Chapter XXIX: Humiliation and Consolation

On hearing Herminie's appeal, M. de Maillefort turned and asked, coldly and sternly:

"What do you want, mademoiselle?"

"What do I want, monsieur?" the girl exclaimed, her cheeks on fire, her eyes sparkling with tears of wounded pride and indignation. "What I want is to tell this man in your presence that he lies."

"I?" snorted M. Bouffard, indignantly. "Really, this is a little too much, when I have the yellow boys right here in my pocket."

"But I tell you that you lie!" cried the girl, advancing towards him, with a commanding gesture. "I have given no one the right to pay you, or to make me the victim of such an insult."

In spite of the coarseness of his nature, M. Bouffard was not a little impressed by this display of fiery indignation, so retreating a step or two, the owner of the house stammered by way of excuse:

"But I swear to you, mademoiselle, upon my sacred word of honour, that, as I was going up-stairs a few minutes ago, I was stopped on the first landing by a handsome, dark-complexioned young man who gave me this gold to pay your rent. I'm telling you the honest truth; upon my word I am!"

"Oh, my God, to be humiliated and insulted like this!" cried the young girl, her long repressed sobs bursting forth at last.

After a moment, turning to the hunchback, a silent witness of the scene, Herminie said, in entreating tones, her beautiful face bathed with tears:

"Oh, in pity, do not believe that I have merited this insult, M. le marquis."

"A marquis!" muttered M. Bouffard, hastily removing his hat, which he had kept upon his head up to that time.

M. de Maillefort, turning to Herminie, his face beaming as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart, took her by the hand as a father might have done, and said:

"I believe you, I believe you, my dear child! Do not stoop to justify yourself. Your tears, and the evident sincerity of your words, as well as your just indignation, all satisfy me that you are speaking the truth, and that this insulting liberty was taken without your knowledge or consent."

"I am certainly willing to say this much," said M. Bouffard, "though I've been in the habit of coming to the house almost every day, I never saw this young man before. But why do you feel so badly about it, my dear young lady? Your rent is paid, and you may as well make the best of it. There are plenty of other people who would like to be humiliated in the same way. Ha, ha, ha!" added M. Bouffard, with his coarse laugh.

"But you will not keep this money, monsieur?" cried Herminie. "I beg you will not; sell my piano,--my bed,--anything I possess, but in pity return this money to the person who gave it to you. If you keep it, the shame is mine, monsieur!"

"How you do go on!" exclaimed M. Bouffard. "I didn't feel insulted in the least in pocketing my rent. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, you know. Besides, where am I likely to find this handsome young man to return him his money? He is a stranger to me. I haven't the slightest idea who he is or where he came from; but it can easily be arranged. When you see the fellow you can tell him that it was against your wishes that I kept his money, but that I am a regular old Shylock and all that. Put all the blame on me, I don't mind; I've got a thick hide."

"Mademoiselle," said M. de Maillefort, addressing Herminie, who, with her face buried in her hands, was silently weeping, "will you consent to take my advice?"

"What would you have me do, monsieur?"

"Accept from me, who am old enough to be your father,--from me, who was the devoted friend of a person for whom you had as much respect as affection,--accept from me a loan sufficient to pay this gentleman. Each month you can pay me in small instalments. As for the money monsieur has already received, why, he must do his best to find the stranger who gave it to him. If he fails, he must give the money to some local charity."

Herminie listened to this proposal with the liveliest gratitude.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, M. le marquis," she exclaimed. "I accept your kind offer gladly, and am proud to be under obligations to you."

"But I utterly refuse to be a party to any such arrangement," exclaimed M. Bouffard.

"And why, monsieur?" demanded the marquis.

"I will not,--I will not, I tell you. It sha'n't be said that--in short, I'm not such a monster that--but no matter, let it be understood, once for all, that the marquis is to keep his money. I'll try to find that young coxcomb; if I don't, I'll drop his money in the poor-box. I won't sell your piano, mademoiselle, but I'll be paid, all the same. What do you say to that?"

"Have the goodness to explain, monsieur, if you please," said the marquis.

"Well, this is the long and short of it," answered M. Bouffard. "My daughter Cornelia has a music teacher, quite a famous teacher, I believe,--a M. Tonnerriliuskoff--"

"With such a name one ought certainly to make a noise in the world," said the marquis.

