"Does Florence know Michel?"
"M. Renaud is my cousin, and now I think of it, shortly after you left Paris, madame, he came and asked me to introduce him to my wife, upon whom he afterwards called a number of times. But now I think of it, you must know M. Michel Renaud very well yourself, as you feel sufficient interest in him to follow him."
"I will tell you all, monsieur," replied Valentine, blushing, "for I am as deeply interested in solving this mystery as you can possibly be."
"Ah, madame," exclaimed M. de Luceval, gloomily, "more than once, during my long absence, I experienced all the tortures of jealousy when I thought of Florence, free! Free! oh, no, in spite of our separation, the law gives me the right to avenge the wrong, if the woman who still bears my name is guilty, and this man--this man! Oh, if I were sure of his guilt, I would challenge him before another hour had pa.s.sed, and either he or I--"
"Pray calm yourself, monsieur," said Madame d"Infreville, "strange as all this seems, there is really nothing that implicates Florence in the least. This morning she left home at the same hour Michel did, it is true; but though it was still dark, and the street was deserted, they did not exchange a single word, and held themselves sedulously aloof from each other."
"Still they leave home and return at the same hour! Where do they go?
How do they spend all this time? They undoubtedly meet each other, but where?"
"We will solve this mystery. We must and shall. I am as anxious to do it as you can possibly be; and in order that you may understand the cause of this deep anxiety on my part, I will tell you as briefly as possible what my life has been since the day you saw me overwhelmed with shame under M. d"Infreville"s just reproaches."
CHAPTER XIV.
VALENTINE"S STORY.
After a brief silence, caused by her embarra.s.sment and confusion, Madame d"Infreville, recovering her courage, said:
"When the falsehood, to which Florence"s affection for me had made her a willing accomplice, was discovered in your presence, four years ago, my husband, on leaving your house, took me to his home. I found my mother there.
""We shall leave Paris in an hour in company with your mother, madame,"
M. d"Infreville said to me. "I shall take you to one of my farms in Poitou, where you will live henceforth with your mother. If you refuse, I shall apply for a divorce, and make your disgrace public. I have abundant proof of it in the shape of two or three very significant letters which I found in your desk. If you give me the slightest trouble, I will prosecute you for adultery: I will drag you and your lover into the courts, and you shall be forced to drink the cup of degradation to the dregs. You will be sent to prison with the lowest of your s.e.x, and your mother shall be turned into the street to starve. If you wish to escape all this, leave for Poitou without a word. It is not from any feeling of generosity or compa.s.sion that I make you this offer, but simply because I dislike the public scandal such a trial is sure to create, but if you refuse I will brave this scandal and ridicule. The infamy with which it will cover you will console me for that.""
"I do not wonder that your husband felt very bitter resentment towards you," exclaimed M. de Luceval, "but such language was atrocious."
"I was compelled to listen to it, nevertheless, monsieur, and also to accept his terms. I was guilty, and I had an invalid mother, who was very poor. We started that same night for Poitou, where my husband left me. The farmhouse in which we lived--my mother and I--stood in the middle of a forest, beyond the boundaries of which we were never allowed to go. I spent eighteen months in this prison, without being permitted to write a single letter or hold the slightest communication with the outer world. At the end of that time death set me free, I was a widow.
M. d"Infreville, justly incensed against me, had not left me a sou, and my mother and I became terribly poor. I could not earn enough to support my mother in any sort of comfort with my needle, and, after a long struggle with poverty, she, too, died."
Here Valentine"s emotion overcame her, and she was obliged to pause for a moment; then, drying her tears, she continued:
"As soon as we returned to Paris, I made inquiries about Florence. I could learn nothing definite, but hearing that you had left on an extended journey through foreign lands, I thought it probable that your wife had accompanied you. A short time afterwards, when hope had almost deserted me, I had the good fortune to meet one of my old schoolmates, who offered me the position of governess in the family of her sister, whose husband had just been appointed consul at Valparaiso. It is needless to say that this offer was gladly accepted, and I sailed with the family the following week. It was while returning with them from a trip to the north of Chili that I met you, monsieur. Shortly after my return to Valparaiso, I received letters from Europe informing me that a distant relative of my father, an old lady I had never even seen, had died and left me a modest fortune. I returned to France to claim it, and landed in Bordeaux only ten days ago. Now, monsieur, there is another confession I have to make,--one that is very embarra.s.sing to me, but the frankness you have displayed makes it inc.u.mbent upon me."
