Chapter XII: M. De Macreuse Overdoes the Matter

Mlle. de Beaumesnil had eagerly availed herself of the first opportunity for a conversation with M. de Macreuse, for from this conversation she hoped to ascertain whether her distrust of him was well founded. She was strongly inclined to think so, the abbe's protege having assured Mlle. Helena that he had fallen suddenly and passionately in love with Mlle. de Beaumesnil at first sight.

And after her experience at Madame Herbaut's, the heiress knew what to think of the sudden and irresistible impressions her beauty must produce.

But recollecting the different things that had attracted her attention to M. de Macreuse, recalling the profound grief he had seemed to feel at his mother's death, the charity of which he had given such convincing proof by his alms, and, above all, the rare virtues which Mlle. Helena was continually lauding to the skies, Ernestine was anxious to know exactly what to think of this so-called model young man.

"M. de Macreuse has interested me very much," she said to herself. "He is very prepossessing in appearance, and his melancholy is extremely touching; in fact, but for M. de Maillefort's sneering remarks, which have made me distrust myself as well as others, I should perhaps have taken a decided fancy to M. de Macreuse. Perhaps, captivated by the rare virtues of which I have heard so much, I should have unconsciously yielded to Mlle. Helena's influence, and perhaps have married M. de Macreuse, a choice which I am told would assure my happiness for life. Let me see, then, what kind of a choice I should have made, for I have an infallible means of distinguishing truth from falsehood now."

M. de Macreuse, full of confidence by reason of Helena's flattering reports, and realising the decisive nature of this interview, had long been preparing himself to play the liar to perfection.

When Ernestine laid her hand lightly on his arm, this pious youth pretended to give a sudden start, and the young girl was conscious of the sort of thrill that traversed her partner's arm.

When they had taken their places, M. de Macreuse made two ineffectual attempts to address a few words to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, but he seemed dominated by such a powerful, though perfectly natural emotion, that speech failed him and he could only blush deeply.

Abbe Ledoux, by the way, had taught his protege an almost infallible means of blushing: this was to hang one's head for several seconds, holding one's breath all the while.

This skilfully counterfeited emotion occupied the first few minutes of the quadrille, M. de Macreuse having addressed scarcely a word to Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

Moreover, by a marvel of tact and cunning, the originator of the St. Polycarpe mission not only managed to escape the ridicule to which a profoundly melancholy man exposes himself when he undertakes to dance, but also to preserve an interesting appearance in Mlle. de Beaumesnil's eyes in spite of the terpsichorean evolutions he was obliged to perform.

He was aided not a little by his personal appearance, we must admit.

Dressed entirely in black, booted and gloved in the most irreproachable manner, the cut of his coat was perfection, and his black satin cravat extremely becoming to one with his fair complexion and regular features. His figure, though a little too stout, was replete with an easy grace, and as he walked through the different figures of the quadrille, keeping perfect time to the music, he now and then cast a resigned but pathetic look at Mlle. de Beaumesnil, a look that seemed to say:

"I am a stranger to worldly pleasures--entirely out of place at fetes, from which my sorrow impels me to hold myself aloof, but I submit to this painful contrast between my grief and the gaiety around me, because I have no other means of seeing you."

This beloved disciple of Abbe Ledoux, in short, belonged to that school of actors that seems to make a specialty of meaning but constrained glances, expressive but discreet sighs, all fittingly accompanied with rollings of the eyes, and a contrite, radiant, or ingenuous expression of countenance, as best suits the occasion.

In fact, M. de Macreuse's rendition of his role was so admirable that Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in spite of her suspicions, could not help saying to herself:

"Poor M. de Macreuse! it must be very painful for him to find himself at a gay entertainment in which he can take so little pleasure, overwhelmed as he is by the despair his mother's death has caused him."

But her suspicions reasserting themselves, "Then why did he come?" she asked herself. "Very possibly he was impelled to do so solely by avaricious motives. Is it a shameful hope of securing my wealth that makes him forget his grief and his regret?"

M. de Macreuse having at last found a favourable opportunity for beginning a conversation with Ernestine, summoned up another blush, then said, in his most timid, unctuous, and ingratiating tones:

"Really, I must appear very awkward and ridiculous to you, mademoiselle."

"And why, monsieur?"

"I have not dared to address so much as a word to you since the beginning of the dance, mademoiselle, but--embarrassment--fear--"

"What! I frighten you, monsieur?"

"Alas! yes, mademoiselle."

"That is not a very gallant remark, monsieur."

"I make no pretentious to gallantry, mademoiselle," replied Macreuse, sadly, but proudly. "I am only sincere--and the fear you inspire in me is real, only too real."

"But why do I inspire you with fear?"

