Chapter VIII: Part 8

"Stay!" said Julie, "let us put an end to this. You and I are at cross purposes, Monsieur Marcel; I am tired of pretending, when my heart is sincere, and when I have already told the marchioness my intentions clearly enough, in your presence. So let me speak now, and inform you both that my marriage to Julien Thierry is a thing determined and that we are irrevocably pledged to each other. Yes, Marcel, you will be my cousin; and you, Monsieur Antoine, will be my uncle. You have been very accurately informed, and you can pay your spies handsomely. Now that my statement is made, you will see that I am forced to withdraw the expressions I used to characterize your conduct toward me. Whatever you may do henceforth, my respect for our relationship must close my mouth. You are at liberty to abuse me, to slander me and to ruin me. I shall no longer say a word in reply to you, but I shall not implore your favor either; I have nothing to ask at your hands, and the more you oppress me, the more you will increase my gratitude and esteem for the man who is willing to bear the burden of my destiny."

Surprise had struck Marcel dumb. His uncle, who had glanced at him at first with an air of triumph and had seen that his amazement was entirely sincere, became gloomy and irritated anew when Madame d'Estrelle defied him thus to his face.

"So it's all over, is it?" he said, rising; "you have made up your mind and you don't choose to listen to my last propositions?"

"Yes, indeed!" replied Marcel, "say on. I do not myself approve of all Madame d'Estrelle's ideas, and I notify her in your presence that I shall fight against the idea of this marriage. So speak, supply me with arguments."

"You are on the right side this time," rejoined Monsieur Antoine. "Very well; as she turns her head away with an air of obstinacy and contempt--for she is a contemptuous creature, that she is! a niece who will treat me as my honored sister-in-law did--do you tell her what I will do if she will give up her dauber of tulips. I will take care of all her debts, I will let her keep her hôtel, her garden, her pavilion, her diamonds, her farm in Beauvoisis, in fact everything she has left now."

"Wait, wait a moment!" said Marcel to Julie, seeing that she was about to reply.

"No," said Julie; "I will accept nothing from the man who treats Julien and Madame Thierry with such disdain and aversion. I care nothing for his insults to me personally. I forgive monsieur for having exposed me to the sarcasms and slanders of the marchioness and her set; but the enemies of those whom I love can never be my friends, and any benefactions from them are an affront which I spurn."

"Wait, I tell you!" cried Monsieur Antoine, stamping on the floor; "have you the devil in you? Do you think that I propose to ruin your friends? Not at all. I will give them the house at Sèvres, which is mine to-day, if you please! I will make them an allowance, I will assure them a good share of my property when I am dead, for I propose to divide it between you and Julien and this ass of an attorney here! So, you see, I make you all rich and happy, but on one condition: that the pavilion is to be vacated instantly, and that you swear on your honor, and put your oath in writing, that Madame d'Estrelle will never see Monsieur Julien again."

This time Julie was speechless. Even if that inexorable old man were really mad, there was a sort of wild grandeur in that munificence, which recoiled at no sacrifice in the effort to assure the triumph of his jealousy. It was a shrewd move, too, to put Madame d'Estrelle in a position where her refusal would sacrifice Julien's interests, Madame Thierry's and Marcel's. The last-named at once expressed his views in noble language.

"Uncle," he said, "you can take what measures you please with regard to my future. You know me too well to believe that prospects of that sort will ever have any influence on my conscience! I said just now that I was opposed to Madame d'Estrelle's determination: I have some ideas thereupon which it is my duty to submit to her even now; but understand this, that if she does not feel disposed to yield to them, I shall never remind her that her resistance may injure me in your mind, that I shall never allow my dealings with her to be influenced by my personal interests, and finally that, if madame and Julien persist in their purpose of marrying, I shall assist them with my advice and my services, and shall be their friend, kinsman and servant for all time."

Julie silently offered the solicitor her hand. Tears came to her eyelids. She looked at Antoine and saw immovable obstinacy written on his shrivelled, sunburned face.

"Let us go back to Madame Thierry and Julien," she said, rising; "it is for them to decide."

"No!" cried Monsieur Antoine; "I don't propose to have you take them by surprise. At first blush I know very well that the painter will play the great man, and his mother will put on her grand manners, especially in my presence. And then they'll be on their honor before madame, they won't want to be left behind in the matter of pride; they will say just what she did, with the right to repent an hour later; but I will wait to see what you all say to-morrow morning! I will come again. Take then my last word, attorney; do you reflect, also, my fine fellow, and then we shall see if the four of you will agree in refusing my present gifts and what I leave behind me hereafter. _Au revoir_, Madame d'Estrelle. To-morrow, at twelve o'clock, here!"

Julie, when he had gone, fell back, pale and crushed, on her chair. He turned as he was leaving the salon, and satisfied himself that he had succeeded in shaking that haughty courage. Then he went away in triumph.

VII

By nature, as by profession, Marcel was a foreseeing man. A man may be both practical and generous. Under the inspiration of those two qualities he considered the situation of the lovers and talked to Julie.

