Chapter IX: An Unexpected Meeting

"Forgive me for having deserted you so unceremoniously, my dear Ernestine," Herminie remarked to her friend. "It was a letter, and I had to send a verbal reply."

"Do pray go on with your story, Herminie," replied Ernestine. "You have no idea how deeply interested I am."

"And it is such a relief to me to tell you my troubles."

"Yes, I was sure it would be," responded Ernestine, with ingenuous tenderness.

"I was just telling you that I learned at Madame Herbaut's little entertainment that this young man's name was Gerald Auvernay. It was M. Olivier who told me so, on introducing him to me."

"What! he knows M. Olivier?"

"They are intimate friends, for Gerald was a soldier in the same regiment as Olivier. On leaving the service, he entered the office of a notary, so he told me, but for some time past he had given up an employment which was so distasteful to him, and had found occupation on the fortifications under an officer of engineers he had known in Africa. So you see, Ernestine, that Gerald's position and mine were identical, and free as he seemed to be, I was surely excusable for allowing myself to yield to a fatal fondness for him."

"But why fatal, Herminie?"

"Wait and you shall know all. Two days after our meeting at Madame Herbaut's, on my return from my lessons, I went out into the garden to which my landlord had kindly given me the entree. This garden, as you can see from the window, is separated from the street in the rear only by a hedge, and from the bench on which I had seated myself I saw Gerald pass. Instead of being handsomely dressed as on the evening before, he was clad in a gray blouse and a big straw hat. He gave a start of surprise on perceiving me, but far from seeming mortified at being seen in his working clothes, he bowed to me and, pausing, said gaily that he was just returning from his day's work, being engaged in superintending certain portions of the fortifications now in progress of construction at the end of the Rue de Monceau. 'An occupation which suits me much better than dull notary work,' he remarked. 'I am fairly well paid and I have a crowd of rather rough but very worthy men to superintend. I like it much better than copying stupid documents.'"

"I can understand that perfectly, my dear Herminie."

"It is more than likely that the cheerful way in which he accepted this arduous labour, manual labour, I might almost say, touched me all the more as Gerald had evidently received an excellent education. That evening when he left me he smilingly remarked that it was with the hope of sometimes meeting me within the boundaries of my park, as he often passed through that street on his way to visit a former comrade, who lived in a small house that could be seen from the garden. What will you think, Ernestine, when I tell you that almost every evening about sunset I had a chat with Gerald, and sometimes we even strolled out together to the same grassy knolls where M. Bernard met with his accident this morning? I found Gerald so full of frankness, generosity of heart, talent, and charming humour, he seemed to have such a high--I was about to say such a just--opinion of me, that when the day came that Gerald declared his love, and told me that he could not live without me, I was so happy, Ernestine, oh, so happy! for if Gerald had not loved me I do not know what would have become of me. It would have been impossible for me to do without this love, and now to love alone,--to love without hope," added the poor girl, hardly able to restrain her tears, "oh, it is worse than death, for it means a life for ever desolate."

Controlling her emotion, Herminie continued:

"I told Gerald my feelings with the utmost frankness. On my side there was not only love, but almost gratitude, for without him life would have seemed intolerable to me. 'We are both free to choose,' I said to Gerald; 'our positions are equal. We shall both have to work every day for our daily bread, and that gratifies my pride, for idleness imposed upon a wife is a cruel humiliation to her. Our lot will be humble, even precarious, perhaps, Gerald,' I added, 'but with courage, and strong in our mutual love and trust, we can defy the worst misfortunes.'"

"What noble words, Herminie! How proud M. Gerald must have been of your love! But as you have every chance of happiness, why these tears and your evident despair?"

"Do you not think that I was more than justified in loving him?" asked the poor girl, trying hard to repress her sobs. "Was not mine a true and noble love. Oh, tell me, is it possible that any one can accuse me--"

But Herminie could not finish the sentence, for sobs choked her utterance.

