"Where have you been?"
She had at a glance taken in the whole room; and at the sight of the new countess, and those whom she called her accomplices, all her resentment arose. She smiled haughtily, and said carelessly,- "I have been at the Bois de Boulogne. In the morning I went out to make some purchases; later, knowing that the d.u.c.h.ess of Champdoce is a little unwell, and does not go out, I went to lunch with her; after that, as the weather was so fine"- Count Ville-Handry could endure it no longer.
Seizing his daughter by the wrists, he lifted her bodily, and, dragging her up to the Countess Sarah, he hurled out,- "On your knees, unhappy child! on your knees, and ask the best and n.o.blest of women to pardon you for all these insults!"
"You hurt me terribly, father," said the young girl coldly.
But the countess had already thrown herself between them.
"For Heaven"s sake, madam," she said, "spare your father!"
And, as Henrietta measured her from head to foot with an insulting glance, she went on,- "Dear count, don"t you see that your violence is killing me?"
Promptly Count Ville-Handry let his daughter go, and, drawing back, he said,- "Thank her, thank this angel of goodness who intercedes in your behalf! But have a care! my patience is at an end. There are such things as houses of correction for rebellious children and perverse daughters."
She interrupted him by a gesture, and exclaimed with startling energy,- "Be it so, father! Choose among all these houses the very strictest, and send me there. Whatever I may have to suffer there, it will be better than being here, as long as I see in the place of my mother that-woman!"
"Wretch!" howled the count.
He was suffocating. By a violent effort he tore off his cravat; and, conscious that he was no longer master of himself, he cried to his daughter,- "Leave me, leave me! or I answer for nothing." She hesitated a moment.
Then, casting upon the countess one more look full of defiance, she slowly went out of the room.
XIV.
"Well, I am sure the count can boast that he has had a curious wedding-day."
This was the way the servants spoke at the moment when Henrietta left the reception-room. She heard it; and without knowing whether they approved her conduct, or laughed at it, she felt gratified, so eager is pa.s.sion for encouragement from anywhere.
But she had not yet gone half-way up the stairs which led to her own rooms, when she was held at the place by the sound of all the bells of the house, which had been set in motion by a furious hand. She bent over the bal.u.s.ters to listen. The servants were rushing about; the vestibule resounded with hurried steps; and she distinguished the imperious voice of M. Ernest, the count"s valet, who called out,- "Salts, quick! Fresh water. The countess has a nervous attack."
A bitter smile curled Henrietta"s lips.
"At least," she said to herself, "I shall have poisoned this woman"s joy." And, fearing to be caught thus listening, she went up stairs.
But, when she was alone once more, the poor girl failed not to recognize the utter futility of her fancied triumph. Whom had she wounded, after all? Her father.
However unwell the countess might be to-night,-and perhaps she was not really unwell,-she would certainly be well again in the morning; and then what would be the advantage of the scandal she had attempted in order to ruin her? Now Henrietta saw it very clearly,-now, when it was too late.
Worse than that! She fancied that what she had done to-day pledged her for the future. The road upon which she had started evidently led nowhere. Never mind, it seemed to her miserable cowardice to shrink from going on.
Rising with the sun, she was deliberating on what weak point she might make her next attack, when there came a knock at the door, and Clarissa, her own maid, entered.
"Here is a letter for you, miss," she said. "I have received it this moment, in an envelope addressed to me."
Henrietta examined the letter for a long time before opening it, studying the handwriting, which she did not know. Who could write to her, and in this way, unless it was Maxime de Brevan, to whom Daniel had begged her to intrust herself, and who, so far, had given no sign of life of himself?
It was M. de Brevan who wrote thus,- "Madam,-Like all Paris, I also have heard of your proud and n.o.ble protest on the day of your father"s unfortunate marriage. Egotists and fools will perhaps blame you. But you may despise them; for all the best men are on your side. And my dear Daniel, if he were here, would approve and admire your courage, as I do myself."
She drew a full breath, as if her heart had been relieved of a heavy burden.
Daniel"s friend approved her conduct. This was enough to stifle henceforth the voice of reason, and to make her disregard every idea of prudence. The whole letter of M. de Brevan was, moreover, nothing but a long and respectful admonition to resist desperately.
Farther on he wrote,- "At the moment of taking the train, Daniel handed me a letter, in which he expresses his innermost thoughts. With a sagacity worthy of such a heart, he foresees and solves in advance all the difficulties by which your step-mother will no doubt embarra.s.s you hereafter. This letter is too precious to be intrusted to the mail, I shall, therefore, get myself introduced at your father"s house before the end of the week, and I shall have the honor to put that letter into your own hands."
And again,- "I shall have an opportunity, tomorrow, to send Daniel news from here. If you wish to write to him, send me your letter to-day, Rue Laffitte, No. 62, and I will enclose it in mine."
Finally, there came a postscript in these words,- "Mistrust, above all, M. Thomas Elgin."
This last recommendation caused Henrietta particular trouble, and made her feel all kinds of vague and terrible apprehensions.
"Why should I mistrust him," she said to herself, "more than the others?"
