Mlle. Gilberte was soon far away; and Marius de Tregars remainedmotionless at the corner of the street, following her with his eyesthrough the darkness.
She was walking fast, staggering over the rough pavement. LeavingMarius, she fell back upon the earth from the height of her dreams.
The deceiving illusion had vanished, and, returned to the world ofsad reality, she was seized with anxiety.
How long had she been out? She knew not, and found it impossibleto reckon. But it was evidently getting late; for some of the shopswere already closing.
Meantime, she had reached the house. Stepping back, and looking up,she saw that there was light in the parlor.
"Mother has returned," she thought, trembling with apprehension.
She hurried up, nevertheless; and, just as she reached the landing,Mme. Favoral opened the door, preparing to go down.
"At last you are restored to me!" exclaimed the poor mother, whosesinister apprehensions were revealed by that single exclamation. "Iwas going out to look for you at random, - in the streets, anywhere."And, drawing her daughter within the parlor, she clasped her in herarms with convulsive tenderness, exclaiming,"Where were you? Where do you come from? Do you know that it isafter nine o'clock?"Such had been Mlle. Gilberte's state of mind during the whole ofthat evening, that she had not even thought of finding a pretextto justify her absence. Now it was too late. Besides, whatexplanation would have been plausible? Instead, therefore, ofanswering,"Why, dear mother," she said with a forced smile, "has it nothappened to me twenty times to go out in the neighborhood?"But Mme. Favoral's confiding credulity existed no longer.
"I have been blind, Gilberte," she interrupted; "but this time myeyes must open to evidence. There is in your life a mystery,something extraordinary, which I dare not try to guess."Mlle. Gilberte drew herself up, and, looking her mother straight inthe eyes, with her beautiful, clear glance,"Would you suspect me of something wrong, then?" she exclaimed.
Mme. Favoral stopped her with a gesture.
"A young girl who conceals something from her mother always doeswrong," she uttered. "It is a long while since I have had for thefirst time the presentiment that you were hiding something from me.
But, when I questioned you, you succeeded in quieting my suspicions.
You have abused my confidence and my weakness."This reproach was the most cruel that could be addressed to Mlle.
Gilberte. The blood rushed to her face, and, in a firm voice,"Well, yes," said she: "I have a secret.""Dear me!""And, if I did not confide it to you, it is because it is also thesecret of another. Yes, I confess it, I have been imprudent in theextreme; I have stepped beyond all the limits of propriety and socialcustom; I have exposed myself to the worst calumnies. But never, - Iswear it, - never have I done any thing of which my conscience canreproach me, nothing that I have to blush for, nothing that I regret,nothing that I am not ready to do again to-tomorrow.""I said nothing, 'tis true; but it was my duty. Alone I had tosuffer the responsibility of my acts. Having alone freely engagedmy future, I wished to bear alone the weight of my anxiety. I shouldnever have forgiven myself for having added this new care to all yourother sorrows."Mme. Favoral stood dismayed. Big tears rolled down her witheredcheeks.
"Don't you see, then," she stammered, "that all my past suffering isas nothing compared to what I endure to-day? Good heavens! what haveI ever done to deserve so many trials? Am I to be spared none of thetroubles of this world? And it is through my own daughter that I amthe most cruelly stricken!"This was more than Mlle. Gilberte could bear. Her heart was breakingat the sight of her mother's tears, that angel of meekness andresignation. Throwing her arms around her neck, and kissing her onthe eyes,"Mother," she murmured, "adored mother, I beg of you do not weepthus! Speak to me! What do you wish me to do?"Gently the poor woman drew back.
"Tell me the truth," she answered.
Was it not certain that this was the very, thing she would ask; infact, the only thing she could ask? Ah! how much would the younggirl have preferred one of her father's violent scenes, andbrutalities which would have exalted her energy, instead ofcrushing it!
Attempting to gain time,"Well, yes," she answered," I'll tell you every thing, mother, butnot now, to-morrow, later."She was about to yield, however, when her father's arrival cutshort their conversation.
The cashier of the Mutual Credit was quite lively that night. Hewas humming a tune, a thing which did not happen to him four timesa year, and which was indicative of the most extreme satisfaction.
But he stopped short at the sight of the disturbed countenance of hiswife and daughter.
"What is the matter?" he inquired.
"Nothing," hastily answered Mlle. Gilberte, - "nothing at all,father.""Then you are crying for your amusement," he said. "Come, be candidfor once, and confess that Maxence has been at his tricks again!
"You are mistaken, father: I swear it!
He asked no further questions, being in his nature not very curious,whether because family matters were of so little consequence to him,or because he had a vague idea that his general behavior deprivedhim of all right to their confidence.
"Very well, then," he said in a gruff tone, "let us all go to bed.
I have worked so hard to-day, that I am quite exhausted. Peoplewho pretend that business is dull make me laugh. Never has M. deThaller been in the way of making so much money as now."When he spoke, they obeyed. So that Mlle. Gilberte was thus goingto have the whole night before her to resume possession of herself,to pass over in her mind the events of the evening, and deliberatecoolly upon the decision she must come to; for, she could not doubtit, Mme. Favoral would, the very next day, renew her questions.
What should she say? All? Mlle. Gilberte felt disposed to do soby all the aspirations of her heart, by the certainty of indulgentcomplicity, by the thought of finding in a sympathetic soul the echoof her joys, of her troubles, and of her hopes.
Yes. But Mme. Favoral was still the same woman, whose firmestresolutions vanished under the gaze of her husband. Let a pretendercome; let a struggle begin, as in the case of M. Costeclar, - wouldshe have strength enough to remain silent? No!
