The Mysteries Of Paris Volume V Part 12

'Tis sweet to die for and with those we love.

Angel, come--come to my heart--come--come--come!"

If the creole had rendered the first strophe with languid pleasure, she put in her last words all the enthusiasm of antique love; and as if the music had been powerless to express her intense pa.s.sion, she threw her guitar from her, and, half rising and extending her arms towards the door, where Jacques Ferrand stood, she repeated, in a faltering, dying tone, "Oh, come--come--come!" It would be impossible to depict the electric look with which she accompanied these words. Jacques Ferrand uttered a terrible cry.

"Oh, death! Death to him whom you could thus love!" he cried, shaking the door in a burst of jealousy and furious rage.

Agile as a panther, Cecily was at the door with one bound; and, as if she with difficulty repressed her feigned transports, she said to Jacques Ferrand, in a low, concentrated, palpitating voice:

"Well, then, I will confess I am excited by my song. I did not mean to approach the door again, yet here I am, in spite of myself; for I hear still the words you said just now, 'If you bade me strike, I would strike.' You love me, then?"

"Will you have gold,--all my gold?"

"No, I have enough."

"Have you an enemy? I will kill him."

"I have no enemy."

"Will you be my wife? I'll marry you."

"I am married."

"What would you, then? Oh, what would you?"

"Prove to me that your pa.s.sion for me is blind,--furious! And that you would sacrifice all to it."

"Ah!--yes--all. But how?"

"I do not know,--but a moment since your eyes fascinated me. If again you give me one of those marks of intense love, which excite the imagination of a woman to madness, I know not of what I should not be capable. Make haste, then, for I am capricious, and to-morrow, perhaps, all the impression will be effaced."

"But what proof can I give you at this moment?" cried the notary.

"You are but a fool, after all!" replied Cecily, retreating from the aperture with an air of disdain. "I was deceived,--I believed you capable of energetic devotion. Goodnight! It's a pity!"

"Cecily, do not leave me! Return! What can I do?"

"I was but too much disposed to listen to you; you will never have such another opportunity."

"But oh, tell me what you would have!" cried the notary, half mad.

"Eh! If you were as pa.s.sionately in love as you say, you would find means to persuade me. Good night!"

"Cecily."

"I will shut the door, instead of opening it."

"Cecily,--listen! I will give you yet another proof of my devotion."

"What is this proof of your love?" said the creole, who, having approached the mantelpiece to resume her dagger, returned slowly towards the door, lighted by the flame of the hearth. Then, un.o.bserved by the notary, she made sure of the action of an iron chain, which terminated in two small k.n.o.bs, one of which was screwed into the door, and the other into the door-post.

"Listen!" said Jacques Ferrand, in a hoa.r.s.e and broken voice, "listen!

If I place my honour, my fortune, my life, at your mercy,--now, this very instant,--will you then believe I love you?"

"Your honour, your fortune, your life! I do not comprehend you."

"If I confide to you a secret which may bring me to the scaffold, will you then believe me?"

"You a criminal? You do but jest. What, then, of your austere life,--your piety,--your honesty?"

"All--all a lie!"

"You pa.s.s for a saint, and yet you boast of these iniquities! No, there is no man so craftily skilful, so fortunately bold, as thus to captivate the confidence and respect of men; that were, indeed, a fearful defiance cast in the teeth of society!"

"I am that man,--I have cast that sarcasm, that defiance, in the face of society!" exclaimed the monster, in a tone of ecstatic pride.

"Jacques! Jacques! Do not speak thus!" said Cecily, with a tone of emotion. "You make me mad!"

"My head for your love,--will you have it so?"

"Ah, this, indeed, is love! Here, take my poniard,--you disarm me!"

Jacques Ferrand took, through the wicket, the dangerous weapon, with due precaution, and flung it from him to a distance in the corridor.

"Cecily, you believe me, then!" he exclaimed with transport.

"Do I believe you?" said the creole, energetically pressing her beautiful fingers on the clasped hands of Jacques Ferrand. "Oh, yes, I do! For now, again, you look as you did a short time since, when my very soul seemed fascinated by your gaze."

"Cecily, you will speak the words of, truth--and truth only--to me?"

"And can you doubt it for a moment? Ah, you will soon have ample proof of my sincerity. But what you are about to tell me is quite true,--is it not?"

"I repeat that you may believe each word I utter."

"So much the better, since you are enabled to prove your pa.s.sion by the avowal of them."

"And if I tell you all?"

"Then will I, in return, withhold nothing from you; for if, indeed, you have this blind, this courageous confidence in me, Jacques, I will call no more for the ideal lover of my song, but you,--my hero, my tiger! to whom I will sing, 'Come--come--oh, come!'"

As Cecily uttered these words, with an air and voice of seductive tenderness, she drew so close to the wicket that Jacques Ferrand could feel the hot breath of the creole pa.s.s over his cheek, while her fresh, full lip lightly touched his coa.r.s.e, vulgar hand. "Call me your tiger,--your slave,--what you will,--and if after that you but divulge what I entrust to you, my life will be the consequence. Yes, enchantress, a word from you, and I perish on a scaffold. My honour, reputation, nay, my very existence, are henceforward in your hands."

"Your honour?"

"Yes, even so. But listen. About ten years ago I was entrusted with the care of a child, and a sum of money for her use, amounting to two hundred thousand francs; well, I wronged the little creature by spreading a false report of her death, and then appropriated the money to my own purposes."

"It was boldly and cleverly done! Who would ever have believed you capable of such conduct?"

"Again. I had a cashier whom I detested, and I determined upon ruining him one way or other. Well, one evening, under some great emergency, he took from my cash-box a trifling amount of gold, which he paid back the next day; but to wreak my malice on the object of my dislike, I accused him of having stolen a large sum. Of course my testimony was believed, and the wretched man was thrown into prison. Now is not my honour--my very safety--at your will and pleasure? At your word both would be in peril."