's death brought him back to Venice with his tutor. This tutor was Abbé Zanini, whom you must have seen frequently at your house last winter. I do not know whether you formed an accurate judgment of him; he is a man of vivid imagination, of exquisite mental keenness, of immense learning, but inconceivably immoral and extremely cowardly beneath a hypocritical exterior of tolerance and sound common-sense. He had naturally depraved his pupil's conscience, and had replaced a proper understanding of justice and injustice in his mind by an alleged knowledge of life, which consisted in committing all the amusing escapades, all the profitable sins, all the actions, good and evil, which can possibly tempt the human heart. I knew this Zanini at Paris, and I remember hearing him say that one must know how to do evil in order to know how to do good, and that one must be able to find enjoyment in vice in order to be able to find enjoyment in virtue. This man, who is more prudent, more adroit and more cold-blooded than Leoni, is much superior to him in knowledge; and Leoni, carried away by his passions or baulked by his caprices, follows him at a distance, making innumerable false moves which are certain to ruin him in society, and which indeed have already ruined him, since he is at the mercy of a few grasping confederates and a few honest men, whose generosity he will soon tire out."
A deathlike chill froze my blood while Henryet was speaking thus. I had to make an effort to listen to the rest.
"At the age of twenty," continued Henryet, "Leoni found himself in possession of a reasonably handsome fortune, and entirely in control of his own movements. He was in a most advantageous position to do good; but he found his means inferior to the requirements of his ambition, and pending the time when he should build up a fortune equal to his desires, as a result of I know not what insane or culpable schemes, he squandered his inheritance in two years. His house, which he decorated with the splendor you have seen, was the rendezvous of all the dissipated youths and abandoned women of Italy. Many foreigners, connoisseurs in the matter of fast living, were received there; and thus Leoni, who had already made the acquaintance, during his travels, of many people of fashion, formed the most brilliant connections in all countries and made sure of many invaluable friends.
"As is everywhere the case, schemers and blacklegs succeeded in insinuating themselves into this large circle. I saw in Leoni's company in Paris several faces that aroused my distrust, and whose owners I suspect to-day of forming with him and the Marquis de —— an association of fashionable sharpers. Yielding to their counsels, to Zanini's lessons, or to his natural inclinations, young Leoni seems to have soon tried his hand at cheating at cards. This much is certain, that he became eminently proficient in that art and probably practised it in all the capitals of Europe without arousing the slightest suspicion. When he was absolutely ruined, he left Venice and began to travel again as an adventurer. At this point the thread of his history escapes me. Zanini, from whom I gleaned a part of what I have told you, claimed to have lost sight of him from that time and to have learned only by means of correspondence, frequently interrupted, of Leoni's innumerable changes of fortune and innumerable intrigues in society. He apologized for having produced such a pupil by saying that Leoni had perverted his doctrines; but he excused the pupil by praising the incredible cleverness, the strength of will and the presence of mind with which he had challenged fate, endured and conquered adversity. At last Leoni came to Paris with his faithful friend the Marquis de ——, whom you know, and it was there that I had an opportunity to see and judge him.
"It was Zanini who introduced him to the Princesse de X——, of whose children he was the tutor. The abbé's superior mental endowments had given him for several years past a less subordinate position in the princess's household than that usually occupied by tutors in great families. He did the honors of the salon, led the conversation, sang beautifully, and managed the concerts.
