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Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins
And unable to restrain her feelings any longer, she burst into tears and hid her face upon the bosom of Ernestine, who, half rising and pressing her friend to her heart, exclaimed:
"What is it, Herminie? What is it? I saw that you were becoming more and more depressed, but dared not ask you the reason."
"Do not say any more about it," replied Herminie, ashamed of her tears. "Forgive this weakness in me, but just now a host of memories – "
"Herminie, I have no right to demand your confidence, I know, but sometimes it is a relief to talk of one's troubles – "
"Yes, yes, I know it. It is the constraint that is killing me, but oh, the humiliation, the disgrace!"
"Humiliation and disgrace attach to you? Oh, no, Herminie, you are too proud for that!"
"But is it not weak and humiliating to weep as I do, after having had the courage to make a commendable and even necessary resolution?" she sobbed.
Then, after a moment's hesitation, the duchess continued:
"Do not regard what I am about to tell you as a confidential revelation on my part, my dear child, but rather as a useful lesson."
"A lesson?"
"Yes, for you, like myself, are an orphan; like me, you are alone in the world; and possessed of none of the experience that might save you from the snares and pitfalls by which poor girls like us are continually surrounded. So listen to me, Ernestine, and may you be spared the misery I am suffering now."
And Herminie described the scene in which, justly incensed against Gerald, who had ventured to pay her landlord the money she owed, she had treated him first with haughtiness and disdain, but afterwards forgiven him, touched by the generous impulse to which he had thoughtlessly yielded. After which, Herminie continued in words like these:
"Two days after this meeting, in the hope of diverting my mind from thoughts which had already gained too great an ascendency over me for my peace of mind, I went to Madame Herbaut's house. Judge of my surprise when I met this same young man again at that entertainment. My first feeling was one of chagrin, almost of fear, a presentiment, doubtless; then I had the weakness to yield to the charm of this second meeting. Never before had I seen a man who possessed, like him, manners at once unpretending, refined and distinguished, a brilliant, versatile mind, but never failing delicacy of feeling. I hate flattery, but his was characterised with so much grace and delicacy that I accepted it only too gladly, I fear. I learned that evening that his name was Gerald, and that – "
"Gerald?" Ernestine exclaimed, hastily, recollecting that the Duc de Senneterre, one of the suitors for her hand, was also named Gerald.
Just then a loud ring of the door-bell attracted Herminie's attention and prevented her from noticing Mlle. de Beaumesnil's astonishment. The latter arose from the bed at the sound, while Herminie, greatly annoyed by this interruption, directed her steps towards the door.
An elderly serving man handed her a note containing these words:
"I have not seen you for several days, my dear child, not having felt as well as usual. Can you see me this morning?
Most affectionately yours,"Maillefort.
"P.S. – Do not take the trouble to answer in writing. If you will see your old friend, simply say 'yes' to the bearer."
Herminie, in her grief, was inclined to find some excuse for deferring M. de Maillefort's visit, but remembering that the marquis, belonging to the aristocracy as he did, was doubtless acquainted with Gerald, and that she might obtain some more definite information concerning her lover without revealing her secret, she said to the servant:
"I shall expect to see M. le Marquis de Maillefort sometime during the day."
But as she returned to the room where Mlle. de Beaumesnil was awaiting her, Herminie said to herself:
"What if M. de Maillefort should come while Ernestine is here? Oh, well, it will not matter much, after all, if she does see him; besides, the dear child is so retiring that, as soon as a stranger comes, she is sure to leave me alone with him."
So Herminie continued her conversation with Mlle. de Beaumesnil without making any allusion to M. de Maillefort's approaching visit, for fear that Ernestine would leave sooner than she had intended.
CHAPTER IX
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
"Forgive me for having deserted you so unceremoniously, my dear Ernestine," Herminie remarked to her friend. "It was a letter, and I had to send a verbal reply."
"Do pray go on with your story, Herminie," replied Ernestine. "You have no idea how deeply interested I am."
"And it is such a relief to me to tell you my troubles."
"Yes, I was sure it would be," responded Ernestine, with ingenuous tenderness.
"I was just telling you that I learned at Madame Herbaut's little entertainment that this young man's name was Gerald Auvernay. It was M. Olivier who told me so, on introducing him to me."
"What! he knows M. Olivier?"