"Accuse you? _Mon Dieu!_ Accuse you of what? Are you not as free as M. Gerald? Does he not love you as much as you love him? Are your positions not equal?"

"No, no, our positions are not equal," replied Herminie, dejectedly.

"What is that you say?"

"No, our positions are not equal, alas! and that is my chief misfortune, for in order to equalise our positions apparently, Gerald deceived me as to his real station in life."

"Great Heavens! Who is he, then?"

"The Duc de Senneterre."

"The Duc de Senneterre!" exclaimed Ernestine, filled with terror for Herminie, as she remembered that Gerald was one of the three suitors for her--Ernestine's--hand, and that she was to meet him at the ball on the following Thursday. Consequently, he must have deceived Herminie in the most shameless manner, as he was, at that very time, endeavouring to marry a rich heiress.

Herminie attributed her friend's intense dismay and astonishment entirely to the startling revelation that had just been made, however, and asked:

"Tell me, Ernestine, am I not, indeed, unfortunate?"

"But such a deception on his part was infamous. How did you discover it?"

"M. de Senneterre himself, feeling unable to endure the life of deceit his first falsehood imposed upon him, but not daring to make the confession himself, entrusted the unpleasant task to M. Olivier."

"It should be some comfort to you that M. de Senneterre at least made this confession of his own accord," said Ernestine.

"Yes, and, in spite of the grief it has caused me, I see in it a proof of the loyalty I so admired in him."

"Loyalty!" exclaimed Ernestine, bitterly. "Loyalty, and yet he deserts you!"

"Deserts me? Far from it. On the contrary, he renews his offer of his hand."

"He, M. de Senneterre?" exclaimed Ernestine, in even greater astonishment "But, in that case, why are you so unhappy, Herminie?" she added.

"Because a penniless orphan like myself can make such a marriage only at the cost of the bitterest humiliation."

Herminie could say no more, for just then the door-bell rang again.

"Forgive me, my dear Ernestine," she exclaimed, drying her tears. "I think I know who it is that has just rung. I am obliged to see this visitor and--"

"Then I will leave you, Herminie," said Ernestine, rising hastily. "I am sorry, though, to leave you in such grief."

"At least wait until my visitor comes in!"

"Go and open the door, then, Herminie, while I put on my hat."

The duchess started towards the door, then, recollecting M. de Maillefort's deformity, she returned, and said to her friend:

"My dear Ernestine, in order to spare the person I am expecting the slight annoyance which the expression of your face, when you first perceived his affliction, might cause him, I must warn you that this friend of mine is a hunchback."

On hearing this, Mlle. de Beaumesnil suddenly recollected that her governess had told her that the Marquis de Maillefort had asked for Herminie's address, and a vague fear led her to ask:

"Who is this friend?"

"A most estimable man who made my acquaintance by the merest chance, for he is one of the greatest of _grands seigneurs_. But I must not delay too long in opening the door. Excuse me for one moment, my dear Ernestine."

And Herminie disappeared, leaving Ernestine overwhelmed with consternation.

A grim presentiment whispered that M. de Maillefort was about to enter and find her in Herminie's home, and though Mlle. de Beaumesnil owed her resolve to learn the truth, at any cost, to the Marquis de Maillefort's ironical remarks, and though her feelings towards him had undergone an entire change, she was not yet sure to what extent she could rely upon him, and the prospect of such a meeting was most unwelcome.

Ernestine's fears were realised.

Her friend returned, accompanied by the marquis. Fortunately, Herminie, noticing that the curtains of the alcove were open, hastened to close them according to her habit, so, as her back was turned towards Ernestine and M. de Maillefort for several seconds, she did not notice the evident shock that her two friends experienced at the sight of each other.

M. de Maillefort gave a sudden start of astonishment on recognising Mlle. de Beaumesnil. Intense curiosity, mingled with uneasiness, was apparent in every feature. He could not believe his eyes, and he was about to speak, when Ernestine, pale and trembling, clasped her hands with such a beseeching air that the words died upon his lips.

