Chapter XXVII: The Abode of the Duchess

Herminie lived on the Rue de Monceau in one of the numerous dwellings of which M. Bouffard was the owner. She occupied a room on the ground floor, reached by a small hallway opening under the archway of the porte-cochere. The two windows looked out upon a pretty garden, enclosed on one side by an evergreen hedge, and on the other by a tall lattice that separated it from the adjoining street.

This garden really pertained to a much larger apartment on the ground floor, an apartment which, together with another suite of rooms on the third floor, was unoccupied,--an unpleasant state of things, which considerably increased M. Bouffard's ill-humour towards his delinquent tenants.

Nothing could have been simpler, yet in better taste, than this abode of the duchess.

A cheap but exceedingly fresh and pretty chintz covered the walls and rather low ceiling of the room. In the daytime full draperies of the same material concealed a large alcove in which the bed stood, as well as two glass doors near it, one of which opened into a tiny dressing-room, and the other into the hall, a sort of antechamber about eight feet square.

Chintz curtains, lined with pink, veiled the windows, which were also decorated with pretty white muslin sash curtains, tied back with pink ribbons. A carpet, with a white ground, with small bouquets of pink roses dropped here and there,--this carpet had been the most expensive item in Herminie's furnishing,--covered the floor. The mantel drapery, beautifully embroidered by Herminie herself, was pale blue, with garlands of roses and jonquils. Two candlesticks of exquisite Pompeian design stood, one on either side of a white marble clock, surmounted by a statuette of Joan of Arc, while at each end of the mantel stood two tall vases of _gres verni_, a wonderful invention, by the way. These vases, which were of the purest Etruscan form, held big bunches of fresh roses, which filled the room with their delicious fragrance.

These modest mantel decorations, being all of the cheapest materials, were of slight intrinsic value, having cost not more than fifty or sixty francs, but from an artistic point of view they were irreproachable.

Opposite the fireplace stood Herminie's piano, her bread-winner. Between the two windows was a table, which also served as a bookcase, the duchess having arranged several works by her favourite authors upon it, as well as a few books which she had received as prizes during her school-days.

Here and there upon the wall, in plain pine frames, so highly polished that they looked like citron wood, hung a few well-chosen engravings, among them "Mignon Pining for Her Native Land," and "Mignon Longing for Heaven," both by Scheffer, hanging one on either side of Francesca da Rimini, by the same artist.

In two corners of the room small _etageres_ held several plaster statuettes, reduced copies of famous antiques. A small rosewood cabinet, bought for a song from some second-hand furniture dealer in the Batignolles, two pretty tapestry-covered chairs,--Herminie's handiwork,--and a large armchair of green satin decorated with beautiful silk embroidery in brilliant hues, representing flowers and birds, completed the furniture of the room.

By means of industry and intelligence, combined with exquisite taste, Herminie had been able to create for herself this elegant and refined home at comparatively little expense.

Culinary duties or details may have been distasteful to this fastidious duchess. At all events, she had managed to escape that difficulty through the good offices of the portress, who, for a trifling compensation, brought her a glass of milk every morning, and in the evening a plate of excellent soup, accompanied with a dish of vegetables and some fruit,--a frugal repast rendered appetising enough by the exquisite daintiness of Herminie's dinner-table; for though the duchess possessed only two cups and half a dozen plates, they were of fine china, and when the girl had placed on her round table, covered with a napkin of dazzling whiteness, her carafe, her cut-glass tumbler, her two shining silver forks and spoons, and her pretty china plate decorated with tiny pink roses and forget-me-nots, the simplest food seemed wonderfully appetising.

But alas! to Herminie's intense chagrin, her silver spoons and forks, and her watch, the only really valuable article she possessed, were now in pawn at the _mont de piete_, where she had been obliged to send them by the portress, the poor girl having no other means of defraying the daily expenses of her illness, and of obtaining a small sum of money upon which she could live until she was able to resume the lessons interrupted by her illness, for a period of nearly two months.

This long delay was the cause of Herminie's extreme poverty and consequent inability to pay the one hundred and eighty francs she owed M. Bouffard for rent.

One hundred and eighty francs!

And the poor child possessed only about fifteen francs upon which she would have to live for nearly a month!

It is evident, therefore, that the foot of a man had never crossed Herminie's threshold.

The duchess, free and untrammelled in every way, had never loved,--though she had inspired love in the hearts of many, without intending or even caring to do so, for she was too proud to stoop to coquetry, and too generous to enjoy the torments of an unrequited love. None of her suitors had pleased Herminie, in spite of the honesty of their matrimonial overtures, based in some cases, at least, upon a certain amount of affluence, for several had been engaged in business, while others were musicians like Herminie herself, and others clerks in dry-goods establishments, or bookkeepers.

The duchess could not fail to display, in her choice of a husband, the refined taste and exquisite delicacy which were her most prominent characteristics; but it is needless to say that the social position of the man she loved, whether high or low, would not have influenced her in the least.