"They are intimate friends, for Gerald was a soldier in the same regiment as Olivier. On leaving the service, he entered the office of a notary, so he told me, but for some time past he had given up an employment which was so distasteful to him, and had found occupation on the fortifications under an officer of engineers he had known in Africa. So you see, Ernestine, that Gerald's position and mine were identical, and free as he seemed to be, I was surely excusable for allowing myself to yield to a fatal fondness for him."
"But why fatal, Herminie?"
"Wait and you shall know all. Two days after our meeting at Madame Herbaut's, on my return from my lessons, I went out into the garden to which my landlord had kindly given me the entrée. This garden, as you can see from the window, is separated from the street in the rear only by a hedge, and from the bench on which I had seated myself I saw Gerald pass. Instead of being handsomely dressed as on the evening before, he was clad in a gray blouse and a big straw hat. He gave a start of surprise on perceiving me, but far from seeming mortified at being seen in his working clothes, he bowed to me and, pausing, said gaily that he was just returning from his day's work, being engaged in superintending certain portions of the fortifications now in progress of construction at the end of the Rue de Monceau. 'An occupation which suits me much better than dull notary work,' he remarked. 'I am fairly well paid and I have a crowd of rather rough but very worthy men to superintend. I like it much better than copying stupid documents.'"
"I can understand that perfectly, my dear Herminie."
"It is more than likely that the cheerful way in which he accepted this arduous labour, manual labour, I might almost say, touched me all the more as Gerald had evidently received an excellent education. That evening when he left me he smilingly remarked that it was with the hope of sometimes meeting me within the boundaries of my park, as he often passed through that street on his way to visit a former comrade, who lived in a small house that could be seen from the garden. What will you think, Ernestine, when I tell you that almost every evening about sunset I had a chat with Gerald, and sometimes we even strolled out together to the same grassy knolls where M. Bernard met with his accident this morning? I found Gerald so full of frankness, generosity of heart, talent, and charming humour, he seemed to have such a high – I was about to say such a just – opinion of me, that when the day came that Gerald declared his love, and told me that he could not live without me, I was so happy, Ernestine, oh, so happy! for if Gerald had not loved me I do not know what would have become of me. It would have been impossible for me to do without this love, and now to love alone, – to love without hope," added the poor girl, hardly able to restrain her tears, "oh, it is worse than death, for it means a life for ever desolate."
Controlling her emotion, Herminie continued:
"I told Gerald my feelings with the utmost frankness. On my side there was not only love, but almost gratitude, for without him life would have seemed intolerable to me. 'We are both free to choose,' I said to Gerald; 'our positions are equal. We shall both have to work every day for our daily bread, and that gratifies my pride, for idleness imposed upon a wife is a cruel humiliation to her. Our lot will be humble, even precarious, perhaps, Gerald,' I added, 'but with courage, and strong in our mutual love and trust, we can defy the worst misfortunes.'"
"What noble words, Herminie! How proud M. Gerald must have been of your love! But as you have every chance of happiness, why these tears and your evident despair?"
"Do you not think that I was more than justified in loving him?" asked the poor girl, trying hard to repress her sobs. "Was not mine a true and noble love. Oh, tell me, is it possible that any one can accuse me – "
But Herminie could not finish the sentence, for sobs choked her utterance.
"Accuse you? Mon Dieu! Accuse you of what? Are you not as free as M. Gerald? Does he not love you as much as you love him? Are your positions not equal?"
"No, no, our positions are not equal," replied Herminie, dejectedly.
"What is that you say?"
"No, our positions are not equal, alas! and that is my chief misfortune, for in order to equalise our positions apparently, Gerald deceived me as to his real station in life."
"Great Heavens! Who is he, then?"
"The Duc de Senneterre."
"The Duc de Senneterre!" exclaimed Ernestine, filled with terror for Herminie, as she remembered that Gerald was one of the three suitors for her – Ernestine's – hand, and that she was to meet him at the ball on the following Thursday. Consequently, he must have deceived Herminie in the most shameless manner, as he was, at that very time, endeavouring to marry a rich heiress.
Herminie attributed her friend's intense dismay and astonishment entirely to the startling revelation that had just been made, however, and asked:
"Tell me, Ernestine, am I not, indeed, unfortunate?"
"But such a deception on his part was infamous. How did you discover it?"
"M. de Senneterre himself, feeling unable to endure the life of deceit his first falsehood imposed upon him, but not daring to make the confession himself, entrusted the unpleasant task to M. Olivier."
