Chapter XIV: Villainy Unmasked

As M. de Maillefort seated himself beside Ernestine, he remarked, with a smile:

"So you are no longer afraid of me, I see."

"Ah, monsieur," replied the girl, "I am so thankful for this opportunity to thank you--"

"For my discretion? That will stand any test, I assure you. I give you my word that no one knows or ever will know that I met you at the home of the very best and noblest young woman I know."

"Is she not, monsieur? But if I know Herminie, monsieur, it is to you that I am indebted for the honour."

"To me?"

"You remember, perhaps, that one evening in Mlle. Helena's presence you said some very hard, but alas! only too true things about me."

"Yes, my poor child. I knew how much you disliked me. I could never find an opportunity to see you alone, and, though I was watching over you, it was necessary, imperatively necessary, that your eyes should be opened, and that you should understand the object of the fulsome flattery of which you might eventually become the dupe."

"Ah, well, monsieur, your words did open my eyes, and I saw very plainly that those around me were deceiving me, and that I was already on the verge of becoming a victim to their shameful flattery. I made a resolve then and there, and, in order to discover the truth concerning myself, I arranged with my governess to attend a little dancing party given by one of her friends, where I was to be introduced as a poor orphan relative of hers."

"And at this party you met Herminie. She told me so. I understand everything now. So you wished to know your own intrinsic worth without your fortune, eh?"

"Yes, monsieur, and the test was a very painful though profitable one. It has taught me among other things to appreciate the value and the sincerity of the attentions showered upon me this evening," she added, meaningly.

And as the hunchback, hardly able to repress his emotion, gazed at Ernestine in silence, deeply touched by the strength of character this young and defenceless girl had displayed, she asked, timidly:

"Can you blame me, monsieur?"

"Blame you, my poor child, no, no. The only blame attaches to the unscrupulous persons whose baseness almost compelled you to take such a step--a step I not only approve but admire, for you yourself do not realise how much courage and nobility of character you evinced."

A rather elderly man, approaching the divan upon which M. de Maillefort was seated, leaned over the back of it, and said to the hunchback, in a low tone:

"My dear marquis, Morainville and Hauterive are at your service. They are standing by the window opposite you."

"Very well, my dear friend. A thousand thanks for your kindness and theirs! You have informed them of the condition of affairs, have you not?"

"Fully."

"And they make no objection?"

"How could they in a case like this?"

"Then all is well," responded the marquis.

Then turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, he asked:

"For which quadrille did M. de Mornand engage you?"

"For the next, monsieur," replied Ernestine, much surprised at the question.

"You hear, my friend," said M. de Maillefort to the gentleman who had just spoken to him.

"Very well, my dear marquis."

And M. de Maillefort's friend, after having made quite a detour, rejoined Messrs. Morainville and d'Hauterive, and said a few words to which both gave a nod of assent.

"My dear child," remarked the marquis, again turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "I have been watching over you for some time past without appearing to do so, for though you never saw me at your mother's house during your childhood, I was one of your mother's friends--most devoted friends."

"Ah, monsieur, I ought to have mistrusted that sooner, for you have been so grossly maligned to me."

"That was very natural under the circumstances. Now, a word or two upon a more important matter. M. de la Rochaigue has often spoken of M. de Mornand as a suitor for your hand, has he not? and has also assured you that you could not make a better choice?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"My poor child!" said the marquis, compassionately; then he continued, in his usual sarcastic tone:

"And Mlle. Helena, in her turn, saintly, devout creature that she is, has said the very same thing about M. Celestin de Macreuse, another extremely devout and saintly personage."

But the orphan, noting the bitter and cynical smile that played about the lips of the marquis as he spoke of the saintliness of the abbe's disciple, ventured to say:

"You have a poor opinion of M. de Macreuse, perhaps, marquis?"

"Perhaps? No, my opinion on that subject is very decided."

"I admit that I, too, distrusted M. de Macreuse," began Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

"So much the better," interrupted the marquis, hastily. "The wretch caused me far more anxiety than any of the others. I was so afraid that you would be duped by his pretended melancholy and his hypocrisy, but fortunately such persons not unfrequently excite the instinctive distrust of the honest and ingenuous."

"But you need feel no such apprehensions, I assure you," resumed Ernestine, triumphantly. "I must undeceive you on that point."

"Undeceive me?"

"In regard to M. de Macreuse? Yes."

"And why, pray?"

"Because there are no real grounds for any distrust. M. de Macreuse is a sincere and honourable man, plain-spoken almost to rudeness, in fact."

"My child, you frighten me," exclaimed M. de Maillefort, in such accents of alarm that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was thunderstruck. "Do not conceal anything from me, I beseech you," continued the hunchback. "You can have no conception of the diabolical cunning of a man like that. I have seen such hypocrites deceive the shrewdest people,--and you, my poor innocent child!"

