"Bah! It is useless to tell you. It is not worth while to destroy your illusions. You have an affection for Jacob; let it rest."

The least curious of women have still a little touch of curiosity, especially in regard to the man they love. Mathilde became uneasy.

"I am sure," said she with agitation, "that Jacob has done nothing to destroy the good opinion that I have of him."

"If you are sure, so much the better."

"Do not torment me thus. As you have commenced, tell me all."

"Why should you take this lively interest in Jacob," said Henri smiling.

"I love him as a brother; I have never concealed it. We were brought up together."

"Well, this Jacob has committed no crime. He simply possesses a mistress whom he conceals from public view." Then he repeated cynically all he had heard, with a malicious irony.

"If you do not believe me," added he, "ask your father. He is the one that discovered the secret."

During this narration Mathilde had grown red and pale, and listened with bowed head, trembling nervously. Suddenly she raised her head and said boldly:--

"It is a lie! I believe neither you nor my father. It is an unworthy calumny."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because it is not possible."

With these words, instead of going to the piano as usual, she went and shut herself up in her room, where she could give free vent to her tears. Until then she had been so proud of the man whom she had made her ideal. Her idol was overthrown from his pedestal and was reduced to the level of ordinary men.

Then she said to herself:--

"No, it cannot be possible." An inner voice replied: "They are all built on the same model. The whole world is corrupt."

Life now appeared so empty, so sombre, so odious to her that she would gladly have died. The next day when she seated herself at the table, her face bore traces of the great suffering she had endured. She was very pale, and her features were drawn and pinched. She replied indifferently to her husband's questions, and pleading a violent headache, hastened again to her chamber. She wished to be alone with her sorrow.

CHAPTER XXIII.

RUSSIAN POLITICS.

Russian tyranny increased the number of the revolutionists, for often a cause which has at the outset few adherents rapidly develops when blood has been shed.

Jacob, who had been opposed to those who incited the country to a revolution, modified his sentiments in its favour when the government displayed bayonets and erected scaffolds.

At the head of the saviours of Poland by terrorism was the Grand Duke Constantine, brother of Alexander II., and the Marquis Wielopolski.

These two would probably have adopted another system if Petersburg had not forced them to employ the traditional remedies of cruelty and tyranny, banishment, the penalty of death, Siberia, and penal servitude.

Jacob did not protest against resistance to arbitrary enlistment accomplished in the most outrageous manner. From the Polish nation, wounded in its dignity, rose on all sides the cry of revolt. "Rather death than be slaves, kissing under the knout the hand of our executioners!"

Jacob was willing to do anything he could, but his former prudence had alienated him from the revolutionary party. So he employed himself in publishing a Jewish journal in the Polish language, in which he continued to maintain his ideas of Jewish reform; but for such a propaganda the moment was not opportune. New troubles also awaited him.

His articles, written in elegant style with warm conviction, attained recognition from his co-religionists only on their literary merit. To some it was superst.i.tion, to others fanaticism, and so he remained alone in politics as well as religion. He was too much Jew or too little Jew, too patriotic or not patriotic enough. The society of his mother was a great consolation to him at this time. He had installed her in his apartments, and often walked out with her, and his filial devotion had put him under the ban of the wealthy Jewish society. He was avoided by all. He perceived it, and renounced all relations with these narrow-minded men. He even ceased to go to Segel's on account of Henri's coldness. Mathilde gave another explanation to this voluntary ostracism; in it she saw confirmation of the rumours she had heard. The poor girl suffered greatly.

One evening Jacob was tempted to visit the Wtorkowska's, hoping to meet Mathilde. In the midst of an a.s.sembly composed almost exclusively of Russians appeared a new-comer, the Count Bavorof, counsellor of state.

He was scarcely thirty years old, and was said to be a great favourite of the Grand Duke Constantine, and above all he was a bachelor.

Naturally, Muse wished to count him among the number of her adorers, and had already tried on him the irresistible combination of beauty joined to wit.

Jacob approached Mathilde, who was seated at one side, alone. Her deadly pallor shocked him.

"Are you suffering?" asked he, in a low voice.

The young woman threw on him a glance of profound compa.s.sion, and replied:--

"No. I feel no worse to-day than usual."

"I have not seen you for a long time," said Jacob.

"That is true."

"It is my fault; but I cannot impose myself on men who repulse me."

"Rather, is it not you who repulse them?"

The remark sounded like a reproach.

"How? I? They avoid me because my dear old mother, who is endowed with many excellent qualities, is not an elegant and fashionable woman. Is that any reason why I should not love her and cherish her? The ridiculous sn.o.bbishness of my so-called friends will not regulate my conduct."

"Is it your mother alone that keeps you from us? Perhaps there is another person who absorbs your time?"

Jacob opened his eyes, astonished. There was something in his look so open and rea.s.suring, that she felt shaken in her conviction. She blushed, and was too embarra.s.sed to prolong the conversation, so she rose and went to sit near Muse. She took her leave soon, bowing to Jacob from a distance.

The latter was downcast. He sought in vain the key to this enigma. He understood that some one had calumniated him to his beloved, but who or what it was he could not imagine.

In the _salon_ the conversation was animated. Colonel Sofronof, Count Bavorof, Muse, and the Counsellor Pikulinski made most of the noise.

The recent recruiting, from which had burst out the first revolutionary spark, was the subject of the discussion. Sofronof did not approve of the measure, and commenced to question the genius of the Marquis Wielopolski. The Count Bavorof, with his ideas fresh from Moscow, told of the atrocious repressions, since perfected and adopted with so much cruelty, which the journalist, Katkof, was disposed to raise to the height of a system.

The Counsellor Pikulinski was one of those counsellors from whom no one expects the least counsel. He was an absolute nonent.i.ty. The sole thought which predominated in his poorly developed brain was the perpetual fear of compromising himself. Like a doll that always squeaks alike when it is struck in the stomach, at each instant he repeated the word "yes," with an approving nod of the head.

It mattered little to Pikulinski if the "yes" accorded to one person contradicted the "yes" offered to another. The essential thing with him was not to oppose superior authority or its representatives. Thanks to this invariable line of conduct, he had made a splendid career in the bureaucratic hierarchy. Decorated with the cordon of Saint Stanislas, the cross of Saint Waldimir, he enjoyed the entire confidence of the government as a reward of twenty-five years of faithful service.

Despite his intrinsic nullity he displayed an enormous activity.

Official presentations, manifestations of devotion, addresses of submission to the government, subscriptions of command, deputations, wherever he could make himself conspicuous, Pikulinski appeared.

A kind-hearted man, he knew how to render himself agreeable to the old dignitaries and to the venerable dowagers, and it was natural that he should expect still further promotion in his civil career. The t.i.tle of senator and the order of the White Eagle could not escape him; it was only a question of time. At each new favour from the government Pikulinski was profoundly touched. He quickly put on his full-dress uniform covered with decorations, and hastened to present himself at the chateau, in order to return his humble thanks. He always returned from these interviews puffed up with pride at the flattering words of his chiefs.

"If every one," thought he, "would imitate my example, how many evils might be averted. Unfortunately, most of my Polish compatriots are wanting in tact and have little policy."

In Madame Wtorkowska's _salon_ he took no active part in the conversation, but contented himself by throwing in here and there a "yes" which was only varied by the inflexion.