"Because you have unsettled my life and my reason, mademoiselle, for from the first moment I saw you, without even knowing who you were, your image placed itself between me and the only previous objects of my adoration. Up to that time, I had lived only to pray to God and to cherish or mourn for my mother, while now--"

"Good Heavens, monsieur, how tiresome all this is! What I say may surprise you, but it is the truth, nevertheless; for you see," continued Mlle. de Beaumesnil, assuming from this on the imperious and flippant tone and manner of a spoiled child, "I am in the habit of saying anything that comes into my head, unless I am absolutely compelled to play the hypocrite."

It is needless to say that M. de Macreuse was astounded by this interruption, and above all by the manner in which it was made, for, from Mlle. Helena's reports, he had fully expected to find in Ernestine an artless, but deeply religious child; so, up to this time, he had carefully maintained a manner and a style of conversation which would be likely to please an unsophisticated devotee.

Still, too wary to betray his astonishment, and ready to change his character at a moment's notice if that should prove necessary to put him in tune with the heiress, this pious young man replied, venturing a half smile--he had preserved a melancholy gravity up to that time:

"You are right, mademoiselle, to say whatever comes into your head, particularly as only charming thoughts can find shelter there."

"Really, monsieur, I like this kind of talk very much better. You were not at all amusing before."

"It depends upon you, mademoiselle," responded Macreuse, risking a whole smile this time, and so transforming his formerly grief-stricken face by degrees, as it were, "and it will always depend upon you, mademoiselle, to change sorrow to gladness. Nothing is impossible to you."

"Oh, as to that, there's a time for everything, I think. Now this morning at church I seemed sad, because church is so dull any way; besides, in order not to be outdone by Mlle. Helena I put on the most saintly airs imaginable, but in my secret heart I am awfully fond of gaiety and of amusing myself. By the way, what do you think of my gown?"

"It is in exquisite taste. In its charming simplicity it is a delightful contrast to the gaudy attire of all the other young ladies; but they are excusable, after all, and you deserve very little credit, for they have need of outward adornments, while you can dispense with them, mademoiselle. Perfection needs no ornamentation."

"That is exactly what I said to myself," responded Ernestine, with the most arrogant and conceited air imaginable. "I felt sure that, even in a plain white dress, I was pretty certain to eclipse all the other young girls and make them turn green with envy. It is such fun to excite envy in others and torment them."

"You must be accustomed to that pleasure, mademoiselle. It is true that the jealousy of others does afford one a vast amount of amusement, as you so wittily remarked a moment ago."

"Oh, I am not so wonderfully witty," responded Ernestine, with an admirable semblance of overweening conceit; "but I am very fond of my own way and can't bear any one to oppose or contradict me. That is why I hate old people so. They are for ever preaching to young folks. Do you like old people, monsieur?"

"You mean mummies, mademoiselle. The chief aim of life should be pleasure."

And the imperious necessity of executing a figure in the quadrille having interrupted M. de Macreuse at this point, he took advantage of the excellent opportunity thus afforded to change the expression of his countenance entirely, and to assume the most joyous dare-devil air imaginable. A similar change, too, was apparent in his dancing. It was much more lively and animated. The young man straightened himself up, lifted his head high in the air, and whenever he found an opportunity he bestowed upon Mlle. de Beaumesnil glances which were now as impassioned as the former ones had been timid and discreet.

While he was assuming this new character, the abbe's protege was all the while saying to himself:

"How strange! the girl is an arrant hypocrite evidently, inasmuch as she succeeded in deceiving Mlle. de la Rochaigue so completely in regard to her real character. I strongly suspect, though, that my excellent friend was afraid that she would frighten me if she told me the truth about the girl. She little knows me. I'm glad that the girl is silly and vain, and that she thinks herself witty and beautiful and capable of out-shining all the pretty women here to-night. Deceitfulness, ignorance, and vanity--it must be a fool indeed that can not use three such potent factors as these to advantage. But now to the main question! With a simpleton like this, reserve is unnecessary, nor can one pile on the flattery too thickly. Complaisance must extend almost to baseness, for the girl has evidently been utterly spoiled by her wealth. She knows perfectly well that anything is permissible in her,--that any offence will be condoned in the richest heiress in France."

So as he returned to his place M. de Macreuse remarked to Ernestine:

"You accused me just now of being too grave, mademoiselle. You must not suppose that I am in the most hilarious spirits now, but the happiness of being with you intoxicates me."

"And why?"

"If Mlle. Helena, in encouraging me to hope that some day, when you learned to know me better, you might think me worthy to consecrate my life to you,--if Mlle. Helena was mistaken in this--"

"By the way, speaking of Mlle. Helena, you must admit that she is a frightful bore."