"Madame," he said, taking both her hands with an affectionate kindliness in which there was nothing offensive, "begin by disregarding me entirely in this matter. If Julien and his mother are as brave and self-sacrificing as you, I shall admire the sacrifice instead of dissuading them. And first of all do not exaggerate the future consequences of your action. Monsieur Antoine is a man of his word, that is certain; in good as in evil, he does what he promises. But the matter of his last will is a great problem, because he is now on the downward slope of marriage. Surely it is a most extraordinary thing to see that old bachelor, a confirmed foe of women and of love, rush headlong into this matrimonial caprice in his declining years; as it bears the stamp of monomania, no promise, no resolution that he may make can protect him from it. He will find what he is seeking, be sure of that: some titled woman or other, young or old, virtuous or not, beautiful or ugly, will allow herself to be tempted by his cash and will swallow all his property. So this simplifies the question, and you may put aside the consideration of our inheritance. There is nothing certain beyond the present facts, and you see I am not at all interested. So let us consider these present facts which are submitted for our consideration. They are of very serious consequence. I know Uncle Antoine; what he proposes to do, he does in twenty-four hours or never. To-morrow he will be here with documents all prepared, drawn up by himself in more or less barbarous style, but with not a dot over an _i_ missing that would make them good and binding, incontestable in the eye of the law, which he knows better than I do myself. These documents will not set forth in any form of words the strange provision, unforeseen in legislation, that you shall formally break off relations with a certain person; but they may very well impose the condition that you are not to marry again without Monsieur Antoine's assent, and that they shall be revocable at once in case of rebellion on your part. So we must not hope to evade the stipulation which he demands; moreover, your character is an assurance that you would not think of doing so."

"You are right, monsieur," said Julie with a sigh, "I shall never make a promise and not keep it."

"Here we are then," continued Marcel, "face to face with an incredible, but very real, closely impending fact, conclusive concerning the existence of two persons who are dear to you, my aunt and Julien, since my reasoning places me outside of the reckoning. You must reflect seriously. Do you wish me to leave you alone for that purpose, or will you allow me to say to you at once what I would have said to you an hour ago if you had taken me for a confidant before Monsieur Antoine appeared?"

"Say it now, Marcel; you must tell me everything."

"Very well, madame; let us suppose that, despite his anger, Monsieur Antoine outbids the marchioness; see how straitened your circumstances will be; two or three thousand francs a year! You marry Julien, who has nothing in the world but his arms, and soon you will be a mother, with Madame Thierry to support and care for, a servant for her, and a nurse for yourself, and a manservant, unless Julien lays aside his brushes when the heavy work of the household is to be done, however modest it may be. You will certainly live honorably, for he will work; Madame Thierry will knit all the stockings for the family, and you will be economical. You will have a single silk dress and will wear calicoes. You will always walk when you go out, and you will not indulge yourself in a bit of ribbon without counting on your fingers to see if your little savings will stand it. That is how my wife began life when I purchased my office. Well, I can tell you, madame, that we were not very happy then, and yet we loved each other dearly; my wife was not vain, we had never been well-to-do, and we did not know what luxury was. We knew how to go without; but we were anxious,--my wife because I worked half the night and trotted about, tired out and with a cold in my head, at all hours and in all weathers; and I, because she had to go without fresh air and good food, forever harnessed to household duties and the labors of maternity. Each of us suffered from constant, painful solicitude for the other. I give you my word that the more dearly we loved each other, the more worried we were and the more we lacked real happiness. We lost two children; one that we had to put out to nurse in the country where he was not well cared for; the other we decided to keep at home, and the foul air of Paris, combined with the poor health he inherited from his mother, prevented him from developing. If we have succeeded in raising the third, it is only because we were in somewhat easier circumstances by dint of economy and industry. To-day we are very happy and free from anxiety; but we are forty years old and we have suffered terribly! Our earlier years were a constant struggle, and often a martyrdom. Such is the life of the petty bourgeois of Paris, madame la comtesse; that of the poor artist is even worse, for his profession is less reliable than mine. People constantly have matters in dispute, which cause them to have recourse to the solicitor; but they don't always need pictures, and most people never need them. They are pure luxuries. Julien will not make a small fortune, as his father did. His character and talent are even more highly esteemed perhaps; but he has not the attractive frivolity, the taste for society and the brilliant external qualities which cause a certain sort of people to become infatuated with an artist, bring him out, sing his praises, and make him shine resplendent. Let me tell you that my Uncle André's talent, genuine as it was, would never have extricated him from poverty, if he had not been a fine table-singer, a great man for clever remarks and piquant anecdotes, and if certain influential but volatile ladies had not from time to time made him unfaithful to his wife, whom he adored none the less, but of whom he said under his breath, innocently enough, that he must needs deceive her a little, in her own interest.--You lose color!--Julien will not follow that example of a time which has gone by; but it will be of no use for Julien to produce masterpieces, he will remain poor. Society does not become infatuated with modest merit, and does not travel about in quest of unknown virtue. His marriage with you will make a certain noise, a little scandal which will bring him into notice. His father's marriage had that result at the time; but, once more I say, times have changed: the world is more austere or more hypocritical to-day than in La Pompadour's day. Then, too, the same sort of adventure doesn't succeed twice. People will say that youngster is very presumptuous to try to mimic his father; and you will raise up more enemies than patrons for him. There will be a great outcry against you. I don't suppose that the marchioness will try to have you put in a convent and him in the Bastille, for the crime of misalliance: she has no rights over you; but she will injure you much more by crying you down, and you will not have the rigors of persecution to make you interesting. People know you, they know that you are rigidly virtuous; the reaction will be all the more violent and implacable, the old prudes will go about everywhere saying that as such marriages threaten to become common in society, they cannot be endured and must be severely condemned. Even the liberally-minded--some of whom are Julien's patrons now--will not dare to defend you. They too belong to society to-day. They are no longer persecuted but are caressed and flattered, and Paris is still quivering over the triumph awarded Monsieur de Voltaire after his long exile. People laugh at Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who believed that he was still a victim of the machinations of bigots, and who might have lived in peace and honor, so they say, if his heart had not been soured and his mind diseased. The philosophers have the upper hand to-day; they are no longer over-solicitous to fight against prejudice, and the remnant of the great crusade of free-thinkers will not mend its pen and sharpen its tongue to sustain your cause against the outcry of the salons. All these cowardly blows, all these insults will eventually fall on Julien's heart. He will live in never-ending anxiety, always on the quivive; he will fall out with all his friends; he may fight with some of them----"