"It should be some comfort to you that M. de Senneterre at least made this confession of his own accord," said Ernestine.
"Yes, and, in spite of the grief it has caused me, I see in it a proof of the loyalty I so admired in him."
"Loyalty!" exclaimed Ernestine, bitterly. "Loyalty, and yet he deserts you!"
"Deserts me? Far from it. On the contrary, he renews his offer of his hand."
"He, M. de Senneterre?" exclaimed Ernestine, in even greater astonishment "But, in that case, why are you so unhappy, Herminie?" she added.
"Because a penniless orphan like myself can make such a marriage only at the cost of the bitterest humiliation."
Herminie could say no more, for just then the door-bell rang again.
"Forgive me, my dear Ernestine," she exclaimed, drying her tears. "I think I know who it is that has just rung. I am obliged to see this visitor and – "
"Then I will leave you, Herminie," said Ernestine, rising hastily. "I am sorry, though, to leave you in such grief."
"At least wait until my visitor comes in!"
"Go and open the door, then, Herminie, while I put on my hat."
The duchess started towards the door, then, recollecting M. de Maillefort's deformity, she returned, and said to her friend:
"My dear Ernestine, in order to spare the person I am expecting the slight annoyance which the expression of your face, when you first perceived his affliction, might cause him, I must warn you that this friend of mine is a hunchback."
On hearing this, Mlle. de Beaumesnil suddenly recollected that her governess had told her that the Marquis de Maillefort had asked for Herminie's address, and a vague fear led her to ask:
"Who is this friend?"
"A most estimable man who made my acquaintance by the merest chance, for he is one of the greatest of grands seigneurs. But I must not delay too long in opening the door. Excuse me for one moment, my dear Ernestine."
And Herminie disappeared, leaving Ernestine overwhelmed with consternation.
A grim presentiment whispered that M. de Maillefort was about to enter and find her in Herminie's home, and though Mlle. de Beaumesnil owed her resolve to learn the truth, at any cost, to the Marquis de Maillefort's ironical remarks, and though her feelings towards him had undergone an entire change, she was not yet sure to what extent she could rely upon him, and the prospect of such a meeting was most unwelcome.
Ernestine's fears were realised.
Her friend returned, accompanied by the marquis. Fortunately, Herminie, noticing that the curtains of the alcove were open, hastened to close them according to her habit, so, as her back was turned towards Ernestine and M. de Maillefort for several seconds, she did not notice the evident shock that her two friends experienced at the sight of each other.
M. de Maillefort gave a sudden start of astonishment on recognising Mlle. de Beaumesnil. Intense curiosity, mingled with uneasiness, was apparent in every feature. He could not believe his eyes, and he was about to speak, when Ernestine, pale and trembling, clasped her hands with such a beseeching air that the words died upon his lips.
When Herminie turned, M. de Maillefort's face no longer expressed the slightest astonishment, and, doubtless, with the intention of giving Mlle. de Beaumesnil time to recover herself, he said to Herminie:
"I am intruding, I am sure, mademoiselle. My visit is inopportune, perhaps."
"Believe me, monsieur, no visit of yours will ever be inopportune here," responded the duchess, earnestly. "I only ask your permission to show my friend to the door."
"I beg you will do so," answered the marquis, bowing. "I should be miserable if you stood on the slightest ceremony with me."
Mlle. de Beaumesnil was obliged to exercise all her self-control to maintain even an appearance of calmness, but, fortunately, the little hall-way leading to Herminie's room was dark, so the sudden alteration in Ernestine's features escaped the notice of her friend, as she said:
"Ernestine, after all I have just confided to you, I need not tell you how necessary your presence will be to me. Alas! I did not think I should so soon put your friendship to the test. In pity, Ernestine, do not leave me long alone! If you only knew how I shall suffer, for I cannot hope to see Gerald again, or, rather, the hope is so uncertain that I dare not even think of it, so I beseech you not to let any length of time pass without my seeing you."
"You may rest assured that I shall return as soon as I can, and that it will not be any fault of mine if – "
"Alas! I understand. Your time must be devoted to your work, because you are obliged to work in order to live. It is the same with me. In spite of my mental anguish, I shall have to begin my round of lessons one hour from now. My lessons, great Heavens! and I scarcely know what I am doing. But with people like us, we are not only obliged to suffer, but also to live."