But a more pleasing anxiety soon came to her a.s.sistance. What? Here was an opportunity to send Daniel news promptly and safely, and she was running the risk, by her delays, of losing the chance? She hastened to dress; and, sitting down before her little writing-table, she went to work communicating to her only friend on earth all her sufferings since he had so suddenly left her, her griefs, her resentments, her hopes.
It was eleven o"clock when she had finished, having filled eight large pages with all she felt in her heart. As she was about to rise, she suddenly felt ill. Her knees gave way under her, and she felt as if every thing was trembling around her. What could this mean? she thought. And now only she remembered that she had eaten nothing since the day before.
"I must not starve myself," she said almost merrily to herself. Her long chat with Daniel had evidently rekindled her hopes.
She rang the bell; and, when her maid appeared, she said,- "Bring me some breakfast!"
Miss Ville-Handry occupied three rooms. The first, her sitting-room, opened upon the hall; on the right was her bed-chamber; and on the left a boudoir with her piano, her music, and her books. When Henrietta took her meals up stairs, which of late had happened quite often, she ate in the sitting-room.
She had gone in there, and was clearing the table of the alb.u.ms and little trifles which were lying about, so as to hasten matters, when the maid reappeared with empty hands.
"Ah, miss!"
"Well?"
"The count has given orders not to take any thing up stairs."
"That cannot be."
But a mocking voice from without interrupted her, saying,- "It is so!"
And immediately Count Ville-Handry appeared, already dressed, curled, and painted, bearing the appearance of a man who is about to enjoy his revenge.
"Leave us!" he said to the maid-servant.
And, as soon as Clarissa had left the room, he turned to Henrietta with these words,- "Yes, indeed, my dear Henrietta, I have given strict orders not to bring you up any thing to eat. Why should you indulge such fancies? I ask you. Are you unwell? If you are, we will send for the doctor. If not, you will do me the favor to come down and take your meals in the dining-room with the family,-with the countess and myself, M. Elgin and Mrs. Brian."
"But, father!"
"There is no father who could stand this. The time of weakness is past, and so is the time of pa.s.sion; therefore, you will come down. Oh! whenever you feel disposed. You will, perhaps, pout a day, maybe two days; but hunger drives the wolf into the village; and on the third day we shall see you come down as soon as the bell rings. I have in vain appealed to your heart; you see I am forced to appeal to your stomach."
Whatever efforts Henrietta might make to remain impa.s.sive, the tears would come into her eyes,-tears of shame and humiliation. Could this idea of starving her into obedience have originated with her father? No, he would never have thought of it! It was evidently a woman"s thought, and the result of bitter, savage hate.
Still the poor girl felt that she was caught; and her heart revolted at the ignominy of the means, and the certainty that she would be forced to yield. Her cruel imagination painted to her at once the exultation of the new countess, when she, the daughter of Count Ville-Handry, would appear in the dining-room, brought there by want, by hunger.
"Father," she begged, "send me nothing but bread and water, but spare me that exposure."
But, if the count was repeating a lesson, he had learned it well. His features retained their sardonic expression; and he said in an icy tone,- "I have told you what I desire. You have heard it, and that is enough."
He was turning to leave the room, when his daughter held him back.
"Father," she said, "listen to me."
"Well, what is it, now?"
"Yesterday you threatened to shut me up."
"Well?"
"To-day it is I who beseech you to do so. Send me to a convent. However harsh and strict the rules may be, however sad life may be there, I will find there some relief for my sorrow, and I will bless you with all my heart."
He only shrugged his shoulders over and over again; then he said,- "A good idea! And from your convent you would at once write to everybody and everywhere, that my wife had turned you out of the house; that you had been obliged to escape from threats and bad treatment; you would repeat all the well-known elegies of the innocent young girl who is persecuted by a wicked stepmother. Not so, my dear, not so!"
The breakfast-bell, which was ringing below, interrupted him.
"You hear, Henrietta," he said. "Consult your stomach; and, according to what it tells you, come down, or stay here."
He went out, manifestly quite proud at having performed what he called an act of paternal authority, without vouchsafing a glance at his daughter, who had sunk back upon a chair; for she felt overcome, the poor child! by all the agony of her pride. It was all over: she could struggle no longer. People who would not shrink from such extreme measures in order to overcome her might resort to the last extremities. Whatever she could do, sooner or later she would have to succ.u.mb.
Hence-why might she not as well give way at once? She saw clearly, that, the longer she postponed it, the sweeter would be the victory to the countess, and the more painful would be the sacrifice to herself. Arming herself, therefore, with all her energy, she went down into the dining-room, where the others were already at table.
She had imagined that her appearance would be greeted by some insulting remark. Not at all. They seemed hardly to notice her. The countess, who had been talking, paused to say, "Good-morning, madam!" and then went on without betraying in her voice the slightest emotion.
Henrietta had even to acknowledge that they had been considerate. Her plate had not been put by her mother-in-law. A seat had been kept for her between Mrs. Brian and M. Elgin. She sat down, and, while eating, watched stealthily, and with all her powers of observation, these strangers who were henceforth the masters of her destiny, and whom she now saw for the first time; for yesterday she had hardly perceived them.