When Herminie turned, M. de Maillefort's face no longer expressed the slightest astonishment, and, doubtless, with the intention of giving Mlle. de Beaumesnil time to recover herself, he said to Herminie:

"I am intruding, I am sure, mademoiselle. My visit is inopportune, perhaps."

"Believe me, monsieur, no visit of yours will ever be inopportune here," responded the duchess, earnestly. "I only ask your permission to show my friend to the door."

"I beg you will do so," answered the marquis, bowing. "I should be miserable if you stood on the slightest ceremony with me."

Mlle. de Beaumesnil was obliged to exercise all her self-control to maintain even an appearance of calmness, but, fortunately, the little hall-way leading to Herminie's room was dark, so the sudden alteration in Ernestine's features escaped the notice of her friend, as she said:

"Ernestine, after all I have just confided to you, I need not tell you how necessary your presence will be to me. Alas! I did not think I should so soon put your friendship to the test. In pity, Ernestine, do not leave me long alone! If you only knew how I shall suffer, for I cannot hope to see Gerald again, or, rather, the hope is so uncertain that I dare not even think of it, so I beseech you not to let any length of time pass without my seeing you."

"You may rest assured that I shall return as soon as I can, and that it will not be any fault of mine if--"

"Alas! I understand. Your time must be devoted to your work, because you are obliged to work in order to live. It is the same with me. In spite of my mental anguish, I shall have to begin my round of lessons one hour from now. My lessons, great Heavens! and I scarcely know what I am doing. But with people like us, we are not only obliged to suffer, but also to live."

Herminie uttered these last words with such despairing bitterness that Mlle. de Beaumesnil threw her arms around her friend's neck, and burst into tears.

"Come, come, I will not be so weak again, Ernestine," said Herminie, returning the embrace; "I promise you I will not. I will be content with whatever time you can give me. I will wait and think of you," added the duchess, forcing a smile. "Yes, to think of you, and to await your return, will be some consolation."

"Farewell, Herminie, farewell," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil. "I shall soon see you again,--just as soon as I possibly can, I promise you,--day after to-morrow, if possible. Yes, I will manage it somehow," added the orphan, resolutely, "day after to-morrow, at the same hour, you can count upon seeing me."

"Thank you, thank you!" exclaimed Herminie, embracing Ernestine effusively. "Ah, the compassion I showed to you your generous heart returns in liberal measure."

"Day after to-morrow, then, it shall be, Herminie."

"Again I thank you with my whole heart."

"And now good-bye," said the orphan.

It was in a deeply agitated frame of mind that she wended her way back to the spot where her governess was waiting for her in the cab. As she left the house, she met a man who was walking slowly up the street, casting furtive glances at the house in which Herminie lived.

This man was Ravil, who, as we have said before, frequently hung about the home of the duchess, of whom he had retained a vivid and extremely tantalising recollection ever since the day he so insolently accosted her, when she was on her way to the Beaumesnil mansion.

De Ravil instantly recognised the richest heiress in France, who, in her agitation, did not even glance at this man, whom she had met but once, at the Luxembourg, where M. de la Rochaigue had taken her.

"What does this mean?" Ravil said to himself, in the utmost astonishment. "Here is the little Beaumesnil dressed almost like a grisette, coming out alone, pale and evidently frightened half to death, from a house in this miserable part of the town. I'll follow her cautiously at a distance, and see where she goes. The more I think of it, the more inclined I am to believe that it is the devil himself who sends me such a piece of good luck as this! Yes, this discovery may be the goose that lays the golden eggs for me. It rejoices my heart. The mere thought of it awakens golden visions like those which haunt that big ninny, Mornand."

While Ravil was following the unsuspecting Ernestine, Herminie returned to M. de Maillefort.