Chapter IV: Reason Asserts Itself

On her return from Madame Herbaut's little entertainment, mademoiselle opened her journal and wrote as follows:

"Thank Heaven, my darling mamma; the inspiration to which I yielded was a wise one!

"What a cruel lesson I received at first, then how much valuable information, and lastly what delightful compensation!

"Two persons with true, honest hearts manifested a genuine interest in me.

"A genuine, unselfish interest this time, for these persons, at least, have not even a suspicion that I am the richest heiress in France.

"On the contrary, they believe me to be poor, almost on the verge of absolute want, in fact; and then, what is more, they have been perfectly honest with me. I know it, I am certain of it!

"Judge of my happiness! I have met some one at last whom I feel I can trust, I, who have come to distrust everybody and everything, thanks to the fulsome flattery of those around me.

"At last I know what I am really worth--how I really appear in the eyes of others.

"I am far from pretty; there is nothing in the world about me worthy of the slightest notice. I am one of those persons who must pass through life unnoticed unless some compassionate heart should be touched by my naturally gentle and rather melancholy ways.

"The feeling I must really inspire, if I inspire any feeling at all, is that sort of affectionate commiseration that truly noble souls feel when they are brought into close contact with an inoffensive creature who is suffering from some hidden sorrow.

"If this commiseration ever attracts one of these noble natures to me, what it will find and love in me is sweetness of disposition combined with an intense longing for mutual sincerity.

"This, then, is precisely what I am,--nothing less, nothing more!

"And when I compare these slight attractions, the only ones I possess, with the marvellous charms and perfections with which my flatterers have endowed me; when I think of the sudden and irresistible passions I have inspired in persons who have scarcely exchanged a word with me; when I think of the sensation I create in fashionable circles, and then think of the modest entertainment this evening, where I was invited to dance only from a feeling of pity, and where I saw all the other young girls chosen in preference to me, because I was the least attractive one present,--oh, mother, I, who never hated any one in my whole life before, now feel that I hate as deeply as I despise these persons who have so shamefully deceived me by their base flattery.

"I am astonished at all the bitter, insolent, and opprobrious epithets which occur to me, and with which I long to crush my deceivers some day, or, rather, when a test to which I mean to subject them at that grand ball next Thursday has wholly convinced me of their deceitfulness and treachery.

"Alas! my dear mother, suppose any one had told me a short time ago that I, who am naturally so timid, should make such a bold resolve some day!

"But the necessity of escaping the greatest of misfortunes imparts courage and determination even to the most timid.

"But, as I have said before, my dear mother, the cruel lesson I received was not without its compensations.

"In the first place, I have gained, I am sure, a generous and sincere friend. Seeing me slighted and neglected, a charming young girl took pity on me. She came to me, and endeavoured to console me with wonderful cleverness and kindness.

"I felt, or, rather, I feel, for her the tenderest gratitude.

"Oh, if you only knew, mother, how novel and pleasant and delightful it was for me, the richest heiress in France, to find some one who, upon seeing me neglected, and, as she supposed, unhappy, on that very account manifests the most touching interest in me,--who, in short, loves me for myself alone.

"To be sought out and to be loved on account of your supposed misfortunes, what ineffable happiness this is to a person who, up to that time, has been loved, apparently, only on account of the wealth she is known to possess.

"The sincere affection I have gained this time is unspeakably precious to me, because it gives me the hope of such a happy future. With a tried and trusted friend, what have I to fear? Ah, I have no fear of seeing this friend change some day when I tell her who I really am!

"What I have said in regard to Herminie, for that is her name, also applies to M. Olivier, who might be taken for this young girl's brother, so great is his kindness of heart and his honesty. Seeing that no one had asked me to dance, it was he who invited me out of pity, and so great is his frankness that he did not deny that he was actuated by motives of compassion. Moreover, when I had the hardihood to ask him if he thought me pretty, he replied that he did not, but that I had a face which was interesting by reason of its gentle, rather sad expression.

"These honest words gave me inexpressible pleasure and satisfaction. I felt that they were true, for they reminded me of what you said to me once, my beloved mother, when you were speaking of my looks; besides, the words were addressed, not to the wealthy heiress, but to the little embroideress.

"M. Olivier is only a common soldier, I know; but he must have received an excellent education, for he expresses himself admirably and his manners are perfect. Besides, he is as kind-hearted and good as he is brave, for he evinces a truly filial devotion for his aged uncle, a retired naval officer.