"Enough, enough, Marcel," said Julie, weeping. "I see that I have been mad, that I have been led by the counsel of a selfish passion, or by my absolute ignorance of social necessities. I see that Julien's life would be made burdensome by public reprobation, that life would be a never-ending source of danger and unhappiness.--Ah! Marcel, you have broken my heart; but you have done your duty, and I esteem you the more. Let us go and tell Julien that I mean to break--_Mon Dieu!_ how shall I tell him that?"

"Julien will not believe you! He will laugh at your generous pretence; he will tell you that he longs to suffer for you. He is courageous and strong, and I have no doubt that he adores you. If you consult him, his first exclamation will be: 'Love at any price, love and persecution, love and poverty!'--He does not doubt himself, and his mother, who is equal to him in the matter of courage and unselfishness, will assist him to sacrifice everything; but imagine Julien a year or two hence, when he sees his mother suffer. Only by the most extraordinary efforts is he able now to shield her from the horrors of poverty, and in spite of him, in spite of herself, in spite of everything, she suffers on that account, you may be sure. Madame Thierry is an enthusiast, in nowise a stoic. She was brought up to do nothing, and she doesn't know how to do anything but knit and read, sitting comfortably in her easy-chair. Moreover her health is frail. She is not like my wife, she would not sit up till midnight mending her son's shirts; her beautiful hands are no better acquainted with fatigue than yours. What will happen then, when Julien has a wife and children? He will blame himself for your miseries, and if remorse ever gains a foothold in that proud heart, farewell to courage and perhaps to talent!"

"Enough, I tell you, my dear Marcel. Advise me, guide me; command, for I surrender. Must I not see him or speak to him?"

"No, you certainly must not, my dear countess. He must know nothing of what has happened, and Monsieur Antoine's gifts must fall into his hands without any suspicion on his part of the terms on which our uncle became tractable. Otherwise, he would be quite capable of refusing them."

"Marcel," said the countess, rising and ringing the bell, "I must leave this house instantly and never return!"

A servant appeared.

"Send for a cab," she said, "and send Camille to me."

"I shall carry nothing away," she said to Marcel. "You must pay my servants, collect my most necessary effects and send them to me."

"But where are you going?"

"To a convent, outside Paris, I don't care where, provided that nobody but you knows where I am."

Camille appeared. Julie bade her fetch her cloak, and, when she had left the room again, continued:

"You see, my friend, if I remain here a moment longer, Madame Thierry, being anxious on account of what happened at her house, will come to make inquiries, and even if I should feign before her--this evening, ah! yes, this evening Julien would wait for me in the garden, and when I failed to appear, he would not be able to refrain from coming to my window and tapping on it.--I should not have the strength to leave him in the grasp of mortal anxiety, and I could not lie to him. No, no, let us go! I hear the cab coming into the courtyard. Come, do not give me time to lose what little courage I have!"

Marcel felt that she was right; he offered her his arm.

"Come, madame," he said, "God inspires you and He will support you!"

They drove about at random at first, the countess having given the cabman the address of one convent, then of another, having no idea where she really wished to go. At last Marcel persuaded her to go to the Ursulines at Chaillot, where he had a cousin who was a nun; and he waited until she was settled there, himself paying the price of her lodging and board for a week, reserving the right to prolong the arrangement if the countess were properly treated. Julie took the name of Madame d'Erlange, and Marcel's cousin, whom he enjoined to commend her warmly to the superior, was not taken into the secret. As Julie took refuge in the convent as a lodger, she was allowed to detain Marcel in her room in order to give him her instructions.