"Leoni, thanks to his wit and his talents, was welcomed with much warmth, and his company was soon sought with enthusiasm. He acquired in certain circles in Paris the same authority which you have seen him exercise over a whole provincial city. He bore himself magnificently, rarely gambled, and when he did so, always lost immense sums, which the Marquis de —— generally won. This marquis was introduced by Zanini shortly after Leoni's appearance. Although a compatriot of the latter, he pretended not to know him or rather to be prepossessed against him. He whispered in everybody's ear that they had been rivals in love at Venice, and that, although they were both cured of their passion, they were not cured of their hostility. Thanks to this knavery, no one suspected them of conducting their industry in concert. They carried it on during the whole winter without arousing the least suspicion. Sometimes they both lost heavily, but more frequently they won, and they lived like princes, each in his own way. One day, a friend of mine, who had lost a large amount to Leoni, detected an almost imperceptible signal between him and the marquis. He said nothing, but watched them both closely for several days. One evening, when we had both bet on the same side, and lost as usual, he came to me and said:
"'Look at those two Italians; I strongly suspect and am almost certain that they cheat in concert. I have to leave Paris on very urgent business; I leave to you the task of following up my discovery and warning your friends, if there is occasion to do so. You are a discreet and prudent man; you will not act, I hope, without being quite sure what you are doing. In any event, if you have trouble with the fellows, do not fail to give them my name as the one who first accused them, and write to me; I will undertake to settle the dispute with one of them.'
"He gave me his address and left Paris. I watched the two knights of industry and acquired absolute certainty that my friend had made no mistake. I discovered the whole secret of their knavery one evening at a party given by the Princesse de X——. I at once took Zanini by the arm and led him aside.
"'Are you very well acquainted,' I asked him, 'with the two Venetians whom you introduced here?'
"'Very well,' he answered with much assurance; 'I was the tutor of one of them and the friend of the other.'
"'I congratulate you,' said I, 'they are a pair of blacklegs.'
"I made this assertion with such confidence that he changed countenance despite his constant habit of dissimulation. I suspected him of having an interest in their winnings, and I told him that I proposed to unmask his two countrymen. He was altogether discomposed at that and earnestly entreated me not to do it. He tried to persuade me that I was mistaken. I asked him to take me to his room with the marquis. There I explained myself in a few very plain words, and the marquis, instead of denying the charge, turned pale and fainted. I do not know whether that scene was a comedy played by him and the abbé, but they appeared to me in such distress, the marquis displayed so much shame and remorse, that I was good-natured enough to allow my determination to be shaken. I demanded simply that he should leave France instantly with Leoni. The marquis promised everything; but I proposed to signify my decision to his accomplice in person, and told him to send for him. He kept us waiting a long while; at last he arrived, not humble and trembling like the other, but quivering with rage, and with clenched fists. Perhaps he expected to intimidate me by his insolence; I informed him that I was ready to give him all the satisfaction he desired, but that I should begin by accusing him publicly. At the same time I offered the marquis satisfaction on the same conditions on my friend's behalf. Leoni's impudence was disconcerted. His companions convinced him that he was lost if he resisted. He yielded, not without much remonstrance and bad temper, and they both left the house without returning to the salon. The marquis started the next day for Geneva, Leoni for Brussels.
"I was left alone with Zanini in his room; I told him of my suspicions of him and of my purpose to denounce him to the princess. As I had no absolute proofs against him, he was less humble and suppliant than the marquis; but I saw that he was no less frightened. He exerted all the resources of his intelligence in appealing to my good nature and my discretion. I made him confess, however, that he was aware of his pupil's knavery to a certain point, and I forced him to tell me his story. In that respect, Zanini lacked prudence; he should have maintained obstinately that he knew nothing of it; but my stern threats to unmask the guests he had introduced made him lose his head. I left him, thoroughly convinced that he was a rascal, as cowardly, but more circumspect than the other two. I kept the secret in my own interest. I was afraid that the influence he had acquired over the Princesse de X—— would be stronger than my honorable character, that he would be clever enough to persuade her to regard me as an impostor or a fool, and would make my conduct appear ridiculous. I was sick of the filthy business. I thought no more about it and left Paris three months later. You know who was the first person my eyes sought as I entered Delpech's ball-room. I was still in love with you, and, having reached Brussels only an hour earlier, I did not know that you were to be married. I discovered you in the midst of the crowd; I walked toward you and saw Leoni at your side. I thought that I was dreaming, that I was deceived by a resemblance. I made inquiries and discovered beyond question that your fiancé was the knight of industry who had stolen three or four hundred louis from me. I did not hope to supplant him, indeed I think that I did not wish to. To succeed such a man in your heart, perhaps to wipe from your cheeks the marks of his kisses; that was a thought that killed my love. But I swore that an innocent girl and an honorable family should not be the dupes of a scoundrel. You know that our explanation was neither long nor diffuse; but your fatal passion defeated the effort that I made to save you."
