Chapter XXXVI: A Strange Choice

One beautiful day in spring, Valentine de Mongarcin sat in the salon where her aunt Madame de Ravenelle preferred to pass her time, amusing herself by picking out chords on her zither and singing the words of a new virelay.

Madame de Ravenelle, reclining on an immense couch, listened to her niece, keeping time gently with her head, and smiling with the contented expression of a person whose digestion is good and who has no cares.

The fair Valentine was a long way from displaying a countenance as placid as her aunt's; her brow often contracted; her mouth expressed melancholy rather than pleasure, and her eyes, which she turned constantly from side to side, indicated that her mind was deeply preoccupied.

"Well! go on, Valentine; why have you stopped singing?" inquired the old lady.

"What do you say, aunt? was I singing?"

"Well! this is charming! do you mean that you did not know it? that you sang without being aware of it?"

"I assure you, aunt, that I was not thinking of music at all!"

"Is it possible? However, you have been so distraught, so pensive, for some time past, that if I did not know you, I should really believe that you had some passion in your heart!--But I am not at all alarmed in that direction; I know that you love no one!"

"That is true, aunt: I have no love for anyone."

"Still, you will have to decide some day. You do not lack suitors, at all events; there are more than ten gentlemen, rich and of noble birth, who seek your hand. I say to them all: 'Wait, be patient; she will come to it.'"

Valentine made no reply. But, a few minutes later, she asked:

"Did you hear anything last evening, aunt, at Madame de Brissac's reception, of a very--a very extraordinary occurrence?"

"No, niece, no; and I prefer not to. Extraordinary events sometimes cause keen emotion, and I dislike anything that disturbs my delightfully quiet life."

"Well, I heard two young gentlemen talking within a few feet of me--not so low that I could not hear their words. One of them said: 'Yes, my friend, Léodgard de Marvejols is married.'--'That is impossible,' the other replied; 'why should his marriage be kept secret?'--The first one answered; but just then he and his friend walked away, so that I could learn nothing more."

"You must have heard wrong, niece; or else the young gentleman was amusing himself at his friend's expense.--A man of the Marvejols blood does not contract a marriage without letting it be known beforehand in society! That would in truth be most extraordinary!"

At that moment a servant appeared and announced the Baron de Germandré.

The old lady ordered him to be admitted, and soon a little, wizened, bald-headed old man entered the salon, saluted the ladies with all the grace of a courtier, and, after presenting his respects with a sprightly air, dropped upon a sofa, saying:

"Great news, mesdames! great news! I am always among the first to learn the news, you know. I like that; early fruits are always agreeable: ha! ha! ha!"

"What is it, Monsieur de Germandré?" asked Madame de Ravenelle, half raising her head; "is the king making love to his wife? is Richelieu out of favor?"

"No, no, to-day's news does not concern the court, but a gentleman of noble lineage, of a very ancient family.--Why, it is utterly inconceivable! And if I had not had my information from the old Duc de Montaulac, who was one of the witnesses, I should refuse to believe it; but one must yield to evidence!"

"When you are willing to explain yourself fully, baron, we shall be very glad; for thus far you have confined yourself to most ambiguous phrases."

"That is true, mesdames--I beg pardon; this is the authentic news: the son of the Marquis de Marvejols, young Comte Léodgard, is married!"

"Married!" cried Madame de Ravenelle, unable to control a movement of surprise; and she glanced at her niece; but the latter remained impassive and simply pressed her lips tightly together, like one who was not at all surprised by what she heard.

"That would be perfectly natural," continued the baron; "the count's marriage was sure to come, and it would surprise no one if he had married someone of his own rank, a person of noble birth, of an illustrious family. But if you knew to whom he has given his name!--why, it is beyond belief; such a thing was never seen!"

"Really, baron, you are intolerable! You keep us in this suspense!"

"Oh! a thousand pardons, _belle dame_!--Well, the descendant of the house of Marvejols, Comte Léodgard, has married a girl of the common people--the daughter of a bath keeper. That is the sort of people with whom that noble gentleman has allied himself."

Valentine clenched her fingers on the chair on which her hand rested, but she strove to retain her self-control.