Herminie uttered these last words with such despairing bitterness that Mlle. de Beaumesnil threw her arms around her friend's neck, and burst into tears.
"Come, come, I will not be so weak again, Ernestine," said Herminie, returning the embrace; "I promise you I will not. I will be content with whatever time you can give me. I will wait and think of you," added the duchess, forcing a smile. "Yes, to think of you, and to await your return, will be some consolation."
"Farewell, Herminie, farewell," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil. "I shall soon see you again, – just as soon as I possibly can, I promise you, – day after to-morrow, if possible. Yes, I will manage it somehow," added the orphan, resolutely, "day after to-morrow, at the same hour, you can count upon seeing me."
"Thank you, thank you!" exclaimed Herminie, embracing Ernestine effusively. "Ah, the compassion I showed to you your generous heart returns in liberal measure."
"Day after to-morrow, then, it shall be, Herminie."
"Again I thank you with my whole heart."
"And now good-bye," said the orphan.
It was in a deeply agitated frame of mind that she wended her way back to the spot where her governess was waiting for her in the cab. As she left the house, she met a man who was walking slowly up the street, casting furtive glances at the house in which Herminie lived.
This man was Ravil, who, as we have said before, frequently hung about the home of the duchess, of whom he had retained a vivid and extremely tantalising recollection ever since the day he so insolently accosted her, when she was on her way to the Beaumesnil mansion.
De Ravil instantly recognised the richest heiress in France, who, in her agitation, did not even glance at this man, whom she had met but once, at the Luxembourg, where M. de la Rochaiguë had taken her.
"What does this mean?" Ravil said to himself, in the utmost astonishment. "Here is the little Beaumesnil dressed almost like a grisette, coming out alone, pale and evidently frightened half to death, from a house in this miserable part of the town. I'll follow her cautiously at a distance, and see where she goes. The more I think of it, the more inclined I am to believe that it is the devil himself who sends me such a piece of good luck as this! Yes, this discovery may be the goose that lays the golden eggs for me. It rejoices my heart. The mere thought of it awakens golden visions like those which haunt that big ninny, Mornand."
While Ravil was following the unsuspecting Ernestine, Herminie returned to M. de Maillefort.
CHAPTER X
DESPAIR
M. de Maillefort awaited Herminie's return in a state of deep perplexity, wondering in vain what strange combination of circumstances had brought these two young girls together. The marquis had desired this rapprochement greatly, as we shall soon discover, but the hunchback had not yet devised any way to bring it about, so Ernestine's presence in Herminie's home, the secrecy with which she must have gone there, the secrecy, too, which Mlle. de Beaumesnil, by an imploring gesture, had begged him to preserve, all combined to excite his curiosity as well as his anxiety to the highest pitch.
So, on the return of Herminie, who apologised for having absented herself so long, the marquis said, with the most careless air imaginable:
"I shall be very sorry if you do not always treat me with that perfect freedom permissible between devoted friends, my dear child, and nothing could be more natural, I am sure, than a desire to exchange a few parting words with one of your young acquaintances, for this young lady is, I suppose – "
"One of my friends, monsieur, or rather my dearest friend."
"Ah, indeed," answered the marquis, smiling. "It must be a friendship of long standing, then, I suppose?"
"Very recent, on the contrary, monsieur. In fact, this friendship, though so true and tried, was conceived very suddenly."
"I have sufficient confidence in your powers of discernment and your nobility of heart to feel sure that you have chosen your friend wisely, my dear child."
"A single incident, which occurred scarcely an hour ago, monsieur, will give convincing proof of my friend's courage and nobility of soul. At the risk of her own life, – for she escaped serious injury only by a hair's breadth, – she rescued an aged man from certain death."
And Herminie, proud of her friend, and anxious to see her appreciated as she deserved to be, proceeded to describe Ernestine's courageous rescue of Commander Bernard.
The emotion of the marquis on hearing this unexpected revelation, which revealed Mlle. de Beaumesnil in a new and most attractive light, can be imagined.
"She certainly displayed wonderful courage and generosity of heart!" he cried. Then he added: "I was sure of it! You could not choose your friends other than judiciously, my dear child. But who is this brave young girl?"
"An orphan like myself, monsieur, who supports herself by her own exertions. She is an embroiderer."
"Ah, an embroiderer! But as she, too, is an orphan, she lives alone, I suppose?"