"And on the piano, too, M. le marquis. He's a six-footer, with a big, black moustache, and hands as big as--as shoulders of mutton. But this famous teacher costs like the devil,--fifteen francs a lesson, to say nothing of the repairs to the piano, which he almost hammers to pieces, he is so strong. Now if mademoiselle here would give Cornelia lessons at five--no, say four francs a lesson, and three lessons a week,--that would make twelve francs a week,--she could soon pay me what she owes me, and afterwards could pay her entire rent that way."

"Bravo, M. Bouffard!" cried the marquis.

"Well, what do you think of my proposition, mademoiselle?"

"I accept it most gratefully, and thank you with all my heart for this chance to free myself of my obligations to you in such an easy way. I assure you that I will do everything possible to further your daughter's progress."

"Oh, that will be all right, I'm sure. It is understood, is it? Three lessons a week, at four francs a lesson, beginning day after to-morrow. That will be twelve francs a week,--better call it ten, I guess,--it's easier to calculate. Ten francs a week makes forty francs a month,--quite a snug little sum."

"Any terms you choose to name will suit me, monsieur. I accept them gratefully."

"Ah, well, my dear sir," said the marquis, turning to M. Bouffard, "aren't you much better satisfied with yourself now than you were awhile ago, when you were frightening this poor child nearly to death by your threats?"

"That's a fact, monsieur,--that's a fact, for this young lady is certainly deserving. Then, too, I shall get rid of that odious music master, with his big, black moustache and fifteen franc lessons. Besides, he is always having his big hands on Cornelia's hands to show her the fingering, he says, and I don't like it."

"My dear M. Bouffard," said the marquis, taking the ex-grocer a little aside, "will you allow me to give you a word of advice?"

"Why certainly, M. le marquis."

"Never give masters to a young girl or a young woman, because sometimes, you see, there is a change of roles."

"A change of roles, M. le marquis?" repeated M. Bouffard, wonderingly.

"Yes; not unfrequently the scholar becomes the mistress,--the mistress of the master. Understand?"

"The mistress of the master? Oh, yes, very good! I understand perfectly. That is good; very good, indeed! Ha, ha, ha!"

Then, suddenly becoming serious, he added:

"But now I think of it, if that Hercule de Tonnerriliuskoff undertakes--"

"Mlle. Bouffard's virtue must be above suspicion, my dear sir; still, it might be safer--"

"The brigand shall never set foot in my house again. Thanks for your counsel, M. le marquis."

Then, returning to Herminie, M. Bouffard added:

"So we will begin day after to-morrow at two o'clock; that is Cornelia's hour."

"At two o'clock, then. I will be punctual, I promise you."

"And at ten francs a week?"

"Yes, monsieur, and even less, if you say so."

"Would you come for eight?"

"Yes," answered Herminie, smiling, in spite of herself.

"We'll say eight francs, then."

"Come, come, M. Bouffard, a wealthy real estate owner like you shouldn't stoop to any such haggling," the marquis interposed. "What! an elector,--perhaps even an officer in the National Guard,--for you seem to me quite equal to such a position--"

M. Bouffard straightened himself up proudly, and, making a military salute, responded:

"A second lieutenant in the first company of the second regiment of the first batallion, M. le marquis."

"All the more reason that you should uphold the dignity of your rank, dear M. Bouffard," replied M. de Maillefort.

"That is true, M. le marquis. I said ten francs, and ten francs it shall be. I always honour my signature. I will go and try to find that young coxcomb. He may be hanging around somewhere outside the house now. I'll ask Mother Moufflon, the portress, if she knows anything about him, and tell her to watch out for him. Your servant, M. le marquis. I'll see you again, day after to-morrow, mademoiselle."

Then, turning again, just as he reached the door, he said to Herminie:

"Mademoiselle, an idea has just occurred to me. You see I'd like to convince the marquis here that Bouffard is not such a bad fellow, after all."

"Let us hear the idea, M. Bouffard," said the hunchback.

"You see that little garden out there, M. le marquis?"

"Yes."

"It belongs to the large apartment on this floor. Ah, well, I intend to allow mademoiselle the use of this garden--until the other apartment is rented, at least."

"Do you really?" cried Herminie, overjoyed. "Oh, I thank you so much. What pleasure it will give me to walk about in that pretty garden!"

But M. Bouffard had already fled, as if his natural modesty forbade his listening to the protestations of gratitude such a generous offer must inspire.

"One has no idea what it costs such people as that to be generous and obliging," remarked the hunchback, laughing.