She knew by herself, and she gloried in the knowledge, that rare nobility and refinement of soul are sometimes found in the poorest and most obscure, and that which had oftenest offended her in her suitors were the slight imperfections, not apparent very possibly to any one save the duchess, but inexpressibly obnoxious to her.

This suitor had been too boisterous in manner; that one, too familiar and unrefined; this one had a rasping voice; that one was almost grotesque in appearance. Nevertheless, some of the rejected suitors possessed many admirable qualities of mind and heart, as Herminie herself had been the first to admit. These she considered the best and most worthy men in the world, and frankly granted them her esteem, and even her friendship, but not her love.

It was not from any feeling of disdain or foolish ambition that Herminie had refused them, but simply, as she herself had said to the unfortunates, "because she felt no love for them, and was resolved to remain single all her life rather than marry without experiencing a sincere and profound love." And yet, by reason of this very pride, fastidiousness, and sensitiveness, Herminie must have suffered much more than the generality of persons from the painful and almost inevitable annoyances inherent to the position of a young girl who is not only obliged to live alone, but who is also exposed to the unfortunate conditions which may result at any time from a lack of employment or from sickness.

For some time, alas! the duchess had been realising most cruelly the unhappy consequences of her poverty and isolation. Any person who understands Herminie's character and her pride,--a pride that had impelled the young girl, in spite of her pressing need, to proudly return the five hundred franc note sent her by the executors of the Beaumesnil estate,--can readily understand the mingled terror and dismay with which the poor child was awaiting the return of M. Bouffard, for, as he had remarked to Madame Barbancon, he intended to pay his last round of visits to his delinquent tenants that afternoon.

Herminie was trying to devise some means of satisfying this coarse and insolent man, but, having already, pawned her silver and her watch, she had nothing more to pawn. No one would have loaned her twenty francs on her mantel ornaments, tasteful as they were, and her pictures and statuettes would have brought little or nothing.

Overcome with terror at the thought of her truly pitiable condition, Herminie was weeping bitterly and shuddering in the dread expectation of hearing M. Bouffard's imperious peal of the bell at any moment.

Yet so noble and generous was this young girl's nature that, even in the midst of these cruel perplexities, Herminie never once thought of saying to herself that she might be saved by an infinitesimal portion of the enormous superabundance belonging to the sister whose sumptuous apartments she had seen a couple of days before. If the duchess thought of her sister at all, it was that she might find in the hope of seeing her some diversion from her present grief and chagrin. And for this sorrow and chagrin Herminie now blamed herself as she cast a tearful glance around her pretty room, reproaching herself the while for her unwarranted expenditures.

She ought to have saved up this money for a rainy day, she said to herself, and for such misfortunes as sickness or a lack of pupils. She ought to have resigned herself to taking a room on the fourth floor, next door to strangers, to living separated from them only by a thin partition, in a bare and desolate room with dirty walls. She ought not to have allowed herself to be tempted by this outlook upon a pretty garden, and by the seclusion of her present apartments. She ought to have kept her money, too, instead of spending it on the pretty trifles which had been the only companions of her solitude, and which had converted the little room into a delightful retreat where she had lived so happily, confident of her ability to support herself.

Who ever would have supposed that a person as proud as she was would have to submit to the coarse, but just abuse of a man to whom she owed money,--money that she could not pay?

Could anything be more humiliating?

But these severe though just reproaches for past delinquencies did not ameliorate her present misery in the least; and she remained seated in her armchair, her eyes swollen with weeping, now absorbed in a gloomy reverie, now starting violently at the slightest sound, fearing that it presaged the arrival of M. Bouffard.

At last the agonising suspense was ended by a violent pull of the bell.

"It is he," murmured the poor creature, trembling in every limb. "I am lost!" she moaned.

And she remained seated in her chair, absolutely paralysed with fear.

A second peal of the bell, even more violent than the first, resounded in the tiny hall.

Herminie dried her eyes, summoned up all her courage, and, pale and trembling, went to open the door.

She had not been deceived.

It was M. Bouffard.

This glorious representative of the nation had laid aside the uniform of a citizen soldier and donned a gray sack coat.

"Well, have you my money ready?" he demanded, roughly, planting himself on the threshold of the door the girl had opened for him with such an unsteady hand.

"But, monsieur--"

"Do you intend to pay me, yes or no?" exclaimed M. Bouffard, in such a loud voice that the question was overheard by two other persons.

One was then standing under the porte-cochere. The other was mounting the staircase which started close to the entrance to Herminie's apartments.

"I ask you for the last time, will you pay me? Answer me, yes or no!" repeated M. Bouffard, in even louder and more threatening tones.

"In pity do not speak so loud," said Herminie, in imploring accents. "I assure you that, though I cannot pay you, it is not my fault; indeed it is not."