Mlle. de Beaumesnil, impressed by M. de Maillefort's evident anxiety, and having perfect confidence in him now, proceeded to give him the gist of her recent conversation with the pious young man.

"He mistrusted your motive, my child," said the hunchback, after a moment's reflection, "and, seeing that he had been caught in a trap, audaciously resolved to turn the tables on you by pretending that he had been putting you to a similar test. I tell you that such men positively appall me."

"Good Heavens! is it possible, monsieur?" exclaimed the terrified girl. "Oh, no, he cannot be so utterly base! Besides, I am sure you would think very differently if you had seen him. Why, the tears positively came to his eyes when he spoke of the bitter grief the loss of his mother had caused him."

"The loss of his mother!" repeated the marquis. "Ah, you little know--"

Then suddenly checking himself, he added:

"There he is now! Ah, it was certainly Heaven that sent him here just at this moment. Listen and judge for yourself, my poor dear child. Ah, your innocent heart little suspects the depths of degradation to which avarice reduces such souls as his."

Then elevating his voice loud enough to make himself distinctly heard by those around him, he called out to Macreuse, who was just then crossing the ballroom in order to steal another glance at Mlle. de Beaumesnil:

"M. de Macreuse, one word, if you please."

The abbe's protege hesitated a moment before responding to the summons, for he both hated and feared the marquis, but seeing every turned eye upon him, and encouraged by the success of his late ruse with Ernestine, he straightened himself up, and approaching M. de Maillefort, said coldly:

"You did me the honour to call me, M. le marquis."

"Yes, I did you that honour, monsieur," replied the marquis, sardonically, and without taking the trouble to rise from his seat; "and yet you are not at all polite to me, nor to the other persons who happen to have the pleasure of your company."

On hearing these words, quite a number of persons gathered around the two men, for the satirical and aggressive spirit of the marquis was well known.

"I do not understand you, M. le marquis," replied M. de Macreuse, much annoyed, and evidently fearing; some disagreeable explanation. "So far as I know I have not been lacking in respect towards you or any other person present."

"I hear that you have had the misfortune to lose your mother, monsieur," said the marquis, in his rather shrill, penetrating voice.

"Monsieur," stammered M. de Macreuse, apparently stupefied by these words.

"Would it be indiscreet in me to ask when you lost madame, your mother--if you know."

"Monsieur!" faltered this model young man, blushing scarlet. "Such a question--"

"Is very natural, it seems to me, besides being rendered almost necessary by the lack of respect of which I complain, not only in my own name, but in the name of all your acquaintances."

"Lack of respect?"

"Certainly. Why did you not politely inform your acquaintances of the sad loss which you have had the misfortune to sustain, etc?"

"I do not know what you mean, M. le marquis," replied Macreuse, who had now recovered his composure, in a measure.

"Nonsense! I, who am a great church-goer, as every one knows, heard you ask a priest at St. Thomas d'Aquin the other day to say a certain number of masses for the repose of your mother's soul."

"But, monsieur--"

"But, monsieur, there can be no doubt of the truth of my statement, as you were quite overcome with grief and despair, apparently, while praying for this beloved parent in the Chapel of the Virgin,--so completely overcome, in fact, that your good friends, the beadles, were obliged to carry you in a dead swoon to the sacristy,--a piece of shameful deception on your part that would have amused if it had not revolted me."

Staggered for a moment by this unexpected attack, the abbe's protege had now recovered all his native impudence.

"Every one will understand why I could not and should not answer such an extraordinary--such a truly distressing question. The secret of one's prayers is sacred--"

"That is true!" cried several voices, indignantly. "Such an attack is outrageous!"

"Did any one ever hear the like of it?"

As we have remarked before, M. de Macreuse, like all persons of his stamp, had his partisans, and these partisans very naturally had a strong antipathy for M. de Maillefort, who hunted down everything false and cowardly in the most pitiless fashion, so a still louder murmur of disapproval was heard, and such expressions as: "What a distressing scene!" "Did you ever hear anything as scandalous!" and "How brutal!" were distinctly audible. But the marquis, no whit disconcerted, allowed the storm to spend itself, until Macreuse, emboldened by his opponent's silence said, boldly:

"The interest so many highly esteemed persons manifest in me makes it unnecessary for me to prolong this interview, and--"

But the marquis, interrupting him, said, in accents of withering contempt:

"M. de Macreuse, you have lied atrociously. You have not lost your mother, M. de Macreuse; your sainted mother is living, as you know very well, and your sainted father also. You see that I am sufficiently well informed concerning your antecedents. You have played an infamous part! You have cast odium upon a sentiment that even the most degraded respect,--the sentiment of filial love. The object of all this duplicity is known to me, and if I refrain from disclosing it, you may be sure that it is only because names are involved which are so honoured that they should not even be mentioned in the same breath with yours--if you possess one."

