Baron Trigault's Vengeance [94]
they had not seen their former apprentice since she had been living in grandeur, as they expressed it. But in this they lied to me. For they saw her at least once, and that was on the day she brought them twenty thousand francs, which proved the nucleus of their fortune. They did not mention this fact, however."
"Dear Marguerite!" murmured Pascal, "dear Marguerite!" And then aloud: "But where did you learn these last details, mother?" he inquired.
"At the asylum where Mademoiselle Marguerite was brought up, and there, too, I only heard words of praise. 'Never,' said the superior, 'have I had a more gifted, sweeter-tempered or more attractive charge.' They had reproached her sometimes for being too reserved, and her self-respect had often been mistaken for inordinate pride; but she had not forgotten the asylum any more than she had forgotten her former patrons. On one occasion the superior received from her the sum of twenty-five thousand francs, and a year ago she presented the institution with one hundred thousand francs, the yearly income of which is to constitute the marriage dowry of some deserving orphan."
Pascal was greatly elated. "Well, mother!" he exclaimed, "well, is it strange that I love her?" Madame Ferailleur made no reply, and a sorrowful apprehension seized hold of him. "You are silent," said he, "and why? When the blessed day that will allow me to wed Marguerite arrives, you surely won't oppose our marriage?"
"No, my son, nothing that I have learned gives me the right to do so."
"The right! Ah, you are unjust, mother."
"Unjust! Haven't I faithfully reported all that was told me, although I knew it would only increase your passion?"
"That's true, but----"
Madame Ferailleur sadly shook her head. "Do you think," she interrupted, "that I can, without sorrow, see you choose a girl of no family, a girl who is outside the pale of social recognition? Don't you understand my disquietude when I think that the girl that you will marry is the daughter of such a woman as Baroness Trigault, an unfortunate girl whom her mother cannot even recognize, since her mother is a married woman----"
"Ah! mother, is that Marguerite's fault?"
"Did I say it was her fault? No--I only pray God that you may never have to repent of choosing a wife whose past life must ever remain an impenetrable mystery!"
Pascal had become very pale. "Mother!" he said in a quivering voice, "mother!"
"I mean that you will only know so much of Mademoiselle Marguerite's past life as she may choose to tell you," continued the obdurate old lady. "You heard Madame Vantrasson's ignoble allegations. It has been said that she was the mistress, not the daughter, of the Count de Chalusse. Who knows what vile accusations you may be forced to meet? And what is your refuge, if doubts should ever assail you? Mademoiselle Marguerite's word! Will this be sufficient? It is now, perhaps; but will it suffice in years to come? I would have my son's wife above suspicion; and she--why, there is not a single episode in her life that does not expose her to the most atrocious calumny."
"What does calumny matter? it will never shake my faith in her. The misfortunes which you reproach Marguerite for sanctify her in my eyes."
"Pascal!"
"What! Am I to scorn her because she has been unfortunate? Am I to regard her birth as a crime? Am I to despise her because her MOTHER is a despicable woman? No--God be praised! the day when illegitimate children, the innocent victims of their mother's faults, were branded as outcasts, is past."
But Madame Ferailleur's prejudices were too deeply rooted to be shaken by these arguments. "I won't discuss this question, my son," she interrupted, "but take care. By declaring children irresponsible for their mother's faults, you will break the strongest tie that binds a woman to duty. If the son of a pure and virtuous wife, and the son of an adulterous woman meet upon equal ground, those who are held in check only by the thought of their children will finally say to themselves, what does it matter?"
"Dear Marguerite!" murmured Pascal, "dear Marguerite!" And then aloud: "But where did you learn these last details, mother?" he inquired.
"At the asylum where Mademoiselle Marguerite was brought up, and there, too, I only heard words of praise. 'Never,' said the superior, 'have I had a more gifted, sweeter-tempered or more attractive charge.' They had reproached her sometimes for being too reserved, and her self-respect had often been mistaken for inordinate pride; but she had not forgotten the asylum any more than she had forgotten her former patrons. On one occasion the superior received from her the sum of twenty-five thousand francs, and a year ago she presented the institution with one hundred thousand francs, the yearly income of which is to constitute the marriage dowry of some deserving orphan."
Pascal was greatly elated. "Well, mother!" he exclaimed, "well, is it strange that I love her?" Madame Ferailleur made no reply, and a sorrowful apprehension seized hold of him. "You are silent," said he, "and why? When the blessed day that will allow me to wed Marguerite arrives, you surely won't oppose our marriage?"
"No, my son, nothing that I have learned gives me the right to do so."
"The right! Ah, you are unjust, mother."
"Unjust! Haven't I faithfully reported all that was told me, although I knew it would only increase your passion?"
"That's true, but----"
Madame Ferailleur sadly shook her head. "Do you think," she interrupted, "that I can, without sorrow, see you choose a girl of no family, a girl who is outside the pale of social recognition? Don't you understand my disquietude when I think that the girl that you will marry is the daughter of such a woman as Baroness Trigault, an unfortunate girl whom her mother cannot even recognize, since her mother is a married woman----"
"Ah! mother, is that Marguerite's fault?"
"Did I say it was her fault? No--I only pray God that you may never have to repent of choosing a wife whose past life must ever remain an impenetrable mystery!"
Pascal had become very pale. "Mother!" he said in a quivering voice, "mother!"
"I mean that you will only know so much of Mademoiselle Marguerite's past life as she may choose to tell you," continued the obdurate old lady. "You heard Madame Vantrasson's ignoble allegations. It has been said that she was the mistress, not the daughter, of the Count de Chalusse. Who knows what vile accusations you may be forced to meet? And what is your refuge, if doubts should ever assail you? Mademoiselle Marguerite's word! Will this be sufficient? It is now, perhaps; but will it suffice in years to come? I would have my son's wife above suspicion; and she--why, there is not a single episode in her life that does not expose her to the most atrocious calumny."
"What does calumny matter? it will never shake my faith in her. The misfortunes which you reproach Marguerite for sanctify her in my eyes."
"Pascal!"
"What! Am I to scorn her because she has been unfortunate? Am I to regard her birth as a crime? Am I to despise her because her MOTHER is a despicable woman? No--God be praised! the day when illegitimate children, the innocent victims of their mother's faults, were branded as outcasts, is past."
But Madame Ferailleur's prejudices were too deeply rooted to be shaken by these arguments. "I won't discuss this question, my son," she interrupted, "but take care. By declaring children irresponsible for their mother's faults, you will break the strongest tie that binds a woman to duty. If the son of a pure and virtuous wife, and the son of an adulterous woman meet upon equal ground, those who are held in check only by the thought of their children will finally say to themselves, what does it matter?"