Luxury-Gluttony Part 16

"No, no! A few moments ago it was excitement and joy, but now you seem to be heart-broken, Sophie."

Madame Dutertre said nothing, hid her tears, embraced her children, and then whispered to them:

"Go find your nurse, my darlings."

Madeleine and Augustus obeyed and left the parlour, not, however, without turning many times to look at the great lady whom they thought so charming.

CHAPTER XI.

Scarcely were the two children out of the parlour, when Madeleine said to her friend, quickly:

"Now we are alone, Sophie, I pray you, answer me; what is the matter with you? What is the cause of this sudden oppression? Have absence and distance destroyed your confidence in me?"

Sophie had courage enough to overcome her feelings, and hide without falsehood the painful secret which was not hers. Not daring to confess, even to her best friend, the probable and approaching ruin of Dutertre, she said to Madeleine, with apparent calmness:

"If I must tell you my weakness, my friend, I share sometimes, and doubtless exaggerate, the financial troubles of my husband in this crisis,--temporary they may be, but at the same time very dangerous to our industry," said Sophie, trying to smile.

"But this crisis, my dear Sophie, is, as you say, only temporary, is it not? It is not yet grave and should it become so, what can be done to render it less painful to you and your husband? Without being very rich I live in perfect ease,--is there anything I would not do?"

"Good, dear, excellent friend!" said Sophie, interrupting Madeleine, with emotion, "always the same heart! Rea.s.sure yourself,--this time of crisis will, I hope, be only a pa.s.sing evil,--let us talk no more about it, let me have all the joy of seeing you again."

"But, Sophie, if these troubles--"

"Madeleine," replied Sophie, sweetly, interrupting her friend again, "first, let us talk of yourself."

"Egoist!"

"That is true, when it touches you; but tell me, you are happy, are you not? because, marquise as you are, you have made a marriage of love, have you not? And what about your husband?"

"I am a widow."

"Oh, my G.o.d, already!"

"I was a widow the evening of my wedding, my dear Sophie."

"What do you mean?"

"As extraordinary as it may seem, it is nevertheless quite simple.

Listen to me: when I left boarding-school and returned to Mexico, where I was ordered, as you know, by my father, I found but one relative of my mother, the Marquis de Miranda, mortally attacked by one of those epidemics which so often ravage Lima. He had no children and had seen me when I was a small child. He knew that my father's fortune had been entirely destroyed by disastrous lawsuits. He had a paternal sentiment for me, and almost on his death-bed offered me his hand. 'Accept, my dear Magdelena, my poor orphan,' said he to me, 'my name will give you a social position, my fortune will a.s.sure your independence, and I shall die content in knowing that you are happy.'"

"n.o.ble heart!" said Sophie.

"Yes," replied Madeleine, with emotion, "he was the best of men. My isolated position and earnest entreaties made me accept his generous offer. The priest came to his bedside to consecrate our union, and the ceremony was hardly over when the hand of the Marquis de Miranda was like ice in my own."

"Madeleine, forgive me," said Madame Dutertre, involuntarily, "I have made you sad by recalling such painful memories."

"Painful? no, it is with a sweet melancholy that I think of Marquis de Miranda. It is only ingrat.i.tude that is bitter to the heart."

"And so young still, does not your liberty incommode you? Alone, without family, are you accustomed to this life of isolation?"

"I think I am the happiest of women, after you, let it be understood,"

replied Madeleine, smiling.

"And do you never think of marrying again, or rather," added Sophie, smiling in her turn, "of marrying? Because, really, notwithstanding your widowhood, you are a maiden."

"I hide nothing from you, Sophie. Ah, well, yes. One time I had a desire to marry,--that was a grand pa.s.sion, a romance," replied Madeleine, gaily.

"Well, as you are free, who prevented this marriage?"

"Alas! I saw my hero for five minutes only, and from my balcony."

"Only five minutes?"

"Not more."

"And you loved him at once?"

"Pa.s.sionately."

"And you have never seen him since?"

"Never! No doubt he has been translated to heaven among his brothers, the archangels, whose ideal beauty he possessed."

"Madeleine, are you speaking seriously?"

"Listen: six months ago I was in Vienna. I lived in the country situated near one of the suburbs of the city. One morning I was in a kiosk, the window of which looked out upon a field. Suddenly my attention was attracted by the noise of stamping and the clash of swords. I ran to my window; it was a duel."

"Oh, my G.o.d!"

"A young man of nineteen or twenty at most, as gracious and beautiful as they paint the angels, was fighting with a sort of giant with a ferocious face. My first wish was that the blond archangel--for blond is my pa.s.sion--might triumph over the horrible demon, and although the combat lasted in my presence not more than two minutes, I had time to admire the intrepidity, the calmness, and dexterity of my hero,--his white breast half naked, his long, blond hair floating to the wind, his brow serene, his eyes brilliant, and a smile upon his lips, he seemed to brave danger with a charming grace, and at that moment, I confess it, his beauty appeared to me more than human. Suddenly, in the midst of a kind of fascination that the flashing of the swords had for me, I saw the giant stagger and fall. Immediately my beautiful hero threw away his sword, clasped his hands, and, falling on his knees before his adversary, lifted to heaven his enchanting face, where shone an expression so touching, so ingenuous, that to see him thus bending in grief over his vanquished enemy, one would have thought of a young girl's grief for her wounded dove, if we can compare this hideous giant to a dove. But his wound did not seem to be mortal, for he sat up, and, in a hoa.r.s.e voice, which I could hear through my window-blind, said to his young enemy:

"'On my knees, monsieur, I ask your pardon for my disloyal conduct and my rude provocation; if you had killed me it would have been justice.'

"Immediately a carriage arrived and carried the wounded man away, and a few minutes afterward all the witnesses of the duel had disappeared. It happened so rapidly that I would have thought I had dreamed it, but for the remembrance of my hero, who has been in my thought always since that day, the ideal of all that is most beautiful, most brave, and most generous."

"Now, Madeleine, I conceive that under such circ.u.mstances one might, in five minutes, feel a profound impression, perhaps ineffaceable. But have you never seen your hero again?"

"Never, I tell you. I do not know his name even; yet, if I marry, I should marry no man except him."

"Madeleine, you know that our old friendship gives me the privilege of being frank with you."

"Could you be otherwise?"

"It seems to me that you bear this grand pa.s.sion very cheerfully."