Then it would be a fearful scene with M. Favoral. He might,perhaps, even go to M. de Tregars. What scandal! For he was a manwho spared no one; and then a new obstacle would rise between them,more insurmountable still than the others.
Mlle. Gilberte was thinking, too, of Marius's projects; of thatterrible game he was about to play, the issue of which was to decidetheir fate. He had said enough to make her understand all itsperils, and that a single indiscretion might suffice to set atnought the result of many months' labor and patience. Besides, tospeak, was it not to abuse Marius's confidence. How could sheexpect another to keep a secret she had been unable to keep herself?
At last, after protracted and painful hesitation, she decided thatshe was bound to silence, and that she would only vouchsafe thevaguest explanations.
It was in vain, then, that, on the next and the following days,Mme. Favoral tried to obtain that confession which she had seen,as it were, rise to her daughter's lips. To her passionateadjurations, to her tears, to her ruses even, Mlle. Gilberteinvariably opposed equivocal answers, a story through which nothingcould be guessed, save one of those childish romances which stopat the preface, - a schoolgirl love for a chimerical hero.
There was nothing in this very reassuring to a mother; but Mme.
Favoral knew her daughter too well to hope to conquer her invincibleobstinacy. She insisted no more, appeared convinced, but resolvedto exercise the utmost vigilance. In vain, however, did she displayall the penetration of which she was capable. The severestattention did not reveal to her a single suspicious fact, not acircumstance from which she could draw an induction, until, at last,she thought that she must have been mistaken.
The fact is, that Mlle. Gilberte had not been long in feelingherself watched; and she observed herself with a tenaciouscircumspection that could hardly have been expected of her resoluteand impatient nature. She had trained herself to a sort of cheerfulcarelessness, to which she strictly adhered, watching everyexpression of her countenance, and avoiding carefully those hoursof vague revery in which she formerly indulged.
For two successive weeks, fearing to be betrayed by her looks, shehad the courage not to show herself at the window at the hour whenshe knew Marius would pass. Moreover, she was very minutelyinformed of the alternatives of the campaign undertaken by M. deTregars.
More enthusiastic than ever about his pupil, the Signor GismondoPulei never tired of singing his praise, and with such pomp ofexpression, and so curious an exuberance of gesticulation, that Mme.
Favoral was much amused; and, on the days when she was present ather daughter's lesson, she was the first to inquire,"Well, how is that famous pupil?"And, according to what Marius had, told him,"He is swimming in the purest satisfaction," answered the candidmaestro. "Every thing succeeds miraculously well, and much beyondhis hopes."Or else, knitting his brows-"He was sad yesterday," he said, "owing to an unexpecteddisappointment; but he does not lose courage. We shall succeed."The young girl could not help smiling to see her mother assistingthus the unconscious complicity of the Signor Gismondo. Then shereproached herself for having smiled, and for having thus come,through a gradual and fatal descent, to laugh at a duplicity atwhich she would have blushed in former times. In spite of herself,however, she took a passionate interest in the game that was beingplayed between her mother and herself, and of which her secret wasthe stake. It was an ever-palpitating interest in her hithertomonotonous life, and a source of constantly-renewed emotions.
The days became weeks, and the weeks months; and Mme. Favoralrelaxed her useless surveillance, and, little by little, gave itup almost entirely. She still thought, that, at a certain moment,something unusual had occurred to her daughter; but she feltpersuaded, that, whatever that was, it had been forgotten.
So that, on the stated days, Mlle. Gilberte could go and lean uponthe window, without fear of being called to account for the emotionwhich she felt when M. de Tregars appeared. At the expected hour,invariably, and with a punctuality to shame M. Favoral himself, heturned the corner of the Rue Turenne, exchanged a rapid glance withthe young girl, and passed on.
His health was completely restored; and with it he had recoveredthat graceful virility which results from the perfect blending ofsuppleness and strength. But he no longer wore the plain garmentsof former days. He was dressed now with that elegant simplicitywhich reveals at first sight that rarest of objects, - a "perfectgentleman." And, whilst she accompanied him with her eyes as hewalked towards the Boulevard, she felt thoughts of joy and priderising from the bottom of her soul.
"Who would ever imagine," thought she, "that this young gentlemanwalking away yonder is my affianced husband, and that the day isperhaps not far, when, having become his wife, I shall lean uponhis arm? Who would think that all my thoughts belong to him, thatit is for my sake that he has given up the ambition of his life,and is now prosecuting another object? Who would suspect that itis for Gilberte Favoral's sake that the Marquis de Tregars iswalking in the Rue St. Gilles?"And, indeed, Marius did deserve some credit for these walks; forwinter had come, spreading a thick coat of mud over the pavementof all those little streets which are always forgotten by thestreet-cleaners.
The cashier's home had resumed its habits of before the war, itsdrowsy monotony scarcely disturbed by the Saturday dinner, by M.
Desclavette's naivetes or old Desormeaux's puns.
Maxence, in the mean time, had ceased to live with his parents. Hehad returned to Paris immediately after the Commune; and, feeling nolonger in the humor to submit to the paternal despotism, he hadtaken a small apartment on the Boulevard du Temple; but, at thepressing instance, of his mother, he had consented to come everynight to dine at the Rue St. Gilles.
Faithful to his oath, he was working hard, though without gettingon very fast. The moment was far from propitious; and the occasion,which he had so often allowed to escape, did not offer itself again.
For lack............