Baron Trigault's Vengeance [146]
my mother's descriptions fell far short of the truth. But how can one describe the perfections of an angel? To any one who has the happiness or the misfortune of knowing you, there can only be one woman in the world!"
He had gradually approached her chair, and now extended his hand to take hold of Marguerite's, and probably raise it to his lips. But she shrank from the contact as from red-hot iron, and rising hurriedly, with her eyes flashing, and her voice quivering with indignation: "Monsieur!" she exclaimed, "Monsieur!"
He was so surprised that he stood as if petrified, with his eyes wide open and his hand still extended. "Permit me--allow me to explain," he stammered. But she declined to listen. "Who has told you that you could address such words to me with impunity?" she continued. "Your parents, I suppose; I daresay they told you to be bold. And that is why they have left us, and why no servant has appeared. Ah! they make me pay dearly for the hospitality they have given me!" As she spoke the tears started from her eyes and glistened on her long lashes. "Whom did you fancy you were speaking to?" she added. "Would you have been so audacious if I had a father or a brother to resent your insults?"
The lieutenant started as if he had been lashed with a whip. "Ah! you are severe!" he exclaimed.
And a happy inspiration entering his mind, he continued: "A man does not insult a woman, mademoiselle, when, while telling her that he loves her and thinks her beautiful, he offers her his name and life."
Mademoiselle Marguerite shrugged her shoulders ironically, and remained for a moment silent. She was very proud, and her pride had been cruelly wounded; but reason told her that a continuation of this scene would render a prolonged sojourn in the General's house impossible; and where could she go, without exciting malevolent remarks? Whom could she ask an asylum of? Still this consideration alone would not have sufficed to silence her. But she remembered that a quarrel and a rupture with the Fondeges would certainly imperil the success of her plans. "So I will swallow even this affront," she said to herself; and then in a tone of melancholy bitterness, she remarked, aloud: "A man cannot set a very high value on his name when he offers it to a woman whom he knows absolutely nothing about."
"Excuse me--you forget that my mother----"
"Your mother has only known me for a week."
An expression of intense surprise appeared on the lieutenant's face. "Is it possible?" he murmured.
"Your father has met me five or six times at the table of the Count de Chalusse, who was his friend--but what does he know of me?" resumed Mademoiselle Marguerite. "That I came to the Hotel de Chalusse a year ago, and that the count treated me like a daughter--that is all! Who I am, where I was reared, and how, and what my past life has been, these are matters that M. de Fondege knows nothing whatever about."
"My parents told me that you were the daughter of the Count de Chalusse, mademoiselle."
"What proof have they of it? They ought to have told you that I was an unfortunate foundling, with no other name than that of Marguerite."
"Oh!"
"They ought to have told you that I am poor, very poor, and that I should probably have been reduced to the necessity of toiling for my daily bread, if it had not been for them."
An incredulous smile curved the lieutenant's lips. He fancied that Mademoiselle Marguerite only wished to prove his disinterestedness, and this thought restored his assurance. "Perhaps you are exaggerating a little, mademoiselle," he replied.
"I am not exaggerating--I possess but ten thousand francs in the world--I swear it by all that I hold sacred."
"That would not even be the dowry required of an officer's wife by law," muttered the lieutenant.
Was his incredulity sincere or affected? What had his parents really told him? Had they confided everything to him, and was he their accomplice? or had they told him nothing? All these questions flashed rapidly through Marguerite's mind. "You
He had gradually approached her chair, and now extended his hand to take hold of Marguerite's, and probably raise it to his lips. But she shrank from the contact as from red-hot iron, and rising hurriedly, with her eyes flashing, and her voice quivering with indignation: "Monsieur!" she exclaimed, "Monsieur!"
He was so surprised that he stood as if petrified, with his eyes wide open and his hand still extended. "Permit me--allow me to explain," he stammered. But she declined to listen. "Who has told you that you could address such words to me with impunity?" she continued. "Your parents, I suppose; I daresay they told you to be bold. And that is why they have left us, and why no servant has appeared. Ah! they make me pay dearly for the hospitality they have given me!" As she spoke the tears started from her eyes and glistened on her long lashes. "Whom did you fancy you were speaking to?" she added. "Would you have been so audacious if I had a father or a brother to resent your insults?"
The lieutenant started as if he had been lashed with a whip. "Ah! you are severe!" he exclaimed.
And a happy inspiration entering his mind, he continued: "A man does not insult a woman, mademoiselle, when, while telling her that he loves her and thinks her beautiful, he offers her his name and life."
Mademoiselle Marguerite shrugged her shoulders ironically, and remained for a moment silent. She was very proud, and her pride had been cruelly wounded; but reason told her that a continuation of this scene would render a prolonged sojourn in the General's house impossible; and where could she go, without exciting malevolent remarks? Whom could she ask an asylum of? Still this consideration alone would not have sufficed to silence her. But she remembered that a quarrel and a rupture with the Fondeges would certainly imperil the success of her plans. "So I will swallow even this affront," she said to herself; and then in a tone of melancholy bitterness, she remarked, aloud: "A man cannot set a very high value on his name when he offers it to a woman whom he knows absolutely nothing about."
"Excuse me--you forget that my mother----"
"Your mother has only known me for a week."
An expression of intense surprise appeared on the lieutenant's face. "Is it possible?" he murmured.
"Your father has met me five or six times at the table of the Count de Chalusse, who was his friend--but what does he know of me?" resumed Mademoiselle Marguerite. "That I came to the Hotel de Chalusse a year ago, and that the count treated me like a daughter--that is all! Who I am, where I was reared, and how, and what my past life has been, these are matters that M. de Fondege knows nothing whatever about."
"My parents told me that you were the daughter of the Count de Chalusse, mademoiselle."
"What proof have they of it? They ought to have told you that I was an unfortunate foundling, with no other name than that of Marguerite."
"Oh!"
"They ought to have told you that I am poor, very poor, and that I should probably have been reduced to the necessity of toiling for my daily bread, if it had not been for them."
An incredulous smile curved the lieutenant's lips. He fancied that Mademoiselle Marguerite only wished to prove his disinterestedness, and this thought restored his assurance. "Perhaps you are exaggerating a little, mademoiselle," he replied.
"I am not exaggerating--I possess but ten thousand francs in the world--I swear it by all that I hold sacred."
"That would not even be the dowry required of an officer's wife by law," muttered the lieutenant.
Was his incredulity sincere or affected? What had his parents really told him? Had they confided everything to him, and was he their accomplice? or had they told him nothing? All these questions flashed rapidly through Marguerite's mind. "You