Эжен Сю
Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins
CHAPTER XIV
VILLAINY UNMASKED
As M. de Maillefort seated himself beside Ernestine, he remarked, with a smile:
"So you are no longer afraid of me, I see."
"Ah, monsieur," replied the girl, "I am so thankful for this opportunity to thank you – "
"For my discretion? That will stand any test, I assure you. I give you my word that no one knows or ever will know that I met you at the home of the very best and noblest young woman I know."
"Is she not, monsieur? But if I know Herminie, monsieur, it is to you that I am indebted for the honour."
"To me?"
"You remember, perhaps, that one evening in Mlle. Helena's presence you said some very hard, but alas! only too true things about me."
"Yes, my poor child. I knew how much you disliked me. I could never find an opportunity to see you alone, and, though I was watching over you, it was necessary, imperatively necessary, that your eyes should be opened, and that you should understand the object of the fulsome flattery of which you might eventually become the dupe."
"Ah, well, monsieur, your words did open my eyes, and I saw very plainly that those around me were deceiving me, and that I was already on the verge of becoming a victim to their shameful flattery. I made a resolve then and there, and, in order to discover the truth concerning myself, I arranged with my governess to attend a little dancing party given by one of her friends, where I was to be introduced as a poor orphan relative of hers."
"And at this party you met Herminie. She told me so. I understand everything now. So you wished to know your own intrinsic worth without your fortune, eh?"
"Yes, monsieur, and the test was a very painful though profitable one. It has taught me among other things to appreciate the value and the sincerity of the attentions showered upon me this evening," she added, meaningly.
And as the hunchback, hardly able to repress his emotion, gazed at Ernestine in silence, deeply touched by the strength of character this young and defenceless girl had displayed, she asked, timidly:
"Can you blame me, monsieur?"
"Blame you, my poor child, no, no. The only blame attaches to the unscrupulous persons whose baseness almost compelled you to take such a step – a step I not only approve but admire, for you yourself do not realise how much courage and nobility of character you evinced."
A rather elderly man, approaching the divan upon which M. de Maillefort was seated, leaned over the back of it, and said to the hunchback, in a low tone:
"My dear marquis, Morainville and Hauterive are at your service. They are standing by the window opposite you."
"Very well, my dear friend. A thousand thanks for your kindness and theirs! You have informed them of the condition of affairs, have you not?"
"Fully."
"And they make no objection?"
"How could they in a case like this?"
"Then all is well," responded the marquis.
Then turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, he asked:
"For which quadrille did M. de Mornand engage you?"
"For the next, monsieur," replied Ernestine, much surprised at the question.
"You hear, my friend," said M. de Maillefort to the gentleman who had just spoken to him.
"Very well, my dear marquis."
And M. de Maillefort's friend, after having made quite a détour, rejoined Messrs. Morainville and d'Hauterive, and said a few words to which both gave a nod of assent.
"My dear child," remarked the marquis, again turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "I have been watching over you for some time past without appearing to do so, for though you never saw me at your mother's house during your childhood, I was one of your mother's friends – most devoted friends."
"Ah, monsieur, I ought to have mistrusted that sooner, for you have been so grossly maligned to me."
"That was very natural under the circumstances. Now, a word or two upon a more important matter. M. de la Rochaiguë has often spoken of M. de Mornand as a suitor for your hand, has he not? and has also assured you that you could not make a better choice?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"My poor child!" said the marquis, compassionately; then he continued, in his usual sarcastic tone:
"And Mlle. Helena, in her turn, saintly, devout creature that she is, has said the very same thing about M. Célestin de Macreuse, another extremely devout and saintly personage."
But the orphan, noting the bitter and cynical smile that played about the lips of the marquis as he spoke of the saintliness of the abbé's disciple, ventured to say:
"You have a poor opinion of M. de Macreuse, perhaps, marquis?"
"Perhaps? No, my opinion on that subject is very decided."
"I admit that I, too, distrusted M. de Macreuse," began Mlle. de Beaumesnil.
"So much the better," interrupted the marquis, hastily. "The wretch caused me far more anxiety than any of the others. I was so afraid that you would be duped by his pretended melancholy and his hypocrisy, but fortunately such persons not unfrequently excite the instinctive distrust of the honest and ingenuous."
"But you need feel no such apprehensions, I assure you," resumed Ernestine, triumphantly. "I must undeceive you on that point."
"Undeceive me?"
"In regard to M. de Macreuse? Yes."
"And why, pray?"
"Because there are no real grounds for any distrust. M. de Macreuse is a sincere and honourable man, plain-spoken almost to rudeness, in fact."
"My child, you frighten me," exclaimed M. de Maillefort, in such accents of alarm that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was thunderstruck. "Do not conceal anything from me, I beseech you," continued the hunchback. "You can have no conception of the diabolical cunning of a man like that. I have seen such hypocrites deceive the shrewdest people, – and you, my poor innocent child!"