"That is true, but she is so good."

"So good! Well, that did not prevent her from saying something dreadful to me about you the other day."

"About me?"

"Yes, she made you out such a paragon of goodness that I said to myself: 'Great Heavens, how intolerable that man must be with all his virtues. A person as perfect as that must be a frightful nuisance! And then to be always at church or engaged in charitable works, the mere idea of it is enough to make one die of ennui.' I did not say this to Mlle. Helena, but I thought it all the same. Judge then, monsieur, I, who would marry only to be as free as air and amuse myself from morning till night, to be always on the go, to be the most fashionable woman in Paris, and above all to be able to go to the masked ball at the Opera house! Oh, that ball, it sets me crazy just to think of it! Mercy! what is the use of being as rich as I am if one cannot enjoy everything and do exactly as one pleases?"

"When one is as rich as you are," replied M. de Macreuse, with unblushing effrontery, "one is queen everywhere, above all in one's own home. The man you honour with your choice should, to follow out my comparison, be the prime minister of your kingdom of pleasure,--no, your chief courtier, and as such be ever submissive and eager to do your bidding. His one thought should be to save you from the slightest annoyance, and leave you only the flowers of existence. The birds of the air should not be freer than you; and if your husband understands his duty, your pleasures, your wishes, and even your slightest caprice, should be sacred to him. Is he not your slave, and you his divinity?"

"Good, monsieur, that would suit me perfectly, but from what Mlle. Helena has told me about you, and from what I myself have seen--"

"And what have you seen, mademoiselle?"

"I have seen you giving alms to the poor and even talking with them."

"Certainly, mademoiselle, and I--"

"In the first place, I have a horror of poor people,--they are so loathsome in their rags they fairly turn one's stomach."

"They are horrible creatures, it is true, but one has to throw them a little money now and then as one throws a bone to a starving dog to keep him from biting you. It is merely a matter of policy."

"I understand, then, for I wondered how you could feel any interest in such repulsive creatures."

"Good Heavens, mademoiselle," replied Macreuse, more and more earnestly, "you must not wonder at certain apparent contradictions between the present and the past. If any do exist you are the cause of them, so ought you not to pardon them? What did I tell you from the very first? Did I not confess that you had wrought a complete change in my life? Ah, yes, I had sorrows, but I have them no longer. I was devout, but henceforth there is only one divinity for me, yourself. As for my virtues," added M. de Macreuse, with a cynical smile, "they need not worry you. Only too happy to lay the others at your feet, I will retain only such as may please you."

"How infamous!" thought Ernestine. "To attract my attention, or, rather, to excite my interest, this man made a pretence of being charitable, virtuous, devout, and a most devoted son; now he denies his virtues, his charity, his mother, and even his God, to please me, and attain his object, viz., to marry me for my money, while the detestable faults I affect do not shock him in the least; he even praises and exalts them."

Mlle. de Beaumesnil, who was little versed in dissimulation, and who had been obliged to exercise the greatest self-restraint in order to enact the role which would assist her in unmasking M. de Macreuse, could no longer conceal her scorn and disgust, and, in spite of all her efforts, her face betrayed her real feelings only too plainly, as she listened to M. de Macreuse's last words.

That gentleman, like all the disciples of his school, made a constant study of the countenance of the person he wished to deceive or convince; and the quick contraction of Mlle. de Beaumesnil's features, her smile of bitter disdain, and a sort of impatient indignation that she made little or no attempt to conceal at the moment, were a sudden and startling revelation to M. de Macreuse.

"I am caught," he said to himself. "It was a trap. She distrusted me and wanted to try me. She pretended to be silly, capricious, vain, heartless, and irreligious, merely to see if I would have the courage to censure her, and if my love would survive such a discovery. Who the devil would have suspected such cunning in a girl of sixteen? But if she has feigned all these objectionable proclivities, her real instincts must be good and generous," this beloved disciple of Abbe Ledoux said to himself. "And if she was anxious to put me to the test she must have had some idea of marrying me. All is not lost. I must recover my lost ground by a bold stroke."

These reflections on the part of the pious youth lasted only for an instant, but that instant sufficed to prepare him for another transformation.

The same brief interval had also given Mlle. de Beaumesnil time to calm her indignation, and summon up courage to end this interview by covering Macreuse with shame and confusion.

"So you are really willing to sacrifice all your virtues on my account?" exclaimed Ernestine. "Few persons are as obliging as all that. But the quadrille is ended. Instead of escorting me back to my seat, won't you take me to that conservatory I see at the other end of the room?"

"I am all the more pleased to comply with your request, mademoiselle, as I have a few words, very serious words they are, too, that I wish to say to you."

