The World's Greatest Books - Volume 4 Part 43

"I have done it purposely," she said.

"And why?"

"Because I love you better than that young gentleman who was in no way sympathetic to me. You are ungrateful."

"But listen, my dear child! Fathers are egotists, and would prefer to keep their children. But I am old, and I should not like to part without seeing you married, a mother, with affections that will replace mine."

"Oh, this is wicked! Never, never!" she exclaimed; "let me cry alone for a minute." And she left the room hurriedly.

When she returned after a while, she found Denoisel in the room.

"You have been out? And where have you been?"

"Well, if you want to know, I have been to church to pray that I may die before father. I knelt before a statue of the Virgin. And, you may laugh, but it seemed to me that she nodded at my request. And it made me quite happy."

The conversation drifted to gayer topics, and the two soon fell into their wonted tone of banter. "Tell me, Renee," said Denoisel, "have you never felt, I won't say love, but some sentiment for anybody?"

"Never. That sort of thing only occurs when the heart is empty. But when it is defended by the affection one feels for a father--as a child I felt perhaps the beginning of that emotion of which one reads in novels.

And do you know for whom?"

"No."

"For you. Oh, only for a moment. I soon loved you differently for having corrected the spoilt child of its faults, for having directed my attention to n.o.ble and beautiful things. And I resolved to repay you by true friendship."

M. Mauperin entered the room, and interrupted the confidences.

A few days later, Renee having set her mind upon playing in private theatricals, a discussion arose about the filling of the second lady's part in the play that had been chosen. One by one the names suggested were dismissed, until Henri said, "Why not ask Mlle. Bourjot? They are just staying at Sannois."

"Noemi?" replied Renee. "I'd love it. But she, was so cold towards me last winter. I don't know why."

"She will have 12,000 a year," interrupted Denoisel, "and her mother knows that you have a brother. And they are not a little proud of their money."

Twelve thousand a year! Madame Mauperin thought of her son's future, and supported his suggestion. It was decided that they would call on the Bourjots on Sat.u.r.day.

To Sannois they went as arranged on the Sat.u.r.day. They were received with effusion, and had to put up for an hour or so with the unbearable arrogance of their hosts' display of wealth. Renee's warm advances to the playmate of her childhood were received by Noemi with coolness, not to say reluctance, but the request that Noemi should take part in the theatricals met with her mother's approval, the shy girl's objections-- nervousness, lack of talent, and so forth--being overruled by Madame Bourjot. Before the two families parted it was arranged that Noemi should be taken by her governess to attend the rehearsals at the Mauperins' house.

Renee's whole-hearted friendliness and sparkling humour soon overcame Noemi's reserve, and under Denoisel's direction the amateur actors made rapid progress. Madame Bourjot herself came to one of the rehearsals, and, after the first compliments, expressed her surprise that Henri, the princ.i.p.al actor, was absent. "Oh, he has a wonderful memory," said his proud mother; "two rehearsals will set him right."

At last the great day arrived. A stage had been arranged in the large drawing-room, which was filled to its utmost capacity, the ladies being seated in the long rows of chairs, the men standing behind and overflowing through open doors into the adjoining rooms. The play chosen was "The Caprice." Henri, who revealed rare talent, took the part of the husband; Noemi of the neglected wife. The curtain fell upon enthusiastic applause, and Madame Bourjot, who had feared that her daughter would be a fiasco, was delighted with her success. Amid the hum of voices she heard the lady sitting next to her say to her neighbour, "His sister, I know ... but for the part he is not sufficiently in love with her ...

and too much with his wife. Did you notice?" she continued, in a whisper.

In the second piece Henri appeared as Pierrot, Renee as the forsaken wife, and Noemi as the beloved. Henri played with real pa.s.sion. From time to time his eyes seemed to search for Madame Bourjot's. Her neighbour felt her leaning against her shoulder. The curtain fell.

Madame Bourjot swayed, and fell back in a faint.

She was carried to the garden.

"Leave me now," she said, "I am all right now; it was the heat. I only want a little air ... Let M. Henri stay with me."

They were left alone.

"You love her?" said Madame Bourjot, clutching Henri's arm. "I know all.... Have you nothing to say?"

"Nothing. I have struggled for a year. I will not excuse myself. I owe you the truth. I love your daughter, it is true."

Finally, Madame Bourjot rose and walked towards the house. Henri followed.

"I count upon never seeing you again, sir," she said, without looking round. With a mighty effort she regained her composure, and walked back to the house on Henri's arm.

_III.--Stint to Death by his Sister_

It was Madame Bourjot herself who insisted upon seeing Henri again, and, since he did not answer her letter, she went to his apartments. The interview was painful, but she gave her consent to Henri's marriage with Noemi, and undertook to overcome M. Bourjot's possible objections, on condition that Henri should humour her husband's vanity by adopting a t.i.tle--an easy matter enough. The Mauperins had a farm called Villacourt. Mauperin de Villacourt would do very well. Henri promised to see what he could do.

Madame Bourjot and her daughter called on the Mauperins next day. The two girls were asked to leave their mothers to their talk, and to take a walk in the garden.

"A secret!" said Renee, as soon as they were alone. "Can you guess it? I can--my brother. ... But you are crying. What is it, my darling Noemi?"

"Oh, you don't know!" her friend sobbed. "I cannot--if you only knew----Save me! If I could only die!"

"Die! But why?"

"Because your brother is----" She stopped in horror at what she was about to say, then whispered the rest of her sentence into her ear, and hid her face on her friend's bosom.

"You lie!" Renee pushed her back.

"I?" Renee did not reply, but looked sadly and gently into Noemi's eyes.

Renee doubted no longer. She was silent for a moment; she felt almost the duties of a mother towards this child.

In the evening Henri was surprised to find his sister waiting in his room. She approached the subject of his impending marriage, and implored him, by his love for her, not to give up his name, and to break off the match.

"Are you mad? Enough of this!"

Renee fixed her eyes upon her brother.

"Noemi has told me--everything!"

Her cheeks flushed, Henri turned deathly pale.

"My dear," he said, with a shaky voice, "you interfere in things which do not concern you. A young girl--" Then seizing her hand, he pointed towards the door, and said, "Go!"

Renee was ill for a week, and Henri, knowing the cause, did his best to alleviate her suffering. Still, a coldness remained between them. He understood that she had forgiven the brother, but not the man. One day she accompanied Henri to town and went with him to the Record Office, where he had to make some inquiries about the legality of adopting his own name. While he was questioning the keeper, she overheard two clerks discuss her brother and his claim. "He thinks the Villacourt family is extinct. But he is misinformed, although they have gone down in the world. In fact, I know the heir to the t.i.tle--a M. Boisjorand with whom I once had a fight when we were boys. They lived in the forest of the Croix-du-Soldat, near St. Mihiel, at La Motte-Noire." Renee fixed these names in her mind.

"I have got all I want," said Henri, gaily coming towards her. And they went out together.

The Bourjots were giving a great ball to celebrate the public announcement of the engagement of their daughter to M. Mauperin de Villacourt.

"You are enjoying yourself," said Renee to Noemi.