Henryet paused. I hung my head, I was overwhelmed; it seemed to me that I could never again look anybody in the face. Henryet continued:
"Leoni avoided trouble very skilfully by carrying off his fiancée from before my eyes, that is to say, a million francs in diamonds which she had upon her person. He concealed you and your jewels, I don't know where. Amid all the tears shed over his daughter's fate, your father shed a few for his beautiful gems so beautifully mounted. One day he artlessly observed in my presence that the thing that grieved him most in regard to the theft was that the diamonds would be sold for half their value to some Jew, and that the beautiful settings, with all their artistic workmanship, would be broken up and melted by the receiver, to avoid compromising himself. 'It was hardly worth while to do such work!' he said, weeping; 'it was hardly worth while to have a daughter and love her so dearly!'
"It would seem that your father was right, for with the proceeds of his robbery Leoni found means to cut a swath at Venice for only three months. The palace of his fathers had been sold and was now to let. He hired it and replaced his name, so they say, on the cornice of the inner courtyard, not daring to place it over the main gateway. As he is actually known to be a swindler by very few people, his house became once more the rendezvous of many honorable men, who doubtless were fleeced there by his confederates. But it may be that his fear of being detected deterred him from joining them, for he was speedily ruined anew. He contented himself, I presume, with winking at the brigandage those villains committed in his house; he is at their mercy and would not dare to get rid of those whom he detests most bitterly. Now he is, as you know, the Princess Zagarolo's titular lover: that lady, who has been very beautiful, is now, faded and doomed to die very soon of a disease of the lungs. It is supposed that she will leave all her property to Leoni, who pretends to be violently in love with her, and whom she loves passionately. He is waiting for her to make her will. Then you will be rich, Juliette. He has probably told you so; have patience a little longer and you will take the princess's box at the play, you will drive in her carriages, on which you will simply change the bearings; you will embrace your lover in the magnificent bed in which she will have died, you will even wear her gowns and diamonds."
It may be that the pitiless Henryet said more than this, but I heard no more; I fell to the ground in terrible convulsions.
When I came to myself, I was alone with Leoni. I was lying on a sofa. He was looking at me fondly and anxiously.
"Dear heart," he said, when he saw that I was recovering the use of my faculties, "tell me what has happened! Why did I find you in such a terrible condition? Where are you in pain? What new grief have you had?"
"None," I replied, and I spoke the truth, for at that moment I remembered nothing.
"You are deceiving me, Juliette; some one has distressed you. The servant who was with you when I came home told me that a man came to see you this morning, that he remained with you a long while, and that when he went out he told them to come and look after you. Who was this man, Juliette?"
I had never lied in my life; it was impossible for me to reply. I did not wish to mention Henryet's name. Leoni frowned.
"A mystery!" he said; "a mystery between us! I would never have believed you capable of it. But you know no one here! Can it be that——? If it were he, there is not blood enough in his veins to wash away his insolence! Tell me the truth, Juliette, has Chalm been here to see you? Has he persecuted you again with his vile proposals and his calumnies against me?"
"Chalm!" I exclaimed. "Is he in Milan?" And I felt a thrill of terror which must have been reflected on my face, for Leoni saw that I was ignorant of the viscount's arrival.
"If it was not he," he said to himself, "who can this caller have been, who was closeted three hours with my wife and left her in a swoon? The marquis has been with me all day."
"O heaven!" I cried, "are all your detestable associates here? In heaven's name, see that they do not find out where I live and that I do not see them."
"But who is the man you do see, and to whom you do not deny admission to your bedroom?" said Leoni, becoming more and more thoughtful and pale. "Answer me, Juliette; I insist upon it. Do you hear?"
I realized how horrible my position was becoming. I clasped my hands, trembling, and appealed to heaven in silence.