"I am in my own house, and I will talk as I please. If any one overhears me so much the better. It may serve as a lesson to other tenants who may want to get out of paying their rent just like you."

"Step inside, monsieur, I beseech you," pleaded Herminie, clasping her hands, imploringly; "and I will explain."

"Explain--explain what?" retorted M. Bouffard, following the girl into her room. "There's no explanation possible. The whole affair is very simple. Are you going to pay me,--yes, or no?"

"It is impossible, unfortunately, just at this time," said Herminie, dashing away a tear, "but if you will have the great kindness to wait--"

"Always the same old story!" sneered M. Bouffard, shrugging his shoulders.

Then glancing around the room with a sardonic air, he added:

"This is a pretty state of things! Here is a tenant who declares she cannot pay her rent, and yet indulges in fine carpets, chintz hangings, and all sorts of knick-knacks. If it isn't enough to make a man swear! I, who own seven houses in the city of Paris, have a carpet only in my drawing-room, and Madame Bouffard's boudoir is hung with a fifteen sous paper; and yet, here is a young woman who gives herself the airs of a princess, though she hasn't a penny."

Herminie, driven to desperation, lifted her head proudly, and, in a manner that was both firm and dignified, said:

"This piano is worth at least four times the amount of my indebtedness, monsieur. Send for it whenever you please. It is the only article of value I possess. Dispose of it; sell it whenever you like."

"Am I a dealer in pianos? How do I know what I should realise from the sale of your instrument? You must pay me my rent in money, and not in pianos."

"But good heavens, monsieur! I have no money. I offer you my piano, though I earn my living by it. What more can I do?"

"I won't accept anything of the kind. You have money, I know it. You sent a watch and some silver, too, to the pawnbroker's, for it was my portress who took them there for you. You can't humbug me, you see."

"Alas! monsieur, the paltry sum they loaned me I have been obliged to spend for--"

But Herminie did not finish the sentence. She had just perceived a gentleman standing in the open doorway. It was M. de Maillefort, and he had been an unobserved witness of the painful scene for several minutes.

Noting the girl's sudden start, and the surprised glance she was directing towards the door, M. Bouffard turned his head, and, seeing the hunchback, seemed quite as astonished as Herminie.

The marquis now advanced, and, bowing respectfully to Herminie, said:

"I beg a thousand pardons for thus intruding, mademoiselle, but I found the door open, and as I hope you will do me the honour to grant me a few moments' conversation on a very important matter, I ventured to enter."

After these words, which were uttered with as much courtesy as deference, the marquis turned to M. Bouffard and surveyed him from head to foot with such an expression of withering contempt that the ex-grocer became not only embarrassed, but thoroughly intimidated as well, in the presence of this hunchback, who said to him, coldly:

"I came, monsieur, to solicit the honour of a few minutes' conversation with this young lady."

"Oh--ah! Well, what is that to me?" grunted M. Bouffard, gradually regaining his assurance.

The marquis, without paying the slightest attention to M. Bouffard, and addressing Herminie, who was becoming more and more astonished, asked, deferentially:

"Will mademoiselle do me the favour to grant me the interview I ask?"

"But, monsieur," replied the girl, much embarrassed, "I do not know--I am not sure--"

"I must take the liberty of remarking that, as it is absolutely necessary that our conversation should be strictly confidential, it is indispensable that this--this gentleman should leave us, unless there may still be something you wish to say to him. In that case, I will retire."

"I have nothing further to say to monsieur," answered Herminie, pleased at the idea of escaping from her present painful position, even for a few moments.

"Mademoiselle has nothing more to say to you, monsieur," said the marquis to M. Bouffard, with a meaning gesture.

But the ex-grocer, who was now himself again, and who was consequently furious at the thought that he had allowed himself to be awed by the hunchback, exclaimed:

"So you fancy a man can be turned out of his own house without paying him his just dues, monsieur, and all because you support this--"

"Enough, monsieur, enough!" cried the marquis, hastily interrupting Bouffard.

And even as he spoke, he seized the offender by the arm with such violence that the ex-grocer, feeling the long, bony fingers of the hunchback hold him as in a vise, gazed at him with mingled fear and astonishment.

But the marquis, still smiling in the most amiable manner, continued with marvellous affability:

"I regret that I am unable to enjoy your delightful society any longer, my dear sir, but you see I am at mademoiselle's orders, and as she is good enough to grant me a few minutes, I must not abuse her kindness."

As he spoke, the marquis half led, half dragged M. Bouffard to the door, and that worthy, astonished to encounter such physical vigour and such an authoritative manner in a hunchback, offered no further resistance.

"I will go, as I have some other matters to attend to in the house," he exclaimed, making the best of the situation. "I am going up-stairs for awhile, but I shall return after you leave. I intend to have my money then, if I don't--"

The marquis bowed ironically, closed the door in the ex-grocer's face, and then returned to Herminie.