For the first time in her life perhaps, Madame de Ravenelle uttered an exclamation, and seemed deeply moved; she could hardly murmur:

"It cannot be so, baron; there must be some mistake; such a marriage is impossible!"

"Mon Dieu! I said exactly the same thing, madame, when I heard of it; but since the Duc de Montaulac and the Baron de Freilly were present as witnesses to the marriage, and since they have confirmed the report, how can you entertain any further doubt?"

"And the old Marquis de Marvejols consented to this marriage?"

"He not only consented, but--and this may seem to you even more incredible--he forced his son to contract it, so to speak."

"He? the marquis?"

"Yes, madame.--You know that he is a very strange man, is the dear marquis! He has certain ideas, certain principles, on the subject of honor, which are worthy of much respect, no doubt; but still there are cases when one may well make an exception to the rule."

"And the Duc de Montaulac and the Baron de Freilly consented to act as witnesses to a marriage which violates all the proprieties, which is almost an insult to the nobility?"

"What would you have? It seems that it is quite a romantic story. They say that the girl, who was a model of virtue, was seduced by that scapegrace of a Léodgard--for the gentleman is said to be a sad rake. And then, the affair having had certain--er--consequences, the girl was turned out of doors by her parents, and but for a friend who assisted her and gave her shelter she would probably have died in the street; for the dashing Léodgard had abandoned her!"

"That was very wrong! He should have given her money--a great deal of money!"

"He has never had any too much for himself; though now, they say, he spends as much as a sultan!--To make my story short, the father learned all from the girl's friend, who went to see him. He summoned all the parties before him, and it was then that the Duc de Montaulac and Monsieur de Freilly were present. He told his son that he owed reparation to the father of the girl he had seduced. This father is an old soldier, so it seems; the marquis gave the count his choice between marrying the girl and fighting a duel with her father?"

"And Léodgard preferred the marriage? It is inconceivable!"

"He refused at first; he even rejected the proposition with contempt. Then, all of a sudden--no one knows how it came about--he changed his mind and consented to marry. The ceremony took place instantly, in the chapel of the Hôtel de Marvejols. A venerable priest had been summoned. Everything was ready. The rite was performed."

"I cannot get over my surprise! No, it passes my understanding. The new bridegroom will not have the audacity to present his wife at court, I presume?"

"It seems that after the marriage the bride's parents gave up their bathing establishment and went to live in the provinces."

"What a pity! we might have gone to the Comte de Marvejols's father-in-law's place to bathe! That might have become the fashion."

"As for the old marquis, he has given his mansion on Place Royale to the young bride, so they say. It seems that he has lavished gifts upon her; he has settled an enormous income upon her. But he has arranged it so that his son cannot touch it; in short, he has determined that the young woman shall have an independent fortune.--It is certain that with the sort of life that Comte Léodgard is leading now few fortunes could stand the strain.--Finally, the old marquis has left Paris; he has gone to his fine estate of Champfleury, announcing that he does not propose to leave it again."

"That is a very strange series of events!--Do the new husband and wife live happily?"

"Oh, yes! for they do not live together. On the very day of his marriage, Comte Léodgard left his wife and returned to his _petite maison_ in Rue de Bretonvilliers. As for the new countess, she has taken up her abode in the Hôtel de Marvejols, and I am assured that the count, her husband, has not set his foot inside the door since she took possession."

"All that you have told me is so astounding--it has excited me too much.--I am afraid that I am going to be ill, baron; this is contrary to all my habits."

"You will resume them again, _belle dame_; after all, no matter what happens, it seems to me that it is a matter of indifference to us. So much the worse for people who make fools of themselves! The idea of marrying a woman whom you leave on your wedding day and whom you refuse to see again! I declare that, had I been in the count's place, I would have fought a hundred times rather than enter into such an absurd alliance!"

"You would have done well, baron; you would have done very well! Ah! you do not belie your blood!"

"What the devil! one is a gentleman or one is not; I know no other distinction!--But I must leave you, mesdames; receive my respects. I confess that I am in haste to go to several other houses to tell the story of the Comte de Marvejols's extraordinary marriage."

"I can understand that. Go, Baron de Germandré, go; we will detain you no longer."

The old baron took his leave.