"I absolutely refuse," she said, "to accept Monsieur Antoine's benefactions in any shape; they were hateful to me, and I no longer need any consideration at his hands. Let him pay himself in full, as he is now my only creditor, as he has everything of mine in his hands. I have nothing left but my twelve hundred francs a year, and, as I must live alone hereafter, I need nothing more. Do not let him leave me my furniture; do not let him send me my diamonds; I will not receive them. He may draw up with his own hands the agreement I am to sign, pledging myself never to marry. I will sign it in exchange for the gift to Madame Thierry of the house at Sèvres, and an allowance which you will do your best, in my name, to make as large as possible. You will also demand that neither Madame Thierry nor her son be informed of the truth with respect to my action. You will tell them that I have gone away; that I cannot, that I do not wish to receive them again, because--Oh! _mon Dieu!_ what will you tell them! I have no idea! Tell them whatever you can invent that is least cruel, but most irrevocable, for we must not leave them any of the hopes deferred which make the heart sick, and render the final awakening the more bitter.--Tell them--no, tell them nothing. Alas! alas! I have no strength left to think or decide; I have no strength left for anything!"

"I will reflect," said Marcel; "I will think it over as I return. I leave you in despair; but I must go to get your clothes; I must prevent Julien from being panic-stricken and losing his head at the first moment, and I must reassure your servants, who would otherwise wait for you, and perhaps engage in compromising comments or investigations when you failed to return. Come, madame, be heroic! Calm yourself; I will return this evening, or sooner if I can. I will try to bring you some consoling news from the pavilion; I must succeed in deceiving Julien, although I have no more idea than you how I shall succeed in doing it. _Au revoir._ Wait for me; do not write to anyone. We must not contradict each other. You will weep bitterly! I have caused you much suffering, poor woman! And now I must leave you alone. It is horrible!"

As he spoke, Marcel unconsciously shed tears. Seeing his affliction and his unselfish devotion, Julie urged him to go, and strove to display an energy which she did not possess. As soon as she was alone, she locked her door, threw herself on the poor, shabby bed which had been prepared for her, buried her face in the pillow, stifling her sobs, wringing her hands, and abandoning herself to her grief so completely that she lost all consciousness of the place where she was and all memory of the events which had driven her thither so abruptly.

Marcel, returning to the cab, wiped his streaming eyes, blamed himself for his weakness, and argued the facts anew.

"When you decide to do a thing," he said to himself, "you must do it."

He had one last hope which he had thought best not to suggest to Julie, namely, to prevail upon Monsieur Antoine. He drove to his house first; but he wasted there all the eloquence of his heart and his reason. The selfish fellow was happy, triumphant; he was drinking his revenge with gusto, and he did not propose to leave a drop in the bottom of the glass. All that Marcel could obtain, after exchanging many reproaches and invectives, was that Julien and his mother should be left in ignorance of the bargain by which they were made rich.

"You are trying to do a very difficult thing," he said; "do not make it impossible. Madame d'Estrelle is the only one who has submitted thus far. Julien would surely resist; deceive him unless you wish to make Julie's submission useless to your vengeance."

"You tire me with your Julie!" cried Monsieur Antoine. "She deserves a great deal of pity, doesn't she, when I am giving her everything--fortune, social consideration and liberty!"

"Yes, liberty to die of grief!"

"As if people died of that! Pretty twaddle in a lawyer's mouth! Let her make a good marriage suited to her rank, I won't oppose it; she can marry anyone she chooses. I bar nobody but the dauber. Within a fortnight she will open her eyes and thank me. She will recognize my grandeur of soul and will call me her benefactor. Upon my word, you are all cracked! I pull hundreds of thousands of francs from my pocket; I throw them by the handful to ingrates and fools, and they call me cruel kinsman, hard heart, old hound, old miser and God knows what! The world is upside down just now, on my word!"

"They won't call you all those names, uncle; they won't call you any name. There are no names to describe the oddity of your character, and nobody else in the world could have discovered the secret of causing the hand that enriches to be cursed!"

"Bah! you are using big words; you fancy you're at the bar! Off with you, you bore me to death. Tell your Julien whatever you choose; I don't want to see him or you or anybody. I am going back to the country."

"That is to say that you will shut yourself up here and barricade yourself against all the strong arguments I can bring forward."

"Possibly! now you know that your strong arguments will be wasted; they will stay at the door."

Marcel was careful not to tell his uncle that there was a much simpler and less expensive way to prevent the marriage: namely, to abandon Madame d'Estrelle to her destruction, and trust to the wise and generous reflections to which she had opened her mind. Nor did he feel called upon to tell him that she refused his gifts.

"After all," he thought, "who knows how long this passion will last? In a short time, perhaps, Julie will have conquered it, and then it will be very agreeable to her to know that she is free and still rich."

He and Monsieur Antoine drew up a conditional discharge of the whole of her debt, and he succeeded in procuring the insertion of this important modification, that Madame d'Estrelle was at liberty to enter into wedlock with anyone she chose _except an untitled person._ He procured Monsieur Antoine's signature and seal to the document, and put it in his pocket, pending an opportune time to hand it to Madame d'Estrelle, that is to say, when she should be less agitated.