Mlle. de Beaumesnil, impressed by M. de Maillefort's evident anxiety, and having perfect confidence in him now, proceeded to give him the gist of her recent conversation with the pious young man.
"He mistrusted your motive, my child," said the hunchback, after a moment's reflection, "and, seeing that he had been caught in a trap, audaciously resolved to turn the tables on you by pretending that he had been putting you to a similar test. I tell you that such men positively appall me."
"Good Heavens! is it possible, monsieur?" exclaimed the terrified girl. "Oh, no, he cannot be so utterly base! Besides, I am sure you would think very differently if you had seen him. Why, the tears positively came to his eyes when he spoke of the bitter grief the loss of his mother had caused him."
"The loss of his mother!" repeated the marquis. "Ah, you little know – "
Then suddenly checking himself, he added:
"There he is now! Ah, it was certainly Heaven that sent him here just at this moment. Listen and judge for yourself, my poor dear child. Ah, your innocent heart little suspects the depths of degradation to which avarice reduces such souls as his."
Then elevating his voice loud enough to make himself distinctly heard by those around him, he called out to Macreuse, who was just then crossing the ballroom in order to steal another glance at Mlle. de Beaumesnil:
"M. de Macreuse, one word, if you please."
The abbé's protégé hesitated a moment before responding to the summons, for he both hated and feared the marquis, but seeing every turned eye upon him, and encouraged by the success of his late ruse with Ernestine, he straightened himself up, and approaching M. de Maillefort, said coldly:
"You did me the honour to call me, M. le marquis."
"Yes, I did you that honour, monsieur," replied the marquis, sardonically, and without taking the trouble to rise from his seat; "and yet you are not at all polite to me, nor to the other persons who happen to have the pleasure of your company."
On hearing these words, quite a number of persons gathered around the two men, for the satirical and aggressive spirit of the marquis was well known.
"I do not understand you, M. le marquis," replied M. de Macreuse, much annoyed, and evidently fearing; some disagreeable explanation. "So far as I know I have not been lacking in respect towards you or any other person present."
"I hear that you have had the misfortune to lose your mother, monsieur," said the marquis, in his rather shrill, penetrating voice.
"Monsieur," stammered M. de Macreuse, apparently stupefied by these words.
"Would it be indiscreet in me to ask when you lost madame, your mother – if you know."
"Monsieur!" faltered this model young man, blushing scarlet. "Such a question – "
"Is very natural, it seems to me, besides being rendered almost necessary by the lack of respect of which I complain, not only in my own name, but in the name of all your acquaintances."
"Lack of respect?"
"Certainly. Why did you not politely inform your acquaintances of the sad loss which you have had the misfortune to sustain, etc?"
"I do not know what you mean, M. le marquis," replied Macreuse, who had now recovered his composure, in a measure.
"Nonsense! I, who am a great church-goer, as every one knows, heard you ask a priest at St. Thomas d'Aquin the other day to say a certain number of masses for the repose of your mother's soul."
"But, monsieur – "
"But, monsieur, there can be no doubt of the truth of my statement, as you were quite overcome with grief and despair, apparently, while praying for this beloved parent in the Chapel of the Virgin, – so completely overcome, in fact, that your good friends, the beadles, were obliged to carry you in a dead swoon to the sacristy, – a piece of shameful deception on your part that would have amused if it had not revolted me."
Staggered for a moment by this unexpected attack, the abbé's protégé had now recovered all his native impudence.
"Every one will understand why I could not and should not answer such an extraordinary – such a truly distressing question. The secret of one's prayers is sacred – "
"That is true!" cried several voices, indignantly. "Such an attack is outrageous!"
"Did any one ever hear the like of it?"
As we have remarked before, M. de Macreuse, like all persons of his stamp, had his partisans, and these partisans very naturally had a strong antipathy for M. de Maillefort, who hunted down everything false and cowardly in the most pitiless fashion, so a still louder murmur of disapproval was heard, and such expressions as: "What a distressing scene!" "Did you ever hear anything as scandalous!" and "How brutal!" were distinctly audible. But the marquis, no whit disconcerted, allowed the storm to spend itself, until Macreuse, emboldened by his opponent's silence said, boldly:
"The interest so many highly esteemed persons manifest in me makes it unnecessary for me to prolong this interview, and – "
But the marquis, interrupting him, said, in accents of withering contempt:
"M. de Macreuse, you have lied atrociously. You have not lost your mother, M. de Macreuse; your sainted mother is living, as you know very well, and your sainted father also. You see that I am sufficiently well informed concerning your antecedents. You have played an infamous part! You have cast odium upon a sentiment that even the most degraded respect, – the sentiment of filial love. The object of all this duplicity is known to me, and if I refrain from disclosing it, you may be sure that it is only because names are involved which are so honoured that they should not even be mentioned in the same breath with yours – if you possess one."
