Baron Trigault's Vengeance [35]
falls like God's blessing upon a tortured mind. On waking up, her first act was to ring for her maid, in order to send a message to Job, to go out again in search of the baron. But the faithful servant had divined his mistress's wishes, and had already started off of his own accord. It was past mid-day when he returned, but his face was radiant; and it was in a triumphant voice that he announced: "Monsieur le Baron Trigault."
Madame d'Argeles sprang up, and greeted the baron with a joyful exclamation. "Ah! how kind of you to come!" she exclaimed. "You are most welcome. If you knew how anxiously I have been waiting for you!" He made no reply. "If you knew," continued Madame d'Argeles, "if you only knew "
But she paused, for in spite of her own agitation, she was suddenly struck by the peculiar expression on her visitor's face. He was standing silent and motionless in the centre of the room, and his eyes were fixed upon her with a strange, persistent stare in which she could read all the contradictory feelings which were battling for mastery in his mind--anger, hatred, pity, and forgiveness. Madame d'Argeles shuddered. So her cup of sorrow was not yet full. A new misfortune was about to fall upon her. She had hoped that the baron would be able to alleviate her wretchedness, but it seemed as if he were fated to increase it. "Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, anxiously. "What have I done?"
"You, my poor Lia--nothing!"
"Then--what is it? Oh, my God! you frighten me."
"What is it? Well, I am going to tell you," he said, as he stepped forward and took her hand in his own. "You know that I have been infamously duped and deceived, that the happiness of my life has been destroyed by a scoundrel who tempted the wife I so fondly loved to forget her duty, and trample her honor under foot. You have heard my vows of vengeance if I ever succeeded in discovering him. Ah, well, Lia, I have discovered him. The man who stole my share of earthly happiness was the Count de Chalusse, your brother."
With a sudden gesture Madame d'Argeles freed her hand from the baron's grasp, and recoiled as terrified as if she had seen a spectre rise up before her. Then with her hands extended as if to ward off the horrible apparition, she exclaimed: "O, my God!"
A bitter smile curved the baron's lips. "What do you fear?" he asked. "Isn't your brother dead? He has defrauded me alike of happiness and vengeance!"
If her son's life had depended on a single word, Madame d'Argeles could not have uttered it. She knew what mental agony had urged the baron to a sort of moral suicide, and led him to contract the vice in which he wasted his life and squandered, or, at least risk, his millions.
"Nor is this all," he continued. "Listen. As I have often told you, I was sure that my wife became a mother in my absence. I sought the child for years, hoping that through the offspring I might discover the father. Ah, well! I've found what I sought, at last. The child is now a beautiful young girl. She lives at the Hotel de Chalusse as your brother's daughter. She is known as Mademoiselle Marguerite."
Madame d'Argeles listened, leaning against the wall for support, and trembling like a leaf. Her reason was shaken by so many repeated blows, and her son, her brother, Marguerite, Pascal Ferailleur, Coralth, Valorsay--all those whom she loved or feared, or hated--rose like spectres before her troubled brain. The horror of the truth exceeded her most frightful apprehensions. The strangeness of the reality surpassed every flight of fancy. And, moreover, the baron's calmness increased her stupor. She so often had heard him give vent to his rage and despair in terrible threats, that she could not believe he would be thus resigned. But was his calmness real? Was it not a mask, would not his fury suddenly break forth?
However, he continued, "It is thus that destiny makes us its sport--it is thus that it laughs at our plans. Do you remember, Lia, the day when I met you wandering through the streets of Paris--with
Madame d'Argeles sprang up, and greeted the baron with a joyful exclamation. "Ah! how kind of you to come!" she exclaimed. "You are most welcome. If you knew how anxiously I have been waiting for you!" He made no reply. "If you knew," continued Madame d'Argeles, "if you only knew "
But she paused, for in spite of her own agitation, she was suddenly struck by the peculiar expression on her visitor's face. He was standing silent and motionless in the centre of the room, and his eyes were fixed upon her with a strange, persistent stare in which she could read all the contradictory feelings which were battling for mastery in his mind--anger, hatred, pity, and forgiveness. Madame d'Argeles shuddered. So her cup of sorrow was not yet full. A new misfortune was about to fall upon her. She had hoped that the baron would be able to alleviate her wretchedness, but it seemed as if he were fated to increase it. "Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, anxiously. "What have I done?"
"You, my poor Lia--nothing!"
"Then--what is it? Oh, my God! you frighten me."
"What is it? Well, I am going to tell you," he said, as he stepped forward and took her hand in his own. "You know that I have been infamously duped and deceived, that the happiness of my life has been destroyed by a scoundrel who tempted the wife I so fondly loved to forget her duty, and trample her honor under foot. You have heard my vows of vengeance if I ever succeeded in discovering him. Ah, well, Lia, I have discovered him. The man who stole my share of earthly happiness was the Count de Chalusse, your brother."
With a sudden gesture Madame d'Argeles freed her hand from the baron's grasp, and recoiled as terrified as if she had seen a spectre rise up before her. Then with her hands extended as if to ward off the horrible apparition, she exclaimed: "O, my God!"
A bitter smile curved the baron's lips. "What do you fear?" he asked. "Isn't your brother dead? He has defrauded me alike of happiness and vengeance!"
If her son's life had depended on a single word, Madame d'Argeles could not have uttered it. She knew what mental agony had urged the baron to a sort of moral suicide, and led him to contract the vice in which he wasted his life and squandered, or, at least risk, his millions.
"Nor is this all," he continued. "Listen. As I have often told you, I was sure that my wife became a mother in my absence. I sought the child for years, hoping that through the offspring I might discover the father. Ah, well! I've found what I sought, at last. The child is now a beautiful young girl. She lives at the Hotel de Chalusse as your brother's daughter. She is known as Mademoiselle Marguerite."
Madame d'Argeles listened, leaning against the wall for support, and trembling like a leaf. Her reason was shaken by so many repeated blows, and her son, her brother, Marguerite, Pascal Ferailleur, Coralth, Valorsay--all those whom she loved or feared, or hated--rose like spectres before her troubled brain. The horror of the truth exceeded her most frightful apprehensions. The strangeness of the reality surpassed every flight of fancy. And, moreover, the baron's calmness increased her stupor. She so often had heard him give vent to his rage and despair in terrible threats, that she could not believe he would be thus resigned. But was his calmness real? Was it not a mask, would not his fury suddenly break forth?
However, he continued, "It is thus that destiny makes us its sport--it is thus that it laughs at our plans. Do you remember, Lia, the day when I met you wandering through the streets of Paris--with