The deed of gift of the house at Sèvres and of an income of five thousand francs in the public funds was all ready. Marcel had to fight a terrible battle to prevent the insertion of a restriction analogous to that to which Julie was expected to submit. He argued that, as Julie had promised not to marry Julien, it was entirely useless for Julien to pledge himself not to marry Julie.

"But your Julie can very easily give up her fortune, and then when the other has made enough to live on, I shall have made a fine mess of it! I shall have married them! No, no! I propose to have a letter from this lady pledging herself on her honor and her religion never again in her lifetime to see this gentleman, with his name all spelled out. Women are bound tighter by such gilt-edged notes than by all your parchments. They are more afraid of scandal than of pettifogging. I must have that billet-doux addressed to me, or I'll not let anything go."

"You shall have it," said Marcel.

And he hurried away to the pavilion.

Julien was intensely agitated; he had not dared to ask any questions at the hôtel. He had sent his mother to reconnoitre, and she found all the apartments on the garden side closed. He did not know whether the dowager was still there, he knew nothing of Monsieur Antoine's visit and Julie's departure; he was surprised that, after confiding in Madame Thierry, she could not find time to send her three lines to set her mind at rest as to the results of the disturbance caused by the dowager. He anxiously awaited the evening. Black thoughts rushed into his mind.

"Who knows that the dowager and Monsieur Antoine have not plotted together to have Julie abducted and confined in a convent on the ground of misconduct?"

At that time it was no longer very easy to obtain _lettres de cachet_; but by going through formalities, an _ex post facto_ judgment, etc., arbitrary incarceration could still be accomplished under the forms of law, especially as an intrigue with a plebeian might still be looked upon in official society as a scandal which a family was entitled to put down.

Julien was going mad when Marcel arrived. Madame Thierry was downcast and very sad. Marcel saw that was not the moment to be outspoken.

"I have some news for you," he said, forcing himself to assume an untroubled and even cheerful countenance. "We were about to sign, when Uncle Antoine appeared like a god from the clouds at the Opera. He lost his temper and had a row with the dowager, who, up to that time, had been acting in concert with him against Madame d'Estrelle; but he has repented of his folly, he proposes to give you a magnificent indemnity; he takes this opportunity to make amends for all the wrong he has done, and he does it handsomely, I must say; so be grateful to him for it, also for his intention to deal handsomely with Madame d'Estrelle. He will probably leave her twice as much as the dowager intended to leave her; so she thought that it was her duty to show her gratitude by yielding at once to a whim he had of turning her out of the hôtel----"

"She has gone!" cried Julien, turning pale.

"Gone! gone! she is going to pass a few days in the country; what is there so surprising in that?"

"Ah! Marcel," said Madame Thierry, "you see, you don't know----"

"I do not wish to know anything outside of the serious matters which require all my attention," Marcel replied with decision. "I have heard to-day many foolish remarks, offensive insinuations and impertinent comments. I prefer to believe none of them and to remember none of them. The name of Madame Julie d'Estrelle is sacred to me; but I have advised her to disappear for a few days."

"To disappear?" echoed Julien, still in dire distress.

"_Parbleu!_ one would think we were in Madrid and that she had been immuned for life in a convent cell! What is the cause of this tragic mood? I simply urged her to pretend to be dead for a week or two, long enough to settle her affairs and find out where she stands. Let us keep quiet and show neither anxiety nor displeasure on account of her absence. Let us not stir up the marchioness's evil designs, which Monsieur Antoine's intervention has blocked to some extent for the moment. Above all, let us make sure that Julie does not lose the rich old fellow's protection and esteem. This is no time to puzzle over the man's strange logic; the devil could not explain it. The thing to do is to make the most of it, and no one of us three must think of himself or of anything but Madame d'Estrelle's future."

Thereupon he went into detailed calculations which compelled Julien's attention. It was a matter of saving a modest competence for Julie by a little prudence, or of throwing it away by excessive pride. Her reputation was not yet compromised in society, and it was entirely unnecessary that it should be. Thus far the plot against her formed by the marchioness and Monsieur Antoine had not been executed. They had been waiting for her to provoke the explosion by an attempt to resist the dowager's claims. It was Monsieur Antoine's duty now to protect Julie against the charges of which he was the author. He alone could do it, having in his pocket weapons against the common enemy. He was inclined to do it, he was penitent after his manner, he hated the marchioness, he insisted that everything should be left to him to settle: they must simply bow their heads and wait in silence.

Julien was still ill at ease on one point. Did Monsieur Antoine propose to take full charge of Madame d'Estrelle's destiny and will-power in order to bring her to consent to the abominable idea of marrying him? Marcel was able to reassure him completely in that respect, and he gave him his word that fancy had permanently moved out of the old sphinx's brain. Finally, Julien asked Marcel if he would also give him his word that he had advised Julie to go away suddenly, if she was free to return when she chose, and if she was thoroughly convinced that her absence would be of benefit to herself and only to herself. Marcel was able to swear that all this was true.

"Of course you know where she is?" queried Julien.