Madame de Ravenelle glanced at her niece; Valentine simply said, in a curt tone:

"Well, madame! you see that I heard aright, do you not?"

The old lady made no reply; but, after so severe a shock, after such an excess of fatiguing emotion, it was plain that she wished to enjoy a little repose, for she stretched herself out on her couch as she did when she proposed to sleep.

Thereupon Valentine at once left the salon and went to her own apartment.

"Send Miretta to me!" she said to a servant whom she met; then, having no longer any motive for concealing her feelings, she abandoned herself to chagrin, wrath, mortification; she tore whatever was within reach of her hand; she spurned and broke everything that came in her way.

Miretta soon appeared before her mistress. For some time past, Miretta had been sad and pensive. Wherever she might be, her brow was pale and anxious, and her eyes expressed grief and discouragement; she was no longer the pretty and piquant brunette who fascinated all eyes. Grief soon works havoc with beauty.

"Mademoiselle sent for me, and I am here," she said in a low tone, bending her head before her mistress.

"Yes, come in; close that door, so that I may speak, so that I may at last give full vent to my feelings, without constraint."

"Mademoiselle is much agitated! Has anything happened to grieve her?"

"Oh, yes! yes! I am suffering acutely; I feel deeply humiliated! I cannot tell you all that I feel; I do not know myself what is taking place in my heart; but I would like to be able to avenge myself!--Miretta, that man who was to be my husband--at least, such was the wish of both our families--that Léodgard de Marvejols, is married--married to the girl Bathilde, the daughter of a bath keeper! he, the descendant of an illustrious family! Do you understand?--do you realize what a terrible affront he has put upon me?--To marry Mademoiselle Bathilde Landry, he disdained, he refused, the hand of Valentine de Mongarcin!--Ah! that thought drives me frantic--it suffocates me, it makes my nerves tingle! Give me water--water--quickly! It seems to me as if I were choking."

Miretta waited upon her young mistress with the most zealous attention. Valentine soon became calmer, and even smiled at her maid, saying:

"I feel better now--thanks, Miretta! In truth, I was very foolish to make myself ill over that man; that is not the way to be avenged! But to marry that Bathilde--who would ever have believed it of him?"

"And the white plume you sent her, mademoiselle?"

"I believe that instead of ruining the girl, it simply helped to make her a countess!--She! she! Comtesse de Marvejols! I cannot accustom myself to the idea. And yet, it would seem that he no longer loves her. Just imagine that on the very day of their marriage Léodgard left this Bathilde! She lives in the hôtel on Place Royale, and the count continues to occupy his house in Rue de Bretonvilliers; and since the day that he contracted that shameful marriage he has not been once to visit his wife!"

"That proves, mademoiselle, that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard did not marry willingly; and that he must certainly have been forced into this marriage with the bath keeper Landry's daughter."

"No, he might have refused; he is old enough to control his own actions. He had his choice between this marriage and a duel with this Bathilde's father, and he dastardly declined the duel!"

"Oh! mademoiselle, it is inconceivable that it was from lack of courage. Everybody agrees in saying that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard is the bravest of the brave!"

"Yes, yes, you are right; but, in that case, why did he consent? There is some mystery underneath all this--something which I would give all the world to discover!"

And Valentine, resting her head on one of her hands, half reclining on a sofa, lay for several minutes deep in thought. Miretta, kneeling on a cushion by her mistress's side, was equally motionless, and, wholly engrossed by her thoughts, evidently had no idea what she was doing.

Valentine emerged from her reverie at last, and said, passing her hand through Miretta's lovely black hair:

"Poor girl! you too are in trouble, and you have nobody to whom to confide your sorrows. But I have noticed your depression for some time; your face is careworn, and when you try to smile there are tears in your eyes--tears which you try in vain to conceal!--Come, tell me your troubles; has the man whom you loved so dearly betrayed you?"

"Alas! mademoiselle, I do not know whether he has betrayed me; yet I can but think that he has ceased to love me, as he no longer tries to see me. Days, weeks, months have passed, and I never see him--I cannot succeed in meeting him!"

"Poor Miretta, I understand your melancholy; but do you know whether he is still in Paris? Perhaps he has been compelled to absent himself, to take a journey, and had no time to send you word?"