And after a moment of painful embarra.s.sment, Valentine, lowering her eyes, and blushing deeply, added:
"My companion in--in wrong doing--was--was your cousin, Michel Renaud."
"Some words that escaped you a short time ago led me to suspect as much, madame."
"I loved Michel, I loved him dearly, and this love has survived all the terrible trials I have undergone. The pleasant excitement of travel through an entirely new country served to divert my mind for a time from this foolish pa.s.sion, and to alleviate my sufferings to some extent; but my affection for Michel is as profound now as it was four years ago, consequently you can realise how thoroughly I must understand and sympathise with your regret and chagrin, and how fully I must appreciate what you said yesterday about the inexplicable charm which characters that are diametrically opposed to our own exert over us."
"It is true, madame, that my somewhat limited acquaintance with my cousin, as well as everything I have ever heard about him, convinces me that he is one of the most indolent persons that ever lived. In fact, in the early days of my married life I used to try to make Florence ashamed of her indolence by holding Michel up to ridicule."
"I know them both well, monsieur, and it is impossible to conceive of two persons nearer alike."
"And it is this very fact that attracted them to each other, probably, though I saw nothing in my wife"s conduct to excite the slightest suspicion. But they love each other now, madame, they love each other, I am positive of it. My natural jealousy does not deceive me."
"Perhaps I ought to share your misgivings, monsieur, but I do not. I still doubt the justice of your suspicions, for if I believed that Michel had forgotten me, I certainly should not make any effort to see him again. But permit me to remind you, monsieur, that both Florence and Michel are free, perfectly free. Is she not legally divorced from you?
What right have you to interfere with her actions?"
"The right of revenge."
"And what good will this revenge do you? If they love each other, persecution will only increase their love, without improving your chances in the least! No, no, you are too generous to wish to return evil for evil."
"But I have suffered so much, madame."
"I, too, have suffered, and perhaps even greater trials are in store for me; yet I would rather die than mar Michel"s and Florence"s happiness, if I knew for a certainty that they were happy."
"I cannot boast of an equal amount of resignation, madame. If I find that they love each other I will kill this man or he will kill me!"
"If I thought you capable of persisting in this resolve, I tell you frankly that I should immediately warn Florence and Michel of the danger that threatens them."
"You are wonderfully generous, madame!" retorted M. de Luceval, bitterly.
"And you, too, are generous, monsieur, when your resentment does not get the upper hand of you. Yes, you, too, are generous. I need no other proof than the touching solicitude which you manifested for Florence"s welfare before your departure from France."
"That was a lamentable display of weakness on my part. Things are very different now."
"All I can say, monsieur, is that if you hope to find in me an accomplice in the perpetration of a futile and wicked act of vengeance, we will end this interview here and now. If, on the contrary, you are desirous of discovering the truth in order that you may know whether you have or have not any reason to hope, you can count upon me, for, by aiding each other, we are almost certain to discover the truth with very little delay."
"And if the truth should prove to be that they love each other--"
"Before we go any further, monsieur, give me your word as a man of honour that, however painful the discovery may prove to be, you will renounce all idea of vengeance and even of seeing Florence again."
"Never, madame, never!"
"So be it, monsieur," said Valentine, rising. "In that case we will proceed, henceforth, entirely independent of each other--"
"But, madame--"
"You are perfectly free, of course, to act as you see fit in the matter--"
"But pray, madame--"
"It is useless to say any more on the subject, monsieur."
CHAPTER XV.
TIDINGS FROM FLORENCE.