"Oh, mother, what noble and courageous natures these are! How entirely at ease one feels with them! How their frankness and sincerity rejoices one's heart! How healthy and wholesome to the soul such association is! What serenity and cheerful resignation they display under adverse circumstances, for both these young people are obliged to work hard,--Herminie, for a mere subsistence; M. Olivier, to increase his old uncle's inadequate means.

"To work for a living!

"And yet Herminie told me if work should fail me at any time she would do her best to secure me employment from a large establishment for which she had occasionally worked herself, for I had no idea yet what a dreadful thing it was to be out of work.

"To be out of work!

"Great Heavens, that means to lack food! That means want, misery, death itself, perhaps!

"All the merry, laughing girls I saw at this little entertainment, girls who are, like Herminie, dependent entirely upon their own exertions for a livelihood, may know all the horrors of abject want to-morrow, if work should fail them!

"Is there no one to whom they can go and say, 'I am brave and willing, only give me work?'

"But such a state of things is unjust! It is shameful! Is there no such thing as pity for the woes of others in the world? Is it a matter of little or no consequence that there should be so many people in the world who do not know whether they will have food on the morrow?

"Oh, mother, mother, now I understand the vague fear and uneasiness I experienced when they told me I was so rich! I had good reason to say to myself, with something akin to remorse:

"Such vast wealth for myself alone? And why?

"Why should I have so much and others nothing?

"How did I acquire this immense fortune?

"Alas! I acquired it only by your death, my mother, and by your death, my father.

"So I had to lose those I held most dear in the world in, order to become so rich.

"In order that I may be so rich, it is necessary, perhaps, that thousands of young girls like Herminie should be always in danger of want,--happy to-day, filled with despair to-morrow.

"And when they have lost their only treasures, the lightheartedness and gaiety of youth, when they are old, and when not only work, but strength is lacking, what becomes of these unfortunates?

"Oh, mother, the more I think of the terrible difference between my lot and that of Herminie and so many other young girls--the more I think of the dangers that surround me, of all the nefarious schemes of which I am the object because I am rich, it seems to me that wealth imparts a strange bitterness to the heart.

"Now my reason has at last asserted itself, I must satisfy myself of the omnipotent power of wealth over venal souls; I must see to what depths of degradation I, a girl of sixteen, can make those around me stoop. Yes, for my eyes are open now. I realise with profound gratitude that M. de Maillefort's revelations alone started this train of thought that is making everything more and more clear to me every minute.

"I do not know, but it seems to me, my dear mother, that I can express my thoughts more clearly now, that my mind is developing, that my faculties are awakening from a sort of stupor, that my character is undergoing a decided change in many respects, and that, while it remains keenly susceptible to all that is sincere and generous, it is becoming strongly antagonistic and aggressive to all that is false, base and mercenary.

"I am convinced of one thing: they lied to me when they told me that M. de Maillefort was your enemy. They told me so merely because they wanted to make me distrust his counsels. It was designedly that they fostered my dislike of him, a dislike caused by the slanders of which I have been the dupe.

"No, never shall I forget that it was to M. de Maillefort's revelations that I was indebted for the idea of going to Madame Herbaut's, where I not only learned the truth concerning myself, but where I met the only two really generous and sincere persons that I have known since I lost you, my father, and you, my mother."

* * * * *

The morning after Madame Herbaut's ball Mlle. de Beaumesnil rang for her governess a little earlier than usual.

Madame Laine appeared almost instantly, however.

"Did mademoiselle have a comfortable night?" she asked.

"Very, my dear Laine but tell me, have you made the inquiries I asked you to last evening, so we may know whether any one suspected our absence."

"No one has the slightest suspicion of it, mademoiselle. Madame de la Rochaigue did not send to inquire for you until early this morning."

"And you replied?"

"That mademoiselle had passed a very comfortable, though slightly restless, night; but that the quiet and rest had benefited mademoiselle very much."

"That is all right then, my dear Laine, and now I have another favour to ask of you."

"I am at mademoiselle's service; but I am so distressed about what happened at Madame Herbaut's last night," said the governess. "I was in torture the whole evening."

"But what happened at Madame Herbaut's?"

"Why, mademoiselle was received with such coldness and indifference. It was shameful, for mademoiselle is in the habit of seeing everybody crowd around her as they ought."

"As they ought?"

"Most assuredly. Mademoiselle knows very well the respect that is due to her position, so last evening I was mortified and incensed beyond expression. 'Ah,' I said to myself,'if you only knew that this young lady you are neglecting is Mlle. de Beaumesnil, you would all be down on your knees in the twinkling of an eye.'"