"No, monsieur, she lives with a relative, who took her, last Sunday evening, to a small entertainment, where I met her for the first tame."
The marquis knit his brows. For an instant he was almost tempted to believe that one of the Rochaiguës was implicated in this mystery, but his implicit faith in Herminie caused him to reject that idea, though he wondered how Mlle. de Beaumesnil had managed to absent herself from her guardian's house for an entire evening, without the knowledge of the baron or his family. He asked himself, too, with no less astonishment, how Ernestine had managed to secure several hours of entire freedom that very morning, but fearing he would arouse Herminie's suspicions by questioning her further, he remarked:
"It is pleasant for me to know that you have a friend so worthy of you, and it seems to me," added the hunchback, "that she could not have come more opportunely."
"And why, monsieur?"
"You know you have given me the privilege of being perfectly frank with you."
"Certainly, monsieur."
"Very well, then, it seems to me that you are not in your accustomed good spirits. You look pale, and it is very evident that you have been weeping, my poor child."
"I assure you, monsieur – "
"And all this is the more noticeable because you seemed so perfectly happy the last two or three times I saw you. Yes, contentment could be read on every feature; it even imparted to your beauty such a radiance and expansiveness that – as you may perhaps remember, from the rarity of the thing – I complimented you upon your radiant beauty. Think of it! I, who am the very poorest flatterer that ever lived!" added the hunchback, probably in the hope of bringing a smile to Herminie's lips.
But the girl, unable to conquer her sadness, replied:
"The change in my appearance which you speak of is probably due to the fright that Ernestine's narrow escape caused me, monsieur."
The marquis, sure now that Herminie was suffering from some grief that she wished to conceal, insisted no further, but said:
"It is as you say, doubtless, but the danger is over now, my dear child, so I may as well tell you that my visit this morning is important, very important. You know that I have made it a point of honour not to say anything to you of late in relation to the grave matter that first brought me here."
"Yes, monsieur, and I am grateful to you for not having again referred to a subject that is so painful to me."
"I am compelled to speak again, if not of Madame de Beaumesnil, at least of her daughter," said the marquis, casting a keen, searching look at Herminie, in order to discover – though he was almost certain to the contrary – if the young girl knew that her new friend was Mlle. de Beaumesnil; but he did not feel the shadow of a doubt of Herminie's ignorance on the subject when she promptly replied, without the slightest embarrassment:
"You say you must speak of Madame de Beaumesnil's daughter, monsieur?"
"Yes, my dear child. I have made no attempt to conceal my devoted friendship for Madame de Beaumesnil, nor her dying requests in relation to the young orphan whom I have not yet discovered, in spite of the most persistent efforts. I told you, too, of the no less urgent request of the countess concerning her daughter, Ernestine. For divers reasons which, believe me, do not affect you in the least, I am very desirous, solely on Mlle. de Beaumesnil's account, understand, that you two young girls should become acquainted."
"But how could that be brought about, monsieur?" asked Herminie, eagerly, thinking what happiness it would give her to know her sister.
"In the easiest way imaginable – a way that was even suggested to you, I believe, when you so nobly returned that five hundred franc note to Madame de la Rochaiguë."
"Yes, monsieur, Madame de la Rochaiguë did give me some reason to hope that I might be employed to give Mlle. de Beaumesnil music lessons."
"Well, my dear child, that has been arranged."
"Really, monsieur?"
"Yes, I had a talk with the baroness last evening, and either to-day or to-morrow she is going to mention the matter to Mlle. de Beaumesnil. I do not doubt that she will accept the proposition. As for you, my dear child, I do not apprehend any refusal on your part."
"Far from it, monsieur."
"Besides, what I ask for this young girl, I ask in the name of the mother to whom you were so devotedly attached," said the marquis, with deep emotion.
"You can not doubt the interest I shall always feel in Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur, but the relations between, us will, of course, be confined to our lessons."
"Not by any means."
"But, monsieur!"
"You must understand, my dear child, that I should not have taken all this trouble to bring about an acquaintance between Mlle. de Beaumesnil and yourself, if it was to be confined to the lessons given and received."
"But, monsieur – "
"There are important interests at stake, interests which I feel can be safely intrusted to your hands."
"Explain, monsieur, I beg of you."
"I will do that after you have seen your new scholar," replied the marquis, thinking what a delightful surprise it would be to Herminie when she recognised Mlle. de Beaumesnil in the poor embroideress, her best friend.
