After some moments" silence, Rodolph said to Murphy:
"I will now make a confession to you, my old friend. I love--yes, I pa.s.sionately love--a woman worthy of the n.o.blest, the most devoted affection. Since my heart has again expanded to all the sweetness of love, since I am thus again affected by tender emotions, I feel more deeply than ever the loss of my daughter. I might have feared that an attachment of the heart would weaken the bitterness of my regrets. It is not so; all my loving qualities--my affections--are but the keener. I feel myself better, more charitable; and more than ever is it afflicting to me not to have my daughter to adore."
"Nothing more easily explained, monseigneur,--forgive me the comparison,--but, as certain men have a joyous and benevolent intoxication, so you have good and generous love."
"Still, my hatred of the wicked has become more intense; my aversion for Sarah increases, in proportion, no doubt, to the grief I experience at my daughter"s death. I imagine to myself that that wretched mother must have neglected her, and that, when once her ambitious hopes were ruined by my marriage, the countess, in her pitiless selfishness, abandoned our daughter to mercenary hands, and, perhaps, my child died from actual neglect. It is my fault, also. I did not then think of the sacred duties which paternity imposes. When Sarah"s real character was suddenly revealed to me, I ought instantly to have taken my daughter from her, and watched over her with love and anxiety. I ought to have foreseen that the countess would make but a very unnatural mother. It is my fault,--yes, indeed, my fault."
"Monseigneur, grief distracts you! Could you, after the sad event you know of, delay for a day the long journey imposed on you, as--"
"As an expiator! You are right, my friend," said Rodolph, greatly agitated.
"You have not heard anything of the Countess Sarah since my departure, monseigneur?"
"No; since those infamous plots which twice nearly destroyed Madame d"Harville, I have heard nothing of her. Her presence here is hateful to me,--oppresses me; it seems as though my evil demon was near me, and some new misfortune threatens me."
"Patience, patience, monseigneur! Fortunately Germany is forbidden ground to her, and Germany awaits us."
"Yes, we shall go very soon. At least, during my short residence in Paris, I shall have accomplished a sacred vow, and have made some steps in the meritorious path which an august and merciful will has traced for my redemption. As soon as Madame Georges"s son is restored to her tender arms, free and innocent; as soon as Jacques Ferrand shall be convicted and punished for his crimes; as soon as I am a.s.sured of the good prosperity of all the honest and hard-working creatures who, by their resignation, courage, and probity, have deserved my interest, we will return to Germany, and then my journey will not have been wholly unfruitful."
"Particularly if you achieve the exposure of that abominable wretch, Jacques Ferrand, monseigneur,--the angular stone, the pivot on which turn so many crimes."
"Although the end justifies the means, and scruples with such a scoundrel are absurd, yet I sometimes regret that I have allowed Cecily to become an instrument in working out this just and avenging reparation."
"She ought to be here very shortly."
"She has arrived."
"Cecily?"
"Yes; I refused to see her. De Graun has given her ample instructions, and she has promised to comply with them."
"Will she keep that promise?"
"Why, everything conspires to make me think so. There is the hope of ameliorating her future condition, and the fear of being instantly sent back to Germany to prison; for De Graun will not lose sight of her, and the least defection on her part will cause her being handed over to justice."
"True, she comes here as an escaped criminal, and when we know the crimes that have led to her perpetual imprisonment, she would be at once surrendered to our demand."
"And then, even if it were not her interest to aid our schemes, the task which is a.s.signed to her being one which can only be effected by stratagem, perfidy, and the most devilish seduction, Cecily must be (and the baron a.s.sures me she really is) overjoyed at such an opportunity for playing off those infernal advantages with which she is so liberally endowed."
"Is she as handsome as she was, monseigneur?"
"De Graun declares that she is more attractive than ever; he told me that he was really quite dazzled at her beauty, to which the Alsatian costume she had chosen gave even more piquancy. The glance of this devil in petticoats, he says, has still the same really magic expression."
"Why, monseigneur, I have never been what is called a dissipated fellow, a man without heart or conduct, but if at twenty years of age I had met with Cecily, even knowing her then to be as dangerous, as wicked as I do now, I a.s.sure you I would not have answered for myself, if I had been for any time exposed to the fire of her large, black, and brilliant eyes, sparkling in the centre of her pale and ardent countenance. Yes, by heaven! I dare not think of the extremities into which so fatal an amour might have urged me."