"Oh, no! he is still in Paris, mademoiselle, I am very sure; for I--I sometimes hear of him."

"Those persons from whom you hear of your lover should be able to tell you where he is, where you might find him."

Miretta lowered her eyes and replied, after a moment's pause:

"No, mademoiselle; for he will not tell where he lives, he does not wish me to go to see him.--Mon Dieu! what have I done to him that he should forget me, avoid me thus? He knows very well that I came to this country only because he was here! I only asked to be allowed to see him now and then, at long intervals; was I so unreasonable? And yet, the last time that I saw him, he was so far from being cold to me that one would have said that he loved me more than ever. He came with me to this door, he pressed my hands lovingly, he looked at me as one looks with the heart; and can he have ceased to love me? No, it is impossible! Oh! there are times when I should believe that he was dead, if I did not know that he has been seen, in Paris, within the fortnight."

"Look you, Miretta, you are childish to be alarmed, to distress yourself; you have no real reason for it; your fears are as vague as your suspicions; whereas I--I feel that I must have revenge for the affront put upon me. But to whom shall I look for my revenge? Not to my aunt; she was considerably moved, I admit, when she learned of this monstrous marriage; but in a moment she went to sleep, in order to forget all about it. So that I must depend on myself alone for my vengeance, yes, on myself! But a young girl does not count in the world; she can do nothing. It is better--yes, she must be able to maintain her rank, to show herself, to make a sensation, and perhaps----"

Valentine's features became animated, her thought seemed to embrace the whole future. She remained for a long while buried in meditation, then said to Miretta:

"You must have seen here all the noblemen who aspire to my hand. I wish you to tell me what you think of them; what you may have heard about them. Pages and esquires are never dumb when their masters are mentioned. Answer me frankly. You cannot hurt me, for I love none of these gentlemen.--The Sire de Vergy?"

"He is a very handsome cavalier, perhaps a little too much in love with himself; he thinks of nothing but his dress, he adores perfumery----"

"Let us pass to another;--the Comte de Brillancourt?"

"He is a very fine-looking man; he is most anxious to be considered a roué, a seducer, a man who makes conquests every day; but his servants declare that he boasts of more than he makes, and that he never finds anybody at the rendezvous which he claims to have received."

"He must be a fool! he would be a very depressing companion.--The Sire de Montaubry?"

"He is considered an agreeable gentleman, who adores pleasure and passes his life in merrymaking. He is generous to prodigality; he rewards his esquire when he has invented some pleasant occupation for his time. Cards, dancing, music, the table, horses--these are what he must have every day."

"The man must be insufferable with his high spirits!--The Baron d'Arcelle?"

"He is no longer young, but he is enormously rich! He is a great stickler for etiquette; he dismissed his coachman one day because he allowed the carriage of a farmer of the salt tax to pass him."

"They who ascribe so much importance to little things are incapable of great things!--The Marquis de Santoval?"

"Oh! there is a man in whose glance there is something that inspires fear! He has a handsome face; but such a black beard, and eyes that shine with a smoldering fire, and heavy eyebrows that almost join. His servants say that he is very just to them, but that he punishes inexorably the slightest fault. He is a widower; his first wife was very pretty, and Monsieur de Santoval is terribly jealous; they say that he did not make her happy. He adores the chase, and passes a large part of the year on his estates, hunting wolves."

"Enough, enough! my choice is made!--Go, Miretta, see if my aunt has finished her siesta."

Miretta returned and informed her mistress that Madame de Ravenelle was quite ready to listen to her. So Valentine left her apartment and went to her aunt. After saluting her with great gravity, she said:

"Madame, I have decided at last to take a husband; it is time for me to occupy my rightful place in society."

"Ah! you have decided, niece? Very good! Mon Dieu! what a multitude of events for a single day!--Well, Valentine, it only remains to make a choice among all the noble suitors who have asked for your hand."

"My choice is made, aunt."

"Indeed! it is extraordinary how rapidly everything happens to-day!"

"My choice has fallen on the Marquis de Santoval. I accept him for my husband."

"The Marquis de Santoval!"

And the old lady uttered another exclamation of surprise, then fell back on her couch, saying:

"Everybody seems determined to kill me to-day by exciting me beyond endurance!"