"My dear Laine, let me first set your mind at rest about last evening. I was delighted, and I enjoyed myself so much that I intend to go again next Sunday evening."

"What, mademoiselle wishes to go again?"

"I shall go, that is decided. Now, another thing. The reception which I met with at Madame Herbaut's, and which scandalises you so deeply, is convincing proof of the discretion I expected from you. I thank you for it, and if you always act in this way I assure you your fortune is made."

"But mademoiselle knows that it is not self-interest--that--"

"Yet that need not prevent me from rewarding you as you deserve, my dear Laine. And that is not all; I want you to ask Madame Herbaut for the address of one of the young ladies I met last evening. The young lady I mean is called Herminie, and she gives music lessons."

"I shall not have to apply to Madame Herbaut for that, mademoiselle, M. le baron's steward knows the address."

"What! Our steward knows Mlle. Herminie's address?" exclaimed Ernestine, greatly astonished.

"Yes, mademoiselle. They were speaking of the young lady in the office only a few days ago."

"Of Mlle. Herminie?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. It was in relation to a five hundred franc note that she returned to the baroness. Louis, one of the footmen, heard the whole conversation through the door of the reception-room."

"Madame de la Rochaigue knows Herminie?" cried Ernestine, whose surprise and curiosity were increased by each word the governess uttered. "And what is this about a five hundred franc note?"

"Why, it seems that this honest young girl--I told you that Madame Herbaut was exceedingly particular in the selection of her guests--this honest young girl returned the five hundred francs because she said she had already been paid by the countess."

"What countess?"

"Why, mademoiselle's mother."

"My mother paid Herminie? And for what?"

"Ah, yes, it is true that mademoiselle is not aware--I suppose no one has told mademoiselle for fear of making her still more sad."

"Has not told me what? In Heaven's name, speak!"

"Why, the late countess suffered so much towards the last, that the physicians, at their wit's end, thought that music might ameliorate her sufferings, at least to some extent."

"Great Heaven! I can not believe it. Go on, go on."

"So they sent for a young musician, and this young musician was Herminie!"

"Herminie?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. For ten days or a fortnight before Madame la comtesse died, mademoiselle came to play and sing to her every day, and they say it quieted the countess very much, but unfortunately it was too late."

While Ernestine was drying the tears these sad details, hitherto unknown to her, had brought to her eyes, Madame Laine continued:

"It seems that, after your mother's death, the baroness, thinking Mlle. Herminie had not been paid, sent her five hundred francs, but this noble-hearted young girl brought the money back and declared that the countess owed her nothing."

"She saw my dying mother! She assuaged her sufferings," thought Ernestine, with inexpressible emotion. "Ah, how I long to tell her that I am the daughter of the lady she loved, for how could any one know my mother without loving her?"

Then starting violently at another recollection, the young girl said to herself:

"But I remember now, that, when I told her my name was Ernestine, the coincidence seemed to strike her, and she seemed to be deeply moved when she said that a lady, for whom she had a profound regard, had a daughter who was also named Ernestine. So my mother must have talked to her about me, and if my mother talked to her as confidentially as that, my mother must have loved her; so I, too, have reason to love her. In fact, it is my bounden duty. My brain whirls, my heart overflows. This is too much happiness. I can hardly believe it."

Dashing away her tears, Ernestine turned to her governess and asked:

"But how did the steward ascertain Mlle. Herminie's address."

"He went to the notary who sent the five hundred francs, for Madame de la Rochaigue wished to ascertain the address so she could send it to M. de Maillefort."

"What, does M. de Maillefort, too, know Herminie?"

"I cannot say, mademoiselle, all I know is that the steward took Herminie's address to M. le marquis nearly a month ago."

"Get me the address at once, my dear Laine."

In a few minutes the governess brought the address and Ernestine immediately sat down and wrote as follows:

* * * * *

"MY DEAR HERMINIE:--You invited me to come and see your pretty room. I shall come early day after to-morrow--Tuesday, early in the morning, so I may be sure of not interfering in your work. I look forward with delight to seeing you again. I have a thousand things to tell you. With love,

"Your sincere friend,

"ERNESTINE."

* * * * *

After she had sealed this note, Mlle. de Beaumesnil said to her governess:

"I wish you to post this letter yourself, my dear Laine."

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"How shall I manage to get out alone with Madame Laine day after to-morrow?" Ernestine said to herself. "I have no idea, but my heart tells me that I shall see Herminie again!"