His Excellency the Minister Part 71

"Ah! bless me!" cried Jose, "you will explain to me--!"

"That is very easy!--I was in want of money. The Dujarrier furnished me with a little for that affair. She is too n.i.g.g.ardly. I ask madame for some. She a.s.sumes a haughty tone, and, instead of comprehending that I come as a friend, she threatens to have me put out of doors. Blackmail!

I?--I?--What nonsense!"

A friend! This man dared to say before her who bore the name of d.u.c.h.esse de Rosas that he came to her as an intimate. This alcoholic braggart had a.s.sisted Marianne in sub-renting, he knew not what hotel, from a wanton!--Rue p.r.o.ny!--Vanda!--What was there in common between these names and that of the d.u.c.h.ess? And the Dujarrier, that Dujarrier whose manner of living was known to the Castilian, how had she become a.s.sociated with Marianne's life?

Ah! since he had commenced, this Gochard would make an end of it. He would tell everything! Even if he did not wish it, he would speak now.

Rosas, frightened himself, and terrified at the prospect of some unknown baseness and doubtful transaction, felt Marianne's hand tremble in his, and by degrees, as Gochard proceeded, the duke realized that Marianne wished to get away and it was he who now retained her; holding the young woman's wrist tightly within his fingers, he forcibly prevented her from escaping, insisting that she should listen and hear everything.

"Ah! if you think that I am afraid of speaking," said Gochard, "you will soon see!"

And then with a sort of swaggering air like that of a fencing-master or tippler, searching for some droll expressions, cowardly avenging himself by jests ejected like so many streams of tobacco, against this woman who had just insulted him, who spoke of blackmail and the police, and of thrusting the miserable fellow out of doors, he told everything that he knew; Marianne's neediness, her weariness, her loves, the Dujarrier connection, the renting of the Hotel Vanda, the Vaudrey paper and its renewals, his own foolishness as a too artless and tender, good sort of fellow, relying on Claire Dujarrier's word, and not reserving to himself so much per cent in the affair!

Rosas listened open-mouthed, his ears tingling and his blood rushing to his temples, while he sunk his fingers into Marianne's arms, she, meanwhile, glaring at Gochard.

When he had finished, she disengaged herself from Rosas's clutch by an extreme effort, and ran to the rascal and spat in his face.

He lifted his hand to her and said:

"Ah! but!--"

"Begone!" said the duke. "You wish to be paid?"

"The money is not all. I demand respect!" replied Gochard, as he wiped his cheek.

He placed his card on the mantelpiece.

"Adolphe Gochard! there is my address. Besides, Madame knows it. With the pistol, the sabre, or the espadon, as you please! I am afraid of no one."

"You will be paid, you have been told, you shall be paid!" cried Marianne, absolutely crazy and ready to tear him with her nails. "Be off! ruffian! begone, thief!"

"Fiddle-faddle!" replied Adolphe, as he replaced his hat on the side of his bald head. "I have said what I have to say. I do not like to be made a fool of!"

He disappeared, waddling away like a strolling player uncertain of his exit.

Rosas did not even see him go.

He had seized Marianne by both hands and was dragging her toward the window, through which the daylight still entered, and convulsed with rage he penetrated her eyes with his glance, his face looking still more pallid, in contrast with his red beard.

She was terrified. She believed herself at the point of death. She felt that he was going to kill her.

She suddenly fell on her knees.

He still looked at her, leaning over her with the appearance of a madman.

"Vaudrey?--Vaudrey? The man whom I saw at your uncle's?--The man whom I have elbowed with you?--Vaudrey?--This man was your lover, then?"

She was so alarmed that she did not reply.

"You have lied to me, then? But, tell me, wretched woman, have you not lied to me?"

"I loved you and I desired you!" said Marianne.

"Nonsense!" said Rosas, in a strident, deep-chested voice. "You wanted what that rascal wanted: money! You should have asked me for it! I would have given you everything, all my fortune, all! But not my name! Not my name!"

He roughly repelled her.

She remained on her knees. Her hands hung down and rested on the carpet.

She looked at it stupefied, hardly distinguishing its rose pattern.

She was certain that she was about to die. Jose's sudden anger had the fitfulness of a wild beast's. He crushed her with a terrible glance from his bloodshot eyes.

Then he began to laugh hysterically, like a young girl.

"Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!--In a wanton's house yonder in Rue p.r.o.ny, at Vanda's! Vanda's! At Vanda's, in a harlot's bed, she gave herself, sold herself!--A Rosas, for she is a Rosas! A d.u.c.h.esse de Rosas now! Idiot!

Idiot that I am!"

Marianne would have spoken, entreated, but fear froze her, coming over her flesh and through her veins. She realized that an implacable resolution possessed this trusting man. She found a master this time.

"Jose!" said Marianne softly, in a timid voice.

He drew himself up as if the mention of this name were an insult.

"Come!" he said calmly, "so let it be. What is done, is done. So much the worse for the fools! But listen carefully."

This little, pale, blond man seemed, in the growing darkness, like a portrait of former days stepped forth from its frame.

His hand of steel again seized Marianne's wrists.

"You are called the d.u.c.h.esse de Rosas?--You were ambitious for that name, you eagerly desired and struggled hard for that t.i.tle, did you not? Well, I will not, at least, suffer you to drag it like so many others into intruders' salons, under ironical glances, before mocking smiles and lorgnettes, in view of the papers, and into the gossip of the Paris whose gutter-odor tempts you so strongly that you have not yet been able to leave it. _Parbleu!_ you have another lover in it, I wager!--Vaudrey!--Or Lissac and many others!--Is it as I say?"

"I swear to you--"

"Ah! you have lied to me, do not swear! We are about to leave. Not for Italy. It is good for those who love each other. You do not know Fuentecarral?--You are about to make its acquaintance. It is your chateau now. Yours, yours, since you are a Rosas!"

He again broke into laughter, such as a judge might indulge in who should mock at a condemned man.

"We are about to leave for Toledo. You asked me, one day, about the castle in which I was born. It is a prison, simply a prison. It is habitable nevertheless. But when one enters it, one rarely leaves it.

The device that you will bear is not very cheerful, but it is eloquent, you know it: _Hasta la muerte!_--"Until death!"--What do you say about it?--We shall be at Toledo in three days. There are d.u.c.h.esses de Rosas who will look on you, as you pa.s.s, over their plaited collars, and as there were neither adulteresses nor courtesans among them, they will probably ask what the Parisian is doing among them. Well, I will answer them myself, that she is there to live out her life, you understand, there, face to face with me, as you have _desired_, as you said, and no one will have the right to sneer before the Duc de Rosas, who will see no one. Oh! yes, I know that I belong to another period! I am ridiculous, romantic!--I am just that!--You have awakened the half-Arab that lurks in the Castilian. So much the worse for you if you have made me remember that I am a Rosas!"

She remained there, thunderstruck, hearing the duke come and go, his heels ringing in spite of the m.u.f.fling of the carpet, like the heels of an armed man.

At times, when he pa.s.sed quite close to her, his attenuated shadow was cast at full length over her and she was filled with terror.

She experienced a feeling of fear, as if she were before an open tomb, or that a puff of damp air chilled her face, or that she was suddenly enveloped by the odor of a cellar. She shuddered and wished to plead with him, murmuring:

"Pity!--Pardon!--"