M. de Macreuse's tone had changed entirely. It was grave now, even stern.

Ernestine glanced at the pious young man in astonishment. His expression had become as sad as at the beginning of the quadrille, but the sadness was no longer of a melancholy, touching character, but stern, almost wrathful.

More and more amazed at this sudden metamorphosis which Macreuse intensified, so to speak, during their walk through the salon to the conservatory, Mlle. de Beaumesnil asked herself what could be the cause of this strange change in her companion.

The long gallery, enclosed in glass, which they entered, was bordered on each side with masses of flowering plants and palms, and at the farther end was an immense buffet loaded with the choicest viands. As nearly all the gentlemen were engaged in escorting their partners to their seats, there were very few people in the gallery at the time, so M. de Macreuse had an excellent opportunity to say all he had to say.

"May I ask, monsieur," asked the orphan, flippantly, seeing that she must not yet abandon her role--"may I ask what very important thing you have to say to me. Grave is about the same thing as being tiresome, it seems to me, and I have a horror of everything that is tiresome, you know."

"Grave or tiresome, you will, nevertheless, have to listen to these words, which are the last you will ever hear from my lips, mademoiselle."

"The last during this quadrille, evidently."

"They are the last words I shall ever say to you in my life, mademoiselle."

There was something so sad and yet so proud in the voice, face, and bearing of this model young man that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was overwhelmed with astonishment.

Nevertheless, she continued, still trying to smile:

"What, monsieur, I am never to see you again after all--all Mlle. Helena has said about--about--"

"Listen, mademoiselle," said M. de Macreuse, interrupting her; "it is impossible for me to keep up this farce any longer--or to express any longer sentiments that are and ever will be farthest from my thoughts."

"To what farce do you allude, monsieur?"

"I came here, mademoiselle, expecting to find in you the pious, sensible, generous, kind-hearted, honest young girl of whom Mlle. Helena has always spoken in terms of the highest praise. It was to such a girl that my first remarks were addressed, but the frivolous, sneering manner in which they were received disappointed and even shocked me."

"Can I believe my ears?" thought Ernestine. "What on earth does he mean?"

"Then a terrible doubt seized me," continued M. de Macreuse, with a heavy sigh. "I said to myself that perhaps you did not possess those rare virtues which I so greatly admire and which I was confident I should find in you, but I could not and would not believe it at first, preferring to attribute your words to the thoughtlessness of youth. But alas! your frivolity, vanity, hardness of heart, and impiety became more and more apparent as our conversation proceeded. I wished to convince myself thoroughly, however, and though my heart bled each moment, I wanted to overcome your insensibility to all that is pitiable, your contempt for all that is sacred. I even went so far as to seem to scoff at that which is dearest to me in life,--my religion and the memory of my mother."

And a tear glistened on the lashes of the abbe's disciple.

"It was a test, then, in his case, as in mine," thought Ernestine.

"I feigned the most pernicious sentiments," continued M. de Macreuse, waxing more and more indignant, "and you did not utter a word of censure or even of surprise! At last I pushed flattery, cowardice, and baseness to their utmost limits, and you remained calm and approving instead of crushing me with the scorn I deserved. It has been a terrible ordeal for me, for the blow to my hopes is as unexpected as it is overwhelming. All is over now. Pardon a severity of language to which you are little accustomed, mademoiselle, but understand, once for all, that I will never devote my life to any woman, who is not worthy both of my love and my respect."

And with a stern and dignified air M. de Macreuse bowed low to Ernestine, and walked away, leaving her speechless with astonishment.

"I thank God that I was mistaken," thought the poor child, with a feeling of profound relief. "Such hypocrisy, deceit, and unscrupulousness are an impossibility. M. de Macreuse was horrified by the sentiments I expressed, consequently he must possess a sincere and upright soul."

The reflections of this artless girl, who was so ill fitted to cope with the wily founder of the St. Polycarpe mission, were interrupted by Mesdames de Rochaigue and de Senneterre, who, having seen Mlle. de Beaumesnil enter the gallery in company with M. de Macreuse, had hastened after her, thinking the young girl intended to partake of some refreshments, but the two ladies found her alone.

"Why, what are you doing here, my own dearest?" inquired Madame de la Rochaigue.

"I came here for a little fresh air, madame; it is so warm in the ballroom."

"But the gallery is just as much too cool, my dear child, and you run a great risk of taking cold. You had better come back to the ballroom at once."

"As you please, madame," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

As she reentered the ballroom, in company with the two ladies, she saw M. de Macreuse give her a despairing look; but he turned quickly away, as if he feared the young girl would perceive the sorrowful emotion to which he was a prey.