"You do not answer," said Leoni. "Poor woman! you have little presence of mind. You have a lover, Juliette! You are not to be blamed for it, as I have a mistress. I am a fool not to be able to bear it when you are satisfied with a part of my heart and my bed. But it is certain that I cannot be so generous."
He took his hat and put on his gloves with convulsive coldness, took out his purse, placed it on the mantel, and, without another word to me—without glancing at me—left the room. I heard him walk away with an even step and descend the stairs slowly.
Surprise, dismay and fear had frozen my blood. I thought that I was going mad; I put my handkerchief in my mouth to stifle my shrieks, and then, succumbing to fatigue, fell back upon the bed in the stupor of utter prostration.
In the middle of the night I heard sounds in the room. I opened my eyes and saw, without understanding what I saw, Leoni pacing the floor in intense agitation, and the marquis seated at a table, emptying a bottle of brandy. I did not stir. I had no thought of trying to find out what they were doing there; but little by little their words, falling upon my ears, found their way to my understanding and assumed a meaning.
"I tell you that I saw him, and I am sure of it," said the marquis. "He is here."
"The infernal hound!" replied Leoni, stamping on the floor. "Would to God the earth would open and rid me of him."
"Well said!" rejoined the marquis. "That's my idea." "He comes to my very room to torment that unfortunate woman!"
"Are you sure, Leoni, that she is not glad to have him come?"
"Hold your tongue, viper! and don't try to make me suspect that poor creature. She has nothing left in the world but my esteem."
"And Monsieur Henryet's love," added the marquis. Leoni clenched his fists. "We will rid her of that love!" he cried, "and cure the Fleming of it."
"The devil! Leoni, don't do anything foolish!"
"And you, Lorenzo, don't you do anything vile!"
"You would call that vile, would you? We have very different ideas. You escort La Zagarolo quietly to the grave, in order to inherit her worldly goods, and you do not approve of my putting an enemy underground whose existence paralyzes ours forever! It seems to you very innocent, notwithstanding the prohibition of the physicians, to hasten by your generous fondness the end of your dear consumptive's sufferings——"
"Go to the devil! If that madwoman wants to live fast and die soon, why should I prevent her? She is attractive enough to command my obedience, and I am not fond enough of her to resist her."
"What a ghastly thing!" I muttered in spite of myself, and fell back on my pillow.
"Your wife spoke, I think," said the marquis.
"She is dreaming," Leoni replied; "she has the fever."
"Are you sure that she isn't listening?"
"In the first place she would need to have strength to listen. She is very sick, too, poor Juliette! She doesn't complain; she suffers all by herself! She has not twenty women to wait on her; she doesn't pay courtiers to satisfy her sickly fancies; she is dying piously and chastely, like an expiatory victim, between heaven and me."
Leoni sat down at the table and burst into tears.
"This is the effect of brandy," said the marquis, calmly, putting the glass to his lips. "I warned you; it always takes hold of the nerves."
"Let me alone, brute beast!" shouted Leoni, giving the table a push which nearly overturned it on the marquis; "let me weep in peace. You don't know what love is!"
"Love!" said the marquis in a theatrical tone, mimicking Leoni; "remorse! those are very sonorous and dramatic words. When do you send Juliette to the hospital?"
"That is right," said Leoni, with a gloomy, despairing air, "talk to me that way, I prefer it. That suits me, I am capable of anything. To the hospital! yes. She was so lovely, so dazzlingly beautiful! I came, and see what I have brought her to! Ah! I could tear out my hair!"
"Well," said the marquis after a pause, "have we had enough sentiment for to-day? God! it has been a long attack. Now let us reason a little; you don't seriously mean to fight with Henryet?"
"Most seriously," replied Leoni; "you talk seriously enough about murdering him."
"That's a very different matter."
"It is precisely the same thing. He doesn't know how to use any weapon, and I am very expert with all sorts."
"Except the stiletto," said the marquis, "or the pistol at point-blank range; besides, you don't kill anybody but women."
"I will kill that man at all events," replied Leoni.
"And you think he will consent to fight with you?"
