San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 85

"But his father--why haven't you been to see him?"

"I have no business with the father now, but with the son; the father ain't the one who's got to marry you! He's given his consent, that's all we can ask of him; he can't force the young man."

"Force him! Oh! I don't want him to be forced, if he no longer loves me; he would be unhappy after he married me."

"Don't you worry, and don't you bother your head any more about it. It's my business now."

Liline wept and held her peace. Sans-Cravate let her weep, because his own experience taught him that there are griefs which admit of no consolation.

The next day, Sans-Cravate had been at his stand less than an hour when he saw Madame Baldimer's maid coming toward him. His heart gave a leap under his waistcoat, because he felt that he was about to learn something of importance.

Rosa went up to him and handed him a folded paper.

"My mistress told me to give you this," she said.

"Thanks, mamzelle," replied Sans-Cravate, taking the paper with a trembling hand.

The maid walked away, while the messenger unfolded the paper and read these words:

"He arrived last night; he is at home."

"At last!" exclaimed Sans-Cravate, crumpling the paper in his fingers; then he sprang to his feet, folded his _crochets_, and strode away toward Albert's residence. He was intensely excited, although he exerted himself to the utmost to control his emotion. He felt that his sister's future was about to be decided, and it was for her that he trembled.

Under the porte cochere he stopped, uncertain whether he ought not to call first upon Monsieur Vermoncey. But he reflected that, if Albert's father were warned of his intention, he would have his son watched and would prevent him from giving him satisfaction; and the result of his reflections was that he ought now to deal with Albert alone.

Sans-Cravate went rapidly up to the young man's apartment. He rang, and a new servant opened the door.

"I wish to speak to Monsieur Albert," said Sans-Cravate.

"Monsieur Albert is not in," replied the servant, in an almost insolent tone.

"He must be, for me."

"But my master returned from travelling last night. He is tired, and cannot receive anyone."

"He will receive me, for I must speak to him. Go and tell him that Sans-Cravate is here, and that I won't leave the house without seeing him. He must know that we have got to have an interview, and it's better to have it now. Go, my boy. I know that there's two entrances, but I've got my eye on the courtyard; and if your master should try to skip, I'll jump through the window and land on his shoulders; that would interfere with his running."

The servant stared at Sans-Cravate in amazement, but went and told his master. He returned in a very short time, beckoned to Sans-Cravate to follow him, and ushered him into Albert's bedroom.

Young Vermoncey had just risen; he was dressed in a robe de chambre, and was lying back carelessly in a capacious easy-chair. His face was slightly pale when Sans-Cravate entered the room; but he seemed perfectly placid, and said, with an unembarra.s.sed manner, and with something very like a smile:

"Is it you, Sans-Cravate? I expected a call from you. Come and sit down, and let us have a talk."

Surprised at this reception, which aroused the most cheering hopes in his heart, Sans-Cravate seated himself on the edge of the chair that the young man indicated, and stammered:

"Yes--yes, Monsieur Albert, it's me. You certainly had good reason to think I would come; for, you see, this thing's got to be settled! And I love my sister, my poor Liline, so dearly! But I hope that you still love her, too?"

Albert threw himself back in his chair and held his feet to the fire, as he replied:

"Yes, my dear Sans-Cravate; your sister is fascinating--and as gentle and sweet as an angel. I loved her dearly, and I still love her. So I mean her to be happy--that is my most earnest desire."

"Oh! then it's all right, monsieur!" cried the messenger, joyfully; "you mean to make my sister happy--that is to say, you will keep the promise you made to her when you took her away from Auvergne. Ah! you make me very happy, too, and you are an excellent young man."

"When I say that I want to see your sister happy, Sans-Cravate,"

rejoined Albert, balancing himself in his chair, "I mean that, to atone for my thoughtlessness, I propose to a.s.sure her comfort, her future. If I made promises, they were mere words, such as all young men say to pretty girls, which do not bind one to anything."

Sans-Cravate pushed his chair away; he turned pale, but fastened his eyes on Albert, and exclaimed, without a trace of his former hesitation:

"We have got to a point where we don't agree, but, _sacredie!_ we must settle on something. Monsieur Albert, didn't you seduce my sister, a simple, innocent maid, who had no idea of love? Will you deny that you abused her innocence, and that you induced her to leave her home and her patroness, only by swearing that you would marry her?"

"Mon Dieu! I won't deny anything! I have told you already that I admit all that. But, once more, every young man takes fifty such oaths; so much the worse for those who believe them!"

"Then you don't intend to marry my sister?"

Albert threw himself back in his chair again and began to laugh.

"Marry your sister!" he exclaimed. "Nonsense, Sans-Cravate! Why, you can't think of such a thing! Would such a marriage be well-a.s.sorted?

Come, be reasonable; you are an excellent fellow--I have no doubt of that; but what would people say if I should make you my brother-in-law?

They would say that I'd gone crazy!"

"Take care, monsieur!" said Sans-Cravate, struggling to control his anger. "Don't throw insults in my face. Messenger as I am, I'm a better man than you are at this moment!"

"But, for G.o.d's sake, Sans-Cravate, listen to me! Is it possible for a young man to marry all the women he makes love to? Since when have your morals been so severe? Haven't you been in the habit of carrying my love letters for me? haven't you been in the secret of all my intrigues? You knew that I had three or four mistresses at once, and, far from blaming me, you were the first to laugh about it."

"True--you are right, monsieur. I did your dirty work for you. I was wrong--and there was someone who told me so at the time. And yet, that same someone deceived me."

"I tell you again, Sans-Cravate, that I am sorry I ever spoke to your sister, who was an innocent, virtuous girl. But still we must have mercy on all sinners. Once more, I will settle a handsome allowance on her, and----"

Sans-Cravate rose and stamped on the floor, crying:

"Ten thousand devils! Don't talk about money! You fine gentlemen think you have done everything, when you have undone the strings of your purse. I tell you that marriage, and nothing else, can undo the wrong you have done. Your father felt it, for he gave his consent to the marriage. So you see, monsieur, there's nothing to prevent it."

"Yes," said Albert, with some irritation, "I know that you have seen my father and extorted his consent; furthermore, I will not deny that, when I came home last night, after embracing me, he told me of the promise he had given you; but I told him what my intentions were, and swore that nothing would induce me to change them."

"Nothing!" muttered Sans-Cravate; "nothing! Not even if I should tell you that you are a father--that my sister is carrying a child--that she implores you to give it its father's name? and that is the truth!"

Albert lowered his eyes; he was deeply moved, and tried in vain to conceal his emotion. Sans-Cravate walked toward him.

"Well! will you cast off that innocent creature?"

Albert was silent for some moments. At last he replied, in a low voice:

"I will provide for the child as well as the mother. But I cannot--it is impossible for me to marry Adeline, for such a marriage would cover me with ridicule."

"That is your last word, monsieur?"

"Yes, Sans-Cravate."