"In any case, you may be sure that I shall consider it a sacred duty to fulfil your instructions, monsieur, and that I shall hold myself in readiness to go to Mlle. de Beaumesnil as soon as I am sent for."
"I will introduce you to her, myself."
"So much the better, monsieur."
"And if agreeable to you, next Saturday at this hour, I will come for you."
"I shall expect you monsieur, and I thank you very much for sparing me the embarrassment of presenting myself alone."
"And now a word of advice in Mlle. de Beaumesnil's interest, my dear child. No one knows, and no one must know that her poor mother summoned me to her in her last hours. My deep affection for the countess must also remain a secret. You will maintain a profound silence on the subject in case either M. or Madame de la Rochaiguë should ever speak of me."
"I shall comply with your wishes, monsieur."
"And I will come on Saturday, that is understood," said the hunchback, rising. "It will give me great pleasure to introduce you to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I feel sure that you yourself will find a pleasure you do not anticipate in this meeting."
"I hope so, monsieur," replied Herminie, rather absently, for, seeing that the marquis was about to go, she did not know how to broach the subject that had been uppermost in her mind ever since the hunchback's arrival.
At last, endeavouring to appear perfectly calm, she said:
"Before you go, monsieur, will you have the goodness to give me a little information if it be in your power to do it?"
"Speak, my dear child," said M. de Maillefort, reseating himself.
"M. le marquis, in the social world to which you belong, have you ever chanced to meet Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre?"
"I was one of her deceased husband's most intimate friends, and I am extremely fond of the present Duc de Senneterre, one of the best, most whole-souled young men I know. I had fresh proofs of his nobility of character only yesterday," added the hunchback, with evident emotion.
A slight flush suffused Herminie's face on hearing Gerald thus praised by a man she esteemed as highly as M. de Maillefort.
That gentleman, evidently much surprised, continued:
"But what information do you desire in relation to Madame de Senneterre, my dear child? Has any one proposed that you should give her daughters lessons?"
Hastily catching at these words which helped her out of a great difficulty by furnishing her with a pretext for her inquiries, Herminie, in spite of her natural abhorrence of anything like deception, replied:
"Yes, monsieur, some one told me that I might possibly secure pupils in that distinguished family, but before making any attempt in that direction, I was anxious to know if I could expect from Madame de Senneterre the consideration my rather too sensitive nature exacts. In short, monsieur, I am anxious to know whether Madame de Senneterre possesses a kindly nature or whether I am not likely to find in her that haughtiness which sometimes characterises persons of such an exalted position as hers."
"I understand you perfectly, and I am very glad you applied to me, for knowing you as I know you, dear, proud child that you are, I say very plainly, neither seek nor accept any pupils in that family. The Mlles. de Senneterre are lovely girls – they have their brother's disposition – but the duchess – !"
"Well, monsieur?" asked poor Herminie.
"Ah, my dear child, the duchess is more deeply in love with her title than any other woman I ever saw – which is very strange, as she is really extremely well born, while this ridiculous and absurd pride of rank is generally confined to parvenus. In short, my dear child, I would much rather see you brought in contact with twenty M. Bouffards than with this insufferably arrogant woman. The Bouffards are so coarse and ignorant that their rudeness amuses rather than wounds, but in the Duchesse de Senneterre you will find the most polite insolence, or rather the most insolent politeness, imaginable, so I am sure that you, my dear child, who have such a high respect for yourself, could not remain in Madame de Senneterre's company ten minutes without being wounded to the quick, and resolving that you would never set foot in her house again. That being the case, what is the use of entering it?"
"I thank you, monsieur," replied Herminie, almost crushed by this revelation which destroyed her last hope, – a hope she had preserved in spite of herself, that perhaps Madame de Senneterre, touched by her son's love, would consent to make the concession that Herminie's pride demanded.
"No, no, my dear child," continued the marquis, "Gerald de Senneterre's filial tenderness must blind him completely for him not to lose all patience with his mother's absurd arrogance, and for him not to see that she is as hard-hearted as she is narrow-minded. In short, her selfishness is only exceeded by her cupidity. I have every reason to know this, so I am delighted to defraud her of a victim by enlightening you in regard to her. And now good-bye. Let me be of service to you in any matter, however small, as often as you can. It will serve to content me while waiting for something better. And now I will again bid you good-bye until Saturday."