"He will; he is brave enough."
"But he isn't mad. He will begin by having us arrested as a couple of thieves."
"He will begin by giving me satisfaction. I will force him to do it, I will strike him in the theatre."
"He will return it by calling you forger, blackleg, card-sharper."
"He will have to prove it. He is not known here, whereas we are fairly established here on a brilliant footing. I will call him a lunatic and visionary; and when I have killed him, everybody will think I was right."
"You are mad, my dear fellow," replied the marquis; "Henryet is recommended to the richest merchants in Italy. His family is well known and bears a high reputation in commercial circles. He himself doubtless has friends in the city, or at all events acquaintances, with whom his statements will carry weight. He will fight to-morrow night, let us say. Very good! during the day he will have had time enough to tell twenty people that he is going to fight with you because he caught you cheating, and that you took it ill of him that he should try to prevent you."
"Very well! he may say it and people may believe it if they choose, but I will kill him."
"La Zagarolo will turn you out-of-doors and destroy her will. All the nobles will close their doors to you, and the police will request you to go to play the lover in some other country."
"Very well! I will go somewhere else. The rest of the world will belong to me when I am well rid of that man."
"Yes, and from his blood will sprout a pretty little nursery of accusers. Instead of Monsieur Henryet, you will have the whole city of Milan at your heels."
"O heaven! what shall I do?" said Leoni, in sore perplexity.
"Make an appointment with him in your wife's name, and cool his blood with a good hunting-knife. Give me that scrap of paper yonder and I'll write to him."
Leoni, paying no heed, opened a window and fell into a reverie, while the marquis wrote. When he had finished he called him.
"Listen to this, Leoni," he said, "and see whether I know how to write abillet-doux:
"'My friend; I cannot receive you again in my room; Leoni knows all and threatens me with the most horrible consequences; take me away or I am lost. Take me to my mother or put me in a convent; do with me as you please, but rescue me from my present horrible plight. Be in front of the main door of the cathedral at one o'clock to-morrow morning, and we will make arrangements for our departure. It will be easy for me to meet you, as Leoni passes every night at La Zagarolo's. Do not be surprised by this extraordinary and almost illegible handwriting: Leoni, in a fit of anger, almost crushed my right hand."'JULIETTE RUYTER.'"
"'My friend; I cannot receive you again in my room; Leoni knows all and threatens me with the most horrible consequences; take me away or I am lost. Take me to my mother or put me in a convent; do with me as you please, but rescue me from my present horrible plight. Be in front of the main door of the cathedral at one o'clock to-morrow morning, and we will make arrangements for our departure. It will be easy for me to meet you, as Leoni passes every night at La Zagarolo's. Do not be surprised by this extraordinary and almost illegible handwriting: Leoni, in a fit of anger, almost crushed my right hand.
"'JULIETTE RUYTER.'"
"It seems to me that letter is very judiciously expressed," said the marquis, "and that it will seem plausible enough to the Fleming, whatever the degree of intimacy between him and your wife. The words which she fancied that she was saying to him at times in her delirium make it certain that he offered to take her back to her own country. The writing is horrible, and whether he is familiar with Juliette's or not——"
"Let me see it," said Leoni, leaning over the table with an air of interest.
His face wore a horrifying expression of doubt and longing to be persuaded. I saw no more. My brain was exhausted, my thoughts became confused. I relapsed into a sort of lethargy.
When I came to myself the flickering lamplight fell upon the same objects. I raised myself cautiously and saw the marquis just where he was when I lost consciousness. It was still dark. There were still bottles on the table, as well as a writing-desk and something which I could not see very plainly, but which resembled a weapon. Leoni was standing in the middle of the room. I tried to recall their previous conversation. I hoped that the ghastly fragments of it which recurred to my memory were merely the dreams of fever, and I had no idea at first that twenty-four hours had elapsed between that conversation and the one just beginning. The first words that I understood were these:
"He must have suspected something for he was armed to the teeth."
As he spoke, Leoni wiped his bleeding hand with his handkerchief.
