"Monsieur," I said, "you know more than I do; you have in your possession letters that seem to belong to me, but which I have never received."

"Upon my word," cried Monsieur de Lanty, "you are an admirable comedian; I never saw innocence better played."

"But, monsieur," I said, "who wrote those letters, and why are they addressed to me?"

"It is useless to deny them, monsieur," said Madame de Lanty; "Marianina has confessed all."

"Mademoiselle Marianina!" I exclaimed. "Then the matter is very simple; have the goodness to bring us together; let me hear from her lips the explanation of this singular affair."

"The evasion is clever," replied Monsieur de Lanty; "but my daughter is no longer here: she is in a convent, forever sheltered from your intrigues and the dangers of her own ridiculous pa.s.sion. If that is what you came to know, all is said. Let us part, for my patience and moderation have a limit, if your insolence has none."

"Monsieur!" I began, angrily; but Madame de Lanty, who was standing behind her husband, made me a gesture as if she would fall upon her knees; and reflecting that perhaps Marianina's future depended on the att.i.tude I now took, I controlled myself and left the room without further words.

The next morning, before I was out of bed, the Abbe Fontanon was announced to me. When he entered he proved to be a tall old man with a bilious skin and a sombre, stern expression, which he tried to soften by a specious manner and a show of gentle but icy obsequiousness.

"Monsieur," he said, "Madame la Comtesse de Lanty, whose confessor I have the honor to be, requests me to give you a few explanations, to which you have an incontestable right, as to the scene that took place last evening between her husband and yourself."

"I am ready to listen to you, monsieur," I replied.

"Monsieur de Lanty," continued the abbe, "is a bad sleeper; and one night last summer he was awakened by the sound of cautious steps.

He opened his door, and called out to know who was there. He was not mistaken; some one was there, but did not answer, and disappeared before Monsieur de Lanty could obtain a light. At first it was thought to be an attempt at robbery; but on further inquiry it appeared that a _gentleman_ had taken a room in the neighborhood, and had frequently been seen in company with Mademoiselle Marianina,--in short, the matter concerned a love affair and not a robbery. Monsieur de Lanty has long watched his daughter, whose ardent inclinations have given him much anxiety; you yourself, monsieur, caused him some uneasiness in Rome--"

"Very needless, Monsieur l'abbe," I said, interrupting him.

"Yes. I know that your relations to Mademoiselle de Lanty have always been perfectly proper and becoming. But since their return to Paris another individual has occupied her mind,--a bold and enterprising man, capable of risking everything to compromise and thus win an heiress.

Being taxed with having encouraged this man and allowed these nocturnal interviews, Mademoiselle de Lanty at first denied everything. Then, evidently fearing that her father, a violent man, would take some steps against her lover, she threw herself at his feet and admitted the visits, but denied that the visitor was the man her father named to her.

At first she refused obstinately to subst.i.tute another name for the one she disavowed. After some days pa.s.sed in this struggle, she finally confessed to her mother, under a pledge of secrecy, that her father was right in his suspicions, but she dreaded the results to the family if she acknowledged the truth to him. The man in question was a noted duellist, and her father and brother would surely bring him to account for his conduct. It was then, monsieur, that the idea occurred to this imprudent girl to subst.i.tute another name for that of her real lover."

"Ah! I understand," I said; "the name of a n.o.body, an artist, a sculptor, or some insignificant individual of that kind."

"You do Mademoiselle de Lanty injustice by that remark," replied the abbe. "What decided her to make your name a refuge against the dangers she foresaw was the fact that Monsieur de Lanty had formerly had suspicions about you, and she thought that circ.u.mstance gave color to her statement."

"But, Monsieur l'abbe," I said, "how do you explain those letters, that portfolio, which her father produced yesterday?"

"That again was an invention of Marianina; and I may add that this duplicity a.s.sures me that had she remained in the world her future might have been terrible."

"Am I to suppose that this tale has been told you by Madame de Lanty?"

"Confided to me, monsieur, yes. You yourself saw Madame de Lanty's desire to stop your explanations yesterday, lest the truth might appear to her husband. I am requested by her to thank you for your connivance--pa.s.sive, of course--in this pious falsehood. She felt that she could only show her profound grat.i.tude by telling you the whole truth and relying upon your discretion."

"Where is Mademoiselle Marianina?"

"As Monsieur de Lanty told you, in a convent in Italy. To avoid scandal, it was thought best to send her to some safe retreat. Her own conduct will decide her future."