"I am not astonished, my dear Murphy, for I know this woman. Moreover, the baron was really frightened at the quickness with which Cecily understood--or, rather guessed--the part, at once inciting and platonic, which she was to play with the notary."
"But will she, think you, be introduced as easily as you wish, monseigneur, by the intervention of Madame Pipelet? Individuals like Jacques Ferrand are so suspicious."
"I had relied, with reason, on the sight of Cecily to overcome and dissipate the notary"s distrust."
"What! Has he already seen her?"
"Yesterday. And from what Madame Pipelet told me, I have no doubt but he was fascinated by the creole, for he instantly took her into service."
"Then, monseigneur, the game is won, and ours."
"I hope so. A ferocious cupidity, a brutal pa.s.sion, have impelled the injurer of Louise Morel to the most odious crimes. It is in his pa.s.sion and his cupidity that he shall find the terrible punishment of his crimes,--a punishment which, moreover, shall not be without fruit for his victims, for you know the aim of all the Creole"s wiles."
"Cecily! Cecily! Never did greater wickedness, never more dangerous corruption, never blacker soul have served for the accomplishment of a more strict morality, a more just result! And David, monseigneur, what does he say to this arrangement?"
"Approves of everything. At the pitch of contempt and horror which he has reached for this creature, he sees in her only the instrument of a just vengeance. "If this accursed woman ever could deserve any commiseration after all the ill she has done me," he said to me, "it would be by devoting herself to the remorseless punishment of this scoundrel, whose exterminating demon she may become.""
A servant having knocked at the door, Murphy went out, but soon returned with two letters, only one of which was for Rodolph.
"A line from Madame Georges," he said, as he hastily perused it.
"Well, monseigneur, and La Goualeuse?"
"There can be no further doubt," exclaimed Rodolph, after having read, "there is some dark plot afoot. On the evening of the day when the poor girl disappeared from the farm, and at the instant when Madame Georges was about to inform me of this event, a man unknown to her, sent express and on horseback, came as from me to tell her that I was aware of the sudden disappearance of Fleur-de-Marie, and that in a few days I should take her back to the farm. In spite of this, Madame Georges, uneasy at my silence with respect to her protegee, cannot, as she says, resist the desire to hear how her dear daughter is, for so she calls her."
"It is very strange, monseigneur."
"What could be the motive for carrying off Fleur-de-Marie?"
"Monseigneur!" said Murphy, suddenly, "the Countess Sarah is no stranger to this carrying off."
"Sarah! And what makes you think so?"
"Compare this event with her denunciations against Madame d"Harville."
"You are right!" cried Rodolph, struck with a sudden light, "it is evident--now I understand. Yes, constantly the one calculation. The countess persists in thinking that by breaking down all the affections which she supposes me to form, she will make me feel the necessity of attaching myself to her. This is as odious as it is absurd. Still, such unworthy persecution must be put a stop to. It is not only myself, but all that deserve respect, interest, and pity, that this woman a.s.sails.
Send M. de Graun instantly and officially to the countess and let him say that I have the certain a.s.surance that she has been instrumental in carrying off Fleur-de-Marie, and if she does not give me at once such information as is necessary for me to find the poor girl, I will show no mercy; and then M. de Graun will go to the law officers of the crown."
"According to Madame d"Harville"s letter, La Goualeuse must be in St.
Lazare."
"Yes, but Rigolette declares that she saw her free, and quit the prison.
There is some mystery which I must clear up."
"I will instantly go and give the Baron de Graun your orders, monseigneur. But allow me to open this letter, which comes from my correspondent at Ma.r.s.eilles, to whom I had recommended the Chourineur, as he was to facilitate the pa.s.sage of the poor devil to Algeria."
"Well, has he set sail?"
"Monseigneur, it is really singular!"
"What is it?"
"After having waited for a long time at Ma.r.s.eilles for a ship to convey him to Algeria, the Chourineur, who seemed every day more sad and serious, suddenly protested, on the very day fixed for his embarkation, that he should prefer returning to Paris."