"Bah! yours is nothing but a scratch," said the marquis; "I have a more severe wound in the leg; and yet I must dance at the ball to-morrow, so that no one may suspect anything. So stop fussing over your hand, wrap it up and think of something else."
"It is impossible for me to think of anything but that blood. It seems to me that I see a lake of it all about me."
"Your nerves are too delicate, Leoni; you are good for nothing."
"Canaille!" exclaimed Leoni in a tone of hatred and contempt, "but for me you would be a dead man; you retreated like a coward, and you would have been struck from behind. If I had not seen that you were lost, and if your ruin would not have involved mine, I would never have touched that man at such an hour and in such a place. But your infernal obstinacy compelled me to be your accomplice. All that I needed was to commit a murder, to be worthy of your society."
"Don't play the modest man," retorted the marquis; "when you saw that he defended himself, you became a very tiger."
"Ah! yes, it rejoiced my heart to have him die defending himself; for after all I killed him fairly."
"Very fairly; he had postponed the game till the next day, and as you were in a hurry to be done with it, you killed him on the spot."
"Whose fault was it, traitor? Why did you throw yourself on him just as we were separating after we had agreed to meet the next day? Why did you run when you saw that he was armed, and thus compel me to defend you or else be denounced by him to-morrow for having conspired with you to lure him into a trap and murder him? Now I have made myself liable to the scaffold, and yet I am not a murderer. I fought with equal weapons, equal chance, equal courage."
"Yes, he defended himself like a man," said the marquis; "you both performed prodigies of valor. It was a very fine spectacle to see, truly Homeric, was that duel with knives. But I am bound to say that for a Venetian you handle that weapon wretchedly."
"It is quite true that it isn't the weapon I am in the habit of using, and by the way I am inclined to think it would be wise to conceal or destroy this one."
"That would be the height of folly, my friend! You must keep it; your servants and friends know that you always carry such a weapon; if you should dispose of it, that would be an indication of guilt."
"True, but yours?"
"Mine is innocent of his blood; my first blows missed, and after that yours left me no room."
"Ah! heaven! that is true too. You tried to murder him, and fatality compelled me to do with my own hands the deed of which I had such a horror."
"It pleases you to say that, my dear fellow; however, you went very willingly to the rendezvous."
"I had an instinctive foreboding that my evil genius would force me to do it. After all, it was my destiny and his. We are rid of him at last! But why in the devil did you empty his pockets?"
"Precaution and presence of mind on my part. When they find him stripped of his money and his wallet, they will look for the assassin among the lowest classes, and will never suspect people in fashionable society. It will be considered an act of brigandage and not a matter of private revenge. Don't betray yourself by absurd emotion when you hear the affair mentioned to-morrow, and we have nothing to fear. Just reach me the candle so that I can burn these papers; as for honest coin, that never betrayed anybody."
"Stop!" said Leoni, seizing a letter which the marquis was about to burn with the rest. "I saw Juliette's family name."
"It is a letter to Madame Ruyter," said the marquis. "Let us see:"
"'MADAME,"'If it is not too late, if you did not start at once on receiving the letter I wrote yesterday summoning you to your daughter, do not start. Wait at home for her or come to meet her as far as Strasbourg; I will send for you when we reach there. I shall be there with Mademoiselle Ruyter in a few days. She has decided to fly from her seducer's dishonor and ill treatment. I have just received a note in which she announces this determination. I am to see her to-night to agree upon the time of our departure. I will leave all my business in order to make the most of her present disposition, in which her lover's flatteries may not leave her forever. The empire that he has over her is still immense. I fear that her passion for that wretch is eternal, and that her regret for having left him will make you both shed many tears hereafter. Be indulgent and kind to her; that is your proper rôle as her mother, and you can easily play it. For my part, I am rough-mannered, and my indignation finds expression more readily than my compassion. I wish I were more persuasive; but I cannot be more lovable, and it is my destiny not to be loved."'PAUL HENRYET.'"