"I do know; but I cannot tell anyone; she made me promise. If she desires to confide her whereabouts to anybody else, she will write; but as she is very anxious that Monsieur Antoine and the dowager should not know, I think that it will be best for her to have no other confidant but me. Now that all this is cleared up, let me tell you what Monsieur Antoine proposes to give you by way of indemnity for the lease."

"One moment!" said Julien; "was this indemnity demanded, insisted upon by Madame d'Estrelle? Was it not the price of some new torture inflicted on her pride, of some sort of sacrifice on her part?"

"There was nothing whatever to dispute about," said Marcel. "Monsieur Antoine declared his purpose without any demand or concession whatsoever. He probably always intended to make you this gift, for he is the owner of the house at Sèvres, and he gives it to you. Here are your deeds."

"_Mon Dieu!_" cried Madame Thierry, as she looked over the papers, "and an annuity too? I feel as if I were dreaming, I am happy, and I am afraid!"

"Yes," said Julien, still suspicious, "there is something under this, a trap perhaps!"

Marcel had great difficulty in inducing them to accept Monsieur Antoine's treacherous gift. He had to tell them, to swear to them that it was Madame d'Estrelle's earnest desire. He left them as tranquil as possible, Julien struggling not to disturb by his apprehensions the delight which his mother could not but feel at the thought of returning to the home where she had lived happily so many years. Marcel then hurried to the hôtel D'Estrelle and ordered Camille to pack up such articles as her mistress needed for a brief stay in the country.

"Ah! _mon Dieu!_" said the amazed Camille, "does not madame la comtesse send for me to join her?"

"It is unnecessary for so short a time."

"But madame can neither dress nor arrange her hair alone! Think of it! a lady who has always been served according to her rank!"

"She will find servants in the house where she is."

"She must be with some poor people then, since she dislikes to have her own servants boarded there. Perhaps madame is really ruined herself? Alas! alas! such a kind and generous mistress!"

Camille began to weep, and, although her tears were perfectly sincere, she added:

"And my wages, monsieur le procureur; who will pay them?"

"I will pay everything to-morrow," replied Marcel, who was accustomed to that blending of sentiment and practicalness which is always noticeable in such disasters; "have all the household accounts prepared, and meanwhile take the keys. You will be responsible for everything until to-morrow."

"Very good, monsieur, I will be responsible," said the maid, beginning to sob afresh; "but are we to leave madame's service? will madame not return?"

"I did not say that, and I have received no orders to dismiss you."

Marcel wrote to his wife that he had no time for dinner or supper, and that she need not expect him until ten or eleven o'clock at night. He returned to the convent. Julie had exhausted all her vitality in tears. She had risen again, she had bathed her pale face, streaked with the fire of tears, in cold water. She was calm, downcast, and resembled a living corpse. She revived a little when she learned that Marcel had succeeded in deceiving Julien, and in inducing him to accept, without undue suspicion, the comparative affluence which Monsieur Antoine bestowed on his mother and him. She wrote a note to Monsieur Antoine at Marcel's dictation, pledging herself never to see Julien again during her life, on condition that Julien should never be deprived of the house at Sèvres or the annuity. She would not make a similar stipulation concerning her own fortune, and Marcel dared not speak to her as yet of accepting Monsieur Antoine's discharge of her debts. She made no complaint; she was thoroughly exhausted, and Marcel, as he shook hands with her, felt that she was feverish. He persuaded her to see Sister Sainte-Juste, his cousin, and he urged the sister to have someone sleep in the next room. He did not go away until he had, with the solicitude of a father, seen everything arranged as he wished.

Julie passed a quiet night; hers was not one of those obstinate natures which struggle for a long time. Her conscience told her that she had done her duty, and the first suffering was so sudden and violent that she soon yielded to exhaustion and slept. The next morning she thanked the nun who had passed the night with her, and asked to be left alone. She dressed herself and arranged her hair, and, realizing that she was very awkward and unskilful in waiting on herself, she determined to conquer her habits, to put her room to rights and make her bed, arrange her clothes, and establish herself in that poor cell as if she were to pass her life there. She did all this mechanically, without effort and without reflection. When it was done, she sat down, clasped her hands about her knee, and looked out through the open window but saw nothing, listened to the convent bells but heard nothing, and did not dare think of eating, although she had taken nothing for twenty-four hours. If lightning had struck in the middle of her room it would not have startled her.

About noon, Sister Sainte-Juste found her in this state of listless contemplation, which she mistook for a beatific reverie. Some broken hearts are still so sweet and gentle that one does not suspect their suffering; but the sister had noticed, as she passed through the room used as an antechamber and dining-room, that the breakfast brought by the servant had grown cold untouched.

"Did you forget to eat?" she asked Julie.

"No, sister," replied the poor unhappy creature, who did not choose to allow herself to be pitied, "I was waiting for my appetite to come."

The nun urged her to eat, obligingly waited on her, and thought to divert her mind by her harmless, unmeaning chatter. Julie listened with inexhaustible good humor, and carried mental submission so far as to seem interested in all the minutiæ of that recluse's life, all the details of the regulations of the convent, all the dull little events which occupied the leisure of the community. What did she care whether she heard that or something else? It was no longer in the power of anyone to annoy or tire her. She was like an empty heart through which everything passes and in which nothing remains.