M. de Macreuse's frightful pallor and utter consternation proved the truth of these charges so conclusively that even the warmest admirers of this model young man dared not rally to his defence, while those who had always felt an instinctive dislike for the founder of the St. Polycarpe Mission, loudly applauded the marquis.

"Monsieur," cried Macreuse, terrible to behold in his suppressed rage,--for he felt that his villainy was certain to be unmasked now,--"for such an insult as this--"

"Enough, monsieur, enough. Leave this house at once. The mere sight of you is offensive to respectable people, and Madame de Mirecourt will be infinitely obliged to me for punishing you as you deserve. It is absolutely necessary that scoundrels like you should be made an example of now and then, and, distasteful as the role of executioner is to me, I have assumed it to-night, and my task is not yet ended by any means."

This announcement increased the confusion and excitement very considerably.

The model young man, anticipating another attack, and thinking he had had quite enough of it, straightened himself up, as a snake straightens itself up from beneath the foot that is crushing it, and said, insolently:

"After these gross insults, I will not remain another minute in this house, but I venture to hope that, in spite of the difference in our ages, M. le Marquis de Maillefort will be so kind as to accede to-morrow to a request which I shall make through two of my friends."

"Go, monsieur, go! The night brings counsel, and after a little reflection you will abandon your absurd and sanguinary pretensions."

"So be it, monsieur, but in that case you may rest assured that I shall resort to other means," retorted the model youth, casting a venomous look at the hunchback, as he turned to depart.

Original etching by Adrian Marcel.]

Madame de Mirecourt, recollecting what Madame de Senneterre had said in relation to M. de Macreuse, was not sorry to see that gentleman's villainy exposed, but to put an end to the excitement and confusion this strange scene had created, she requested several men she knew very well to form a quadrille as soon as possible.

In fact, the young men were already starting out in search of partners.

This exposure of M. de Macreuse filled Mlle. de Beaumesnil's heart with gratitude and also with terror when she thought that she might have yielded to the interest M. de Macreuse had at first inspired, and perhaps married a man capable of such an infamous act--an act that revealed an utterly depraved nature.

While engaged in these reflections, the orphan saw that Madame de Senneterre and Madame de la Rochaigue, who had been for a time unable to force their way through the crowd that had gathered around the two men, had returned and resumed their seats beside her. The marquis then rose and stepped around back of the divan, after which he leaned over Madame de la Rochaigue and said, almost in a whisper:

"Ah, well, madame, you see I am not a bad auxiliary, after all. I discover many strange and villainous things from my post of observation, as I told you some time ago."

"I am utterly astounded, my dear marquis," replied the baroness. "I understand everything now, however. This explains why my odious sister-in-law has been dragging the poor dear child off to the Church of St. Thomas d'Aquin every morning. With her apparent stupidity and her religious zeal, Helena is a most perfidious creature. Did any one ever hear of such deceitfulness and treachery?"

"The end is not yet, my dear baroness. You have not only been sheltering a viper in your house, but a veritable serpent as well."

"A serpent?"

"Yes, an enormous one, with long teeth," said the marquis, with a meaning glance at M. de la Rochaigue, who happened to be standing in the doorway, showing his teeth after his usual fashion.

"What! my husband?" exclaimed the baroness. "What do you mean?"

"You will soon know. Do you see that stout man advancing towards us with such a triumphant air?"

"Of course. That is M. de Mornand."

"He is coming to ask your ward to dance."

"Oh, that doesn't matter. We can let her dance with anybody now, for we were right in our suppositions. The dear child is charmed with M. de Senneterre, my dear marquis."

"I am sure of it."

"So behold the Duchesse de Senneterre," said Madame de la Rochaigue, triumphantly, "and that without the slightest trouble."

"The Duchesse de Senneterre!" repeated the hunchback. "Not quite."

"Of course not, but the matter is virtually settled."

"So at last you are satisfied with Gerald, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and me, are you not, my dear baroness?"

"Delighted, my dear marquis."

"That is all I want to know. Now I can devote my attention to that stout man and your serpent of a husband, whose coils--"

"What! M. de la Rochaigue has dared--"

"Ah, my poor baroness, your ingenuousness rends my heart. Look, listen and profit thereby, poor credulous woman that you are!"

As the marquis uttered these words, M. de Mornand was already bowing low before Mlle. de Beaumesnil to remind her of the engagement she had made to dance with him.