"'MADAME,
"'If it is not too late, if you did not start at once on receiving the letter I wrote yesterday summoning you to your daughter, do not start. Wait at home for her or come to meet her as far as Strasbourg; I will send for you when we reach there. I shall be there with Mademoiselle Ruyter in a few days. She has decided to fly from her seducer's dishonor and ill treatment. I have just received a note in which she announces this determination. I am to see her to-night to agree upon the time of our departure. I will leave all my business in order to make the most of her present disposition, in which her lover's flatteries may not leave her forever. The empire that he has over her is still immense. I fear that her passion for that wretch is eternal, and that her regret for having left him will make you both shed many tears hereafter. Be indulgent and kind to her; that is your proper rôle as her mother, and you can easily play it. For my part, I am rough-mannered, and my indignation finds expression more readily than my compassion. I wish I were more persuasive; but I cannot be more lovable, and it is my destiny not to be loved.
"'PAUL HENRYET.'"
"This proves to you, O my friend!" said the marquis in a mocking tone, as he held the letter in the flame of the candle, "that your wife is faithful and that you are the most fortunate of husbands."
"Poor woman!" said Leoni, "and poor Henryet! He would have made her happy! He would at least have respected and honored her! In God's name, what fatality drove her into the arms of a wretched adventurer, drawn to her by destiny from one end of the world to the other, when she had an honorable man's heart at her very hand. Blind child! why did you choose me?"
"Charming!" said the marquis ironically. "I hope you will write some verses on this subject. A pretty epitaph for the man you massacred to-night would be, to my mind, in exceedingly good taste and altogether new."
"Yes, I will write one for him," retorted Leoni, "and it will run like this:
"'Here lies an honest man who tried to defend human justice against two scoundrels, and whom divine justice allowed them to murder.'"
Thereupon, Leoni fell into a sorrowful reverie, during which he constantly muttered his victim's name:
"Paul Henryet!" he said. "Twenty-two years old, twenty-four at most. A cold but handsome face. A rigid, upright character. Hatred of injustice. The uncompromising pride of honesty, and withal something tender and melancholy. He loved Juliette, he has always loved her. He fought against his passion to no purpose. I see by that letter that he loved her still, and that he would have worshipped her if he could have cured her. Juliette, Juliette! you might still have been happy with him, and I have killed him! I have robbed you of the man who might have comforted you; your only defender is no more, and you remain the victim of a bandit."
"Very fine!" said the marquis; "I wish that you might never move your lips without having a stenographer beside you to preserve all the noble and affecting things you say. For my part, I am going to bed. Good-night, my dear fellow; go to bed to your wife, but change your shirt first; for, deuce take me! you have Henryet's blood on your frill!"
The marquis left the room. Leoni, after a moment's irresolution, came to my bed, raised the curtain and looked at me. He saw that I was only drowsing under my bedclothes, and that my eyes were open and fixed upon him. He could not endure my livid face and fixed stare; he fell back with a cry of horror, and I called him several times in a weak, broken voice: "Murderer! murderer! murderer!"
He fell on his knees as if struck by lightning, and dragged himself to my bed with an imploring air.
"Go to bed to your wife," I said, repeating the marquis's words in a sort of delirium; "but change your shirt, for you have Henryet's blood on your frill!"
Leoni fell face downward on the floor, uttering inarticulate cries. I lost my reason altogether, and it seemed to me that I repeated his cries, imitating with dazed servility the tone of his voice and the contortions of his body. He thought that I was mad, and, springing to his feet in terror, came to my side. I thought that he was going to kill me; I threw myself out of bed, crying: "Mercy! mercy! I won't tell!" and I fainted just as he seized me, to lift me up and assist me.
I awoke, still in his arms, and he had never put forth so much eloquence, so much affection, so many tears, to implore his pardon. He confessed that he was the lowest of men; but, he said, there was one thing, and only one, that raised him somewhat in his eyes, and that was the love he had always had for me, and which none of his vices, none of his crimes had had the power to stifle. Hitherto he had fought against the appearances which accused him on all sides. He had struggled against overwhelming evidence in order to retain my esteem. Thenceforth, being no longer able to justify himself by falsehood, he took a different course and assumed a new rôle, in order to move me and conquer me. He laid aside all artifice—perhaps I should say all sense of shame—and confessed all the villainy of his life. But amid all that filth he forced me to distinguish and to understand what there was in his character that was truly noble, the faculty of loving, the everlasting vigor of a heart in which the most exhausting weariness, the most dangerous trials, did not extinguish the sacred flame.