Now what do you think of that history? Does it not seem to you very improbable? Here are two explanations which have each come into my mind with the force of a conviction. First, Marianina's brother has just married into a grand-ducal family of Germany. Immense sacrifices must have been required of the de Lanty family to make such an alliance.

Was Marianina's _dot_, and the fortune she inherited from that old grand-uncle, required to pay the costs of that princely union? Secondly, did Marianina really feel an attachment for me? And did she, in a girlish way, express it on those letters which she never sent? To punish her, had her parents sent her to a convent? And to disgust me, and throw me off the track, had the mother invented this history of another love in which she seemed to make me play so mortifying a part?

I may add that the intervention of the Abbe Fontanon authorizes such an interpretation. I have made inquiries about him, and I find he is one of those mischievous priests who worm themselves into the confidence of families for their own ends; he has already destroyed the harmony of one home,--that of Monsieur de Granville, attorney-general of the royal court of Paris under the Restoration.

As to the truth or falsehood of these suppositions I know nothing, and, in all probability, shall continue to know nothing. But, as you can easily understand, the thought of Marianina is a luminous point to which my eye is forever attached. Shall I love her? Shall I hate her and despise her? That is the question perpetually in my mind. Uncertainty of that kind is far more certain to fix a woman in a man's soul than to dislodge her.

Well, to sum up in two brief sentences my reply to your warnings: As for the opinion of Monsieur Bixiou, I care as little for it as for last year's roses; and as for that other danger which you fear, I cannot tell you whether I love Marianina or not, but this I know, I do _not_ love Madame de l'Estorade. That, I think, is giving you a plain and honest answer. And now, let us leave our master the Future to do what he likes.

XI. THE COMTESSE DE L'ESTORADE TO MADAME OCTAVE DE CAMPS

Paris, May, 1839.

Monsieur Dorlange came last evening to take leave of us. He starts to-day for Arcis-sur-Aube, where the ceremony of inaugurating _his_ statue takes place. That is also the place selected by the Opposition journals for his candidacy. Monsieur de l'Estorade declares that the locality could not have been worse chosen, and that it leaves his election without a chance.

Monsieur Dorlange paid his visit early. I was alone. Monsieur de l'Estorade was dining with the Minister of the Interior, and the children were in bed. The conversation interrupted by Madame de la Bastie could now be renewed, as I was about to ask him to continue the history, of which he had only told me the last words, when our old Lucas brought me a letter. It was from my Armand, to let me know that he had been ill since morning, and was then in the infirmary.

"Order the carriage," I said to Lucas, in a state of agitation you can easily conceive.

"But, madame," replied Lucas, "monsieur has ordered the carriage to fetch him at half-past nine o'clock, and Tony has already started."

"Then send for a cab."

"I don't know that I can find one," said our old servant, who is a man of difficulties; "it is beginning to rain."

Without noticing that remark and without thinking of Monsieur Dorlange, I went hastily to my room to put on my bonnet and shawl. That done, I returned to the salon, where my visitor still remained.

"You must excuse me, monsieur," I said to him, "for leaving you so abruptly. I must hasten to the Henri IV. College. I could not possibly pa.s.s a night in the dreadful anxiety my son's letter has caused me; he tells me he has been ill since morning in the infirmary."

"But," replied Monsieur Dorlange, "surely you are not going alone in a hired carriage to that lonely quarter?"

"Lucas will go with me."

At that moment Lucas returned; his prediction was realized; there was not a coach on the stand; it was raining in torrents. Time was pa.s.sing; already it was almost too late to enter the school, where masters and pupils go to bed at nine o'clock.

"Put on thick shoes," I said to Lucas, "and come with me on foot."

Instantly I saw his face lengthen. He is no longer young and loves his ease; moreover, he complains every winter of rheumatism. He made various objections,--that it was very late; that we should "revolutionize" the school; I should take cold; Monsieur Armand could not be very ill if he wrote himself; in short, it was clear that my plan of campaign did not suit my old retainer.

Monsieur Dorlange very obligingly offered to go himself in my place and bring me word about Armand; but that did not suit me at all; I felt that I _must_ see for myself. Having thanked him, I said to Lucas in a tone of authority:--

"Get ready at once, for one thing is true in your remarks: it is getting late."

Seeing himself driven into a corner, Lucas raised the standard of revolt.

"It is not possible that madame should go out in such weather; and I don't want monsieur to scold me for giving in to such a singular idea."

"Then you do not intend to obey me?"

"Madame knows very well that for anything reasonable I would do what she told me if I had to go through fire to obey her."