When Marcel arrived in the afternoon his cousin said:

"Why did you tell me that lady was ill and had reasons for being unhappy? She slept soundly without saying a word, she breakfasted reasonably well, although a little late, and she took great pleasure in talking with me. She is a very amiable person and she has no serious sorrow. I give you my word that she has not, for I know about such things!"

Marcel was alarmed by this sorrow without reaction. He came to tell her what had taken place that morning at the hôtel D'Estrelle. Julie confined herself to asking him for news of Julien and his mother. When she learned that they were moving and that they were to pass that night at Sèvres, she would not listen to anything else.

"I do not propose to hate anyone any more," she said; "it would cause me more misery and do no good. Do not mention Monsieur Antoine to me for three or four days. I beg you, my friend, allow me to become accustomed to my lot as best I can. You see that I do not rebel; that is all that is necessary."

On the following days Marcel found her calmer and calmer. She was very pale; but the nun assured him that she slept and ate as much as was necessary, and that was true. She did nothing during the day and did not wish to see anyone, declaring that she was not at all bored. That also was true. She was preoccupied, and sometimes she smiled. Marcel could not understand it at all; he urged her to consult the convent physician, who found her pulse a little weak, her complexion a little _phlegmatic_, as they said in those days to indicate the presence of a certain amount of lymph in the system. He prescribed quinine and told Marcel that it would amount to nothing.

It did amount to nothing, except that the heart was dying and the life fading away with it. Julie obediently took the quinine, walked about the garden of the convent, consented to receive visits from several nuns, impressed them as a very attractive person, promised to read some new books which Marcel brought her and which she did not open, prepared a piece of embroidery which she did not begin, lived almost unnoticed in the cloister, thanks to her unobtrusive manners, and continued to waste away, slowly, without paroxysms, but without remission.

Marcel was deceived by appearances. Seeing that she was so placid mentally, and mistaking that sudden disappearance of the will for the symptom of a struggle between a mighty will-power and nature itself, he sought the remedy where it was not. He turned his attention to her physical health. He hired a small country house at Nanterre, and, giving Julie to understand that he had purchased it for her, carried her thither; then, having made sure of Camille's discretion and devotion to her mistress, he sent for her. He supplied her with enough money to enable her to hire a peasant woman who could cook, and he made arrangements that the countess's table should be daintier and more substantial than that at the convent. The little house was located in an airy spot, with a garden of considerable size surrounded by walls, and with not sufficient shade to keep the sun from doing its healthful work. He supplied the salon with books, little articles to provide occupation or amusement, and Julie's harp--every woman in those days performed on that instrument more or less. Marcel having taught her her lesson, Camille deceived her mistress as to what had happened at the hôtel D'Estrelle, and as to the means at her disposal. She made her believe that everything was extremely cheap at Nanterre, and that she could afford to live comfortably without exceeding the limits of her small income. Julie wished to be poor and to owe nothing to Monsieur Antoine. That was the only point on which Marcel had found her resistance invincible. He had been forced to lie, and to let her believe that Monsieur Antoine had taken possession of her house, her diamonds and everything that belonged to her.

The diamonds were in Marcel's custody, the house was kept in excellent condition. The horses were in the stable, well cared for, and the carriages in the carriage-house. The servants had been paid off and discharged, under orders to return, upon advantageous terms, as soon as Madame d'Estrelle should return. The concierge took care of the house, groomed and exercised the horses. His wife dusted the rooms, opened and closed the windows. Monsieur Antoine's head gardener attended to the flowers and lawns. Monsieur Antoine himself visited the place every morning. The pavilion, after Madame Thierry had gone away, was closed and silent. But nothing was changed in Julie's abode. Every piece of furniture was in its place, and the sun shone through the windows of her empty salon.

Two months had passed since the day that Julie left the hôtel. Uncle Antoine was simply the caretaker and painstaking administrator of the property. He had retained his privilege of being admitted there, pending the time when it should please Julie to resume possession. He desired to return it to her intact, and to reëmploy such of her servants as she might wish to have about her. The concierge was ordered to inform visitors that madame continued to own her house for the present, and that she had gone to inspect her estate in the Beauvoisis and to make some definite plans for the future; that is to say, Monsieur Antoine, in concert with Marcel, having in view the _what will people say?_ represented Madame d'Estrelle's situation as the continuation of an armistice with her creditors; and as she had been in that situation for more than two years already, that was really the most plausible explanation. They would see about inventing a perfectly convincing one when Julie should consent to return.

It is true none the less that Julie's friends, the old Duc de Quesnoy, madame la présidente, Madame Desmorges, Abbé de Nivières and the rest, began to be much surprised that they did not hear from her. Her sudden departure had been accepted with reasonably good grace, thanks to the hints adroitly strewn about by the solicitor; but why did she not write? She must be very lazy; or perhaps she was ill? Was she really in the Beauvoisis?--But the old duke had to go to take the waters of Vichy; madame la présidente was engrossed by the marriage of her daughter; the abbé was like the household cat--he forgot everything when the fire on the hearth died out. Madame Desmorges was indolence personified. The Marquise d'Estrelle alone would have been likely to investigate the subject seriously, but her malice was suddenly paralyzed by a sharp threat from Monsieur Antoine to disclose her conduct and demand his money, if she ventured to make the slightest investigation or the faintest derogatory remark concerning Julie.