"My conduct is base," he said to me, "but my heart is still noble. It still bleeds for its crimes; it has retained, in all the vigor of its first youth, the sentiment of justice and injustice, horror of the evil it does, enthusiastic admiration of the good it beholds. Your patience, your virtues, your angelic kindliness, your pity, as inexhaustible as God's, can never be displayed in favor of a being who appreciates them better or admires them more. A man of regular morals and sensitive conscience would consider them more natural and would appreciate them less. With such a man you would be simply a virtuous woman; while with a man like me you are a sublime woman, and the debt of gratitude which is piling up in my heart is as great as your sacrifices and your sufferings. Ah! it is something to be loved and to be entitled to a boundless passion, and from what other man have you so good a right to claim such a passion as from me? For whom would you subject yourself again to the tortures and the despair you have undergone? Do you think there is anything else in life but love? For my part, I do not. And do you think that it is a simple matter to inspire it and to feel it? Thousands of men die incomplete, having never known any other love than that of the beasts. Often a heart capable of loving seeks in vain where to bestow its love, and comes forth pure of all earthly passions, perhaps to find a place in heaven. Ah! when God vouchsafes to us on earth that profound, passionate, ineffable sentiment, we must no longer desire or hope for paradise, Juliette; for paradise is the blending of two hearts in a kiss of love. And when we have found it here on earth, what matters it whether it be in the arms of a saint or of one of the damned? What matters it whether the man you love be accursed or adored among men, so long as he returns your love? Is it I whom you love, or is it this noise that is going on about me? What did you love in me at the outset? Was it the splendor that encompassed me? If you hate me to-day, I must needs doubt your past love; I must needs see in you, instead of that angel, that devoted victim whose blood, shed for me, falls ceaselessly drop by drop upon my lips, only a poor, weak, credulous girl, who loved me from vanity and deserted me from selfishness. Juliette, Juliette, think of what you will do if you leave me! You will ruin the only friend who knows you, appreciates and respects you, for a society which despises you now and whose esteem you will never recover. You have nothing left but me in the whole world, my poor child. You must either cling to the adventurer's fortunes or die forgotten in a convent. If you leave me, you are no less insane than cruel; you will have had all your misery, all your sufferings, and you will not reap their fruit; for now, if, notwithstanding all that you know, you can still love me and stay with me, be sure that I will love you with a love of which you have no conception, and which I never should have dreamed of as possible if I had married you honestly and lived with you peacefully in the bosom of your family. Hitherto, despite all you have sacrificed, all you have suffered, I have not loved you as I feel that I am capable of loving. You have never yet loved me as I am; you have cherished an attachment for a false Leoni, in whom you still saw some grandeur and some fascination. You hoped that he would become some day the man you loved in the beginning; you did not believe that you had held in your arms a man who was irrevocably lost. And I said to myself: 'She loves me conditionally; it is not I whom she loves as yet, but the character I am acting. When she sees my features under my mask, she will cover her eyes and fly; she will look with horror on the lover whom now she presses to her bosom. No, she is not the wife and mistress I had dreamed of, and for whom my ardent heart is calling with all its strength. Juliette is still a part of that society whose foe I am; she will be my foe when she knows me. I cannot confide in her; I cannot pour out upon the bosom of any living being the most execrable of my sufferings, my shame for what I am doing every day. I suffer, I am heaping up remorse in my soul. If only there were a woman capable of loving me without asking me to change—if I could have a friend who would not be an accuser and a judge!'—That is what I thought, Juliette. I prayed to heaven for that friend, but I prayed that it might be you and no other; for you were already what I loved best on earth before. I realized all that there still remained for us both to do before loving each other really."