Then becoming serious again, he said: "My dear child, what I have just seen and heard gives me such a clear understanding of the nobility of your heart and the firmness of your character, that I realise the futility of any renewed efforts in relation to the matter that brought me here. If I am mistaken, if you are not Madame de Beaumesnil's daughter, you will naturally persist in your denial; if, on the contrary, I have divined the truth, you will still persist in denying it, actuated, I am sure, by some secret but honourable motive. I shall insist no further. One word more: I have been deeply touched by the feeling that prompted you to defend Madame de Beaumesnil's memory against suspicions which may be entirely without foundation. If you were not so proud, I should tell you that your disinterestedness is all the more noble from the fact that your situation is so precarious; and, by the way, let me say right here that, though M. Bouffard has deprived me of the pleasure of being of service to you this time, I want you to promise me, my dear child, that in future you will apply only to me."

"And to whom else could I apply without humiliation, M. le marquis?"

"Thank you, my dear child, but no more, M. le marquis, I beg. In our recent grave conversation I had no time to protest against this ceremonious appellation; but now we are old friends, no more M. le marquis, I beseech you. That is agreed, is it not?" asked the hunchback, cordially offering his hand to the young girl, who pressed it gratefully as she exclaimed:

"Ah, monsieur, such kindness and such generous confidence more than consoles me for the humiliation I suffered in your presence."

"Dismiss that from your mind entirely, my dear child. The insult you received only proves that the insolent stranger is as foolish as he is coarse. It is doing him entirely too much honour to retain a lasting remembrance of his offence."

"You are right, monsieur," replied Herminie, though she still blushed deeply with wounded pride and indignation; "contempt, the most profound contempt is all that such an insult merits."

"Undoubtedly; but, unfortunately, your loneliness and unprotected condition are probably to a great extent accountable for this unwarranted presumption on the part of a stranger, my poor child, so, as you permit me to talk in all sincerity, why have you never thought of boarding with some respectable elderly woman, instead of living alone?"

"I have thought of doing that more than once, but it is difficult to find the right person--that is when one is as exigeante as I am," she added, smiling.

"You admit that you are very _exigeante_, then?" asked the marquis, also smiling.

"Really I cannot help it, it seems to me, monsieur; could I find such surroundings as these in the home of a person whose means are as modest as mine? Besides, I ought not to say it, perhaps, but I am so keenly sensitive to certain faults of education and manner that I should positively suffer at times. It is silly and ridiculous, I know, for lack of breeding does not lessen the virtue and kindness of most of the people of the class to which I belong, but to which my education has rendered me somewhat superior. Still it is intensely repugnant to me, and I consequently prefer to live alone, in spite of the many inconveniences of such an isolated position. Another objection is that I should be under an obligation to any person who would receive me into her family, and I fear that I might be made to feel this obligation too much."

"All this is very natural," said the hunchback, after a moment's reflection. "It would scarcely be possible for one of your proud nature to act or feel otherwise, and this pride, which I admire so much in you, has been, and I am sure always will be, your best safeguard. But this will not prevent me, with your permission, of course, from coming now and then to see if I can serve you in any way."

"Can you doubt the pleasure, the very great pleasure it will give me to see you?"

"I will not so wrong you as to doubt it, my dear child."

Seeing M. de Maillefort rise to take leave, Herminie felt strongly tempted to make some inquiry concerning Ernestine de Beaumesnil, whom he had probably seen ere this; but the young girl feared she might betray herself and arouse M. de Maillefort's suspicions by speaking of her sister.

"Farewell, my dear child," said the marquis, rising. "I came here in the hope of finding a daughter to love and protect, and I shall not return with an empty heart. And now again, farewell--and _au revoir_."

"And soon, I hope, M. le marquis," responded Herminie, with respectful deference.

"Nonsense!" said the hunchback, smiling. "There is no marquis here, but an old man who loves you,--yes, loves you with all his heart. Don't forget that."

"Oh, I shall never forget it, monsieur."

"Good, that promise atones for everything. Once more au revoir, my child."

And M. de Maillefort departed, still in doubt as to Herminie's identity, and no less in doubt in regard to the best means of carrying out Madame de Beaumesnil's last wishes.

The young girl, left alone, reflected long upon the incidents of the day, which, after all, had proved a happy one for her, for by refusing a gift which proved her mother's deep solicitude for her welfare, but which might compromise that mother's memory, the young girl had gained M. de Maillefort's warm friendship.

But the payment made to M. Bouffard by a stranger was a terrible blow to Herminie's pride.

"I must seem despicable, indeed, in the eyes of a person who dared to take such a liberty as that," the proud girl was saying to herself just as there came a timid ring at the door.

Herminie opened it to find herself confronted by M. Bouffard and a stranger.

This stranger was Gerald de Senneterre.