She was at once struck, painfully struck, with the dazzling, marvellous beauty of Countess Sarah, although she had been shown her photograph by her father, and ought thus to have been prepared. It was evident that the young countess had barely taken time to put on a wrapper before coming down to breakfast. Her complexion was more animated than usually. She exhibited all the touching confusion of a young bride, and was constantly more or less embarra.s.sed.
Henrietta comprehended but too well the influence such a woman was likely to have over an old man who had fallen in love with her. It made her tremble. But grim Mrs. Brian appeared to her hardly less formidable. She could read nothing in her dull, heavy eye but cold wickedness; nothing in her lean, yellow face but an implacable will; all the wrinkles seemed to be permanently graven in wax.
She thought, after all, the least to be feared was tall, stiff M. Thomas Elgin. Seated by her, he had shown her discreetly some little attentions; and, when she observed him more closely, she discovered in his eyes something like commiseration.
"And yet," she thought, "it was against him that M. de Brevan warned me particularly."
But breakfast was over. Henrietta rose, and having bowed, without saying a word, was going back to her room when she met on the stairs some of the servants, who were carrying a heavy wardrobe. Upon inquiry she learned that, as Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian were hereafter to live in the palace, they were bringing up their furniture.
She shook her head sadly; but in her rooms a greater surprise was awaiting her. Three servants were hard at work taking down her furniture, under the direction of M. Ernest, the count"s valet.
"What are you doing there?" she asked, and "Who has permitted you?"
"We are only obeying the orders of the count, your father," replied M. Ernest. "We are getting your rooms ready for Madam Brian."
And, turning round to his colleagues, he said,- "Go on, men! Take out that sofa; now!"
Overcome with surprise, Henrietta remained petrified where she was, looking at the servants as they went on with their work. What? These eager adventurers had taken possession of the palace, they invaded it, they reigned here absolutely, and that was not enough for them! They meant to take from her even the rooms she had occupied, she, the daughter of their dupe, the only heiress of Count Ville-Handry! This impudence seemed to her so monstrous, that unable to believe it, and yielding to a sudden impulse, she went back to the dining-room, and, addressing her father, said to him,- "Is it really true, father, that you have ordered my furniture to be removed?"
"Yes, I have done so, my daughter. My architect will transform your three rooms into a large reception-room for Mrs. Brian, who had not s.p.a.ce enough for"- The young countess made a gesture of displeasure.
"I cannot understand," she said, "how Aunt Brian can accept that."
"I beg your pardon," exclaimed the admirable lady, "this is done entirely without my consent."
But the count interposed, saying,- "Sarah, my darling, permit me to be sole judge in all the arrangements that concern my daughter."
Count Ville-Handry"s accent was so firm as he said this, that one would have sworn the idea of dislodging Henrietta had sprung from his own brains. He went on,- "I never act thoughtlessly, and always take time to mature my decisions. In this case I act from motives of the most ordinary propriety. Mrs. Brian is no longer young; my daughter is a mere child. If one of the two has to submit to some slight inconvenience, it is certainly my daughter."
All of a sudden M. Elgin rose.
"I should leave," he began.
Unfortunately the rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct murmur.
He was no doubt at that moment recalling a promise he had made. And resolved not to interfere in the count"s family affairs, and, on the other hand, indignant at what he considered an odious abuse of power, he left the room abruptly. His looks, his physiognomy, his gestures, all betrayed these sentiments so clearly, that Henrietta was quite touched.
But Count Ville-Handry continued, after a moment"s surprise, saying,- "Therefore, my daughter will hereafter live in the rooms formerly occupied by the companion of my-I mean of her mother. They are small, but more than sufficient for her. Besides, they have this advantage, that they can be easily overlooked from one of our own rooms, my dear Sarah; and that is important when we have to deal with an imprudent girl, who has so sadly abused the liberty which she enjoyed, thanks to my blind confidence."
What should she say? What could she reply?
If she had been alone with her father, she would certainly have defended herself; she would have tried to make him reconsider his decision; she would have besought him; she might have gone on her knees to him.
But here, in the presence of these two women, with the mocking eye of Countess Sarah upon her, it was impossible! Ah! she would have died a thousand times over rather than to give these miserable adventurers the joy and the satisfaction of a new humiliation.
"Let them crush me," she said to herself; "they shall never hear me complain, or cry for mercy."
And when her father, who had been quietly watching her, asked,- "Well?"
"You shall be obeyed this very night," she replied.
And by a kind of miracle of energy, she went out of the room calmly, her head on high; without having shed a tear.
But G.o.d knew what she suffered.
To give up those little rooms in which she had spent so many happy hours, where every thing recalled to her sweet memories, certainly that was no small grief: it was nothing however, in comparison with that frightful perspective of having to live under the wary eye of Countess Sarah, under lock and key.
They would not even leave her at liberty to weep. Her intolerable sufferings would not extort a sigh from her that the countess did not hear on the other side of the part.i.tion, and delight in.