As will be seen, Monsieur Antoine behaved with extraordinary fairness, prudence and loyalty, in everything that concerned the reputation, the comfort and the pecuniary interests of his victim. He listened to Marcel's advice, discussed it with him as if the question at issue were what it was best to do for his own daughter, and followed it exactly. Touching the fundamental question as to which Marcel did his utmost to bend him, the union of the two lovers, he was inflexible; and as he lost his temper when Marcel pressed him too hard on that subject, sulked and shut the door in his face, Marcel was compelled, in his client's interest, to submit to delays of which he could see no end.

Madame Thierry and Julien were luxuriously established in their pretty cottage, for the best part of the furniture had been left there, as well as divers artistic objects of considerable value which Uncle Antoine had disdained to notice because he had no idea of their value. Julien had no confidence in this unexpected generosity, for which he had been warned not to thank Monsieur Antoine, and which was surrounded with inexplicable circumstances. He was so disturbed about it that, except for the duty of sacrificing his own pride to his mother's repose, he would have refused everything. Their position was excellent from a material standpoint. The income of five thousand francs enabled them to live modestly without awaiting anxiously the avails of Julien's feverish labor at the end of each week. Madame Thierry could not help feeling the most heartfelt delight in being restored to her house, her most cherished memories, her former habits and connections. The latter were less numerous than in the days when her table was always laid, but they were more reliable. Her only true friends came forward once more. Knowing that she had no more than was absolutely necessary, they exerted themselves to provide an advantageous market for Julien's pictures. Not until one has ceased to suffer from poverty can one make the most of his talent. Julien no longer needed to hurry; his customers came unsolicited, through the intervention of enlightened and kindly friends. He consoled his mother for the secret dissatisfaction she still felt in being Monsieur Antoine's debtor, by saying to her:

"Never fear, I will pay your debt to him, against his will, if need be; it is simply a question of time. Be happy; you see that I am not disturbed by Julie's silence, but that I am waiting confidently and calmly."

Julien had changed neither in bearing, nor manner, nor feature, since the fatal day of Julie's disappearance. At first he had believed what Marcel said; but, as no letter arrived from his mistress, and as he knew beyond doubt, as the result of inquiries he had made secretly, that she was not in the Beauvoisis, he had gradually detected a part of the horrible truth. Julie was free, for Marcel had sworn it on his honor, again and again; but as to certain other points he did not swear. He asserted nothing; he simply left them to their presumptions. He refused with shrewd persistence to listen to any confidential communication, which made it easier for him to evade many questions. Monsieur Antoine's machiavelian plan was too eccentric to be fathomed by Julien's straightforward mind. He did not suppose that jealousy was possible without love, and he would have considered that he insulted Julie's image by admitting that the old man was in love with her. The old man was not in love, that is certain; but he was as jealous as a tiger of Julien, and jealousy without love is the most implacable form of jealousy. Julien believed that he was mad. Can anyone divine the schemes of a madman?

But might not those schemes, whatever they were, affect Julie's determination?

"No!" said Julien to himself, "pecuniary consideration cannot have influenced that noble heart. Julie wishes to break with me; she chooses to bring about the rupture in silence. It is painful to her, but she considers it necessary. She trembled for her reputation; the marchioness threatened to ruin her, and her friends must have succeeded in convincing her that she could never rehabilitate herself after marrying a plebeian. Such is the opinion of society. Julie fancied for a moment that she was superior to such prejudices; her love for me led her to presume too far on her strength. She has a noble nature, but her mind is a little weak perhaps, and now the force of her character is being exerted to bring about the triumph of the prejudice which kills love. Poor dear Julie! She must suffer, because she is kind-hearted--because she understands my suffering. So far as she is concerned, I feel certain that she desires to forget me."

Marcel had stronger hopes of Julien's mental cure than of Julie's. He saw him as infrequently and for as short a time as possible. One day, when he was obliged to go to report to his aunt concerning a small matter which she had placed in his hands, he found her alone.

"Where is Julien?" he asked; "in his studio?"

"No, he is turning his attention to gardening. Since he has had this little plot of land to dig and plant, he is more easily consoled for everything. He has had a great sorrow, Marcel! a sorrow of which you know nothing. He loved Madame d'Estrelle; I was not mistaken; and, more than that----"

"Yes, yes!" said Marcel, who desired to avoid any sentimental scene; "that has gone by, hasn't it? that is all over?"

"Yes," replied the widow, "I think so. If he were deceiving me--But no! after the hopes he has had it is not possible, is it, my boy? You can't cheat the eyes of a mother who adores you?"

"No, of course not. Sleep in peace, dear aunt! I will go to bid Julien good-day.--If he is really deceiving his mother after the failure of his hopes," he thought as he looked for Julien among the shrubbery, "he must be a devilishly strong fellow!"