M. de Macreuse's frightful pallor and utter consternation proved the truth of these charges so conclusively that even the warmest admirers of this model young man dared not rally to his defence, while those who had always felt an instinctive dislike for the founder of the St. Polycarpe Mission, loudly applauded the marquis.
"Monsieur," cried Macreuse, terrible to behold in his suppressed rage, – for he felt that his villainy was certain to be unmasked now, – "for such an insult as this – "
"Enough, monsieur, enough. Leave this house at once. The mere sight of you is offensive to respectable people, and Madame de Mirecourt will be infinitely obliged to me for punishing you as you deserve. It is absolutely necessary that scoundrels like you should be made an example of now and then, and, distasteful as the rôle of executioner is to me, I have assumed it to-night, and my task is not yet ended by any means."
This announcement increased the confusion and excitement very considerably.
The model young man, anticipating another attack, and thinking he had had quite enough of it, straightened himself up, as a snake straightens itself up from beneath the foot that is crushing it, and said, insolently:
"After these gross insults, I will not remain another minute in this house, but I venture to hope that, in spite of the difference in our ages, M. le Marquis de Maillefort will be so kind as to accede to-morrow to a request which I shall make through two of my friends."
"Go, monsieur, go! The night brings counsel, and after a little reflection you will abandon your absurd and sanguinary pretensions."
"So be it, monsieur, but in that case you may rest assured that I shall resort to other means," retorted the model youth, casting a venomous look at the hunchback, as he turned to depart.
Madame de Mirecourt, recollecting what Madame de Senneterre had said in relation to M. de Macreuse, was not sorry to see that gentleman's villainy exposed, but to put an end to the excitement and confusion this strange scene had created, she requested several men she knew very well to form a quadrille as soon as possible.
In fact, the young men were already starting out in search of partners.
This exposure of M. de Macreuse filled Mlle. de Beaumesnil's heart with gratitude and also with terror when she thought that she might have yielded to the interest M. de Macreuse had at first inspired, and perhaps married a man capable of such an infamous act – an act that revealed an utterly depraved nature.
While engaged in these reflections, the orphan saw that Madame de Senneterre and Madame de la Rochaiguë, who had been for a time unable to force their way through the crowd that had gathered around the two men, had returned and resumed their seats beside her. The marquis then rose and stepped around back of the divan, after which he leaned over Madame de la Rochaiguë and said, almost in a whisper:
"Ah, well, madame, you see I am not a bad auxiliary, after all. I discover many strange and villainous things from my post of observation, as I told you some time ago."
"I am utterly astounded, my dear marquis," replied the baroness. "I understand everything now, however. This explains why my odious sister-in-law has been dragging the poor dear child off to the Church of St. Thomas d'Aquin every morning. With her apparent stupidity and her religious zeal, Helena is a most perfidious creature. Did any one ever hear of such deceitfulness and treachery?"
"The end is not yet, my dear baroness. You have not only been sheltering a viper in your house, but a veritable serpent as well."
"A serpent?"
"Yes, an enormous one, with long teeth," said the marquis, with a meaning glance at M. de la Rochaiguë, who happened to be standing in the doorway, showing his teeth after his usual fashion.
"What! my husband?" exclaimed the baroness. "What do you mean?"
"You will soon know. Do you see that stout man advancing towards us with such a triumphant air?"
"Of course. That is M. de Mornand."
"He is coming to ask your ward to dance."
"Oh, that doesn't matter. We can let her dance with anybody now, for we were right in our suppositions. The dear child is charmed with M. de Senneterre, my dear marquis."
"I am sure of it."
"So behold the Duchesse de Senneterre," said Madame de la Rochaiguë, triumphantly, "and that without the slightest trouble."
"The Duchesse de Senneterre!" repeated the hunchback. "Not quite."
"Of course not, but the matter is virtually settled."
"So at last you are satisfied with Gerald, Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and me, are you not, my dear baroness?"
"Delighted, my dear marquis."
"That is all I want to know. Now I can devote my attention to that stout man and your serpent of a husband, whose coils – "
"What! M. de la Rochaiguë has dared – "
"Ah, my poor baroness, your ingenuousness rends my heart. Look, listen and profit thereby, poor credulous woman that you are!"
As the marquis uttered these words, M. de Mornand was already bowing low before Mlle. de Beaumesnil to remind her of the engagement she had made to dance with him.
CHAPTER XV
THE PROSPECTIVE MINISTER'S DEFEAT
"Mademoiselle has not forgotten that she promised me this dance, I trust," said M. de Mornand, complacently. "Will she do me the honour to accept my arm?"
"That cannot be, M. de Mornand," interposed M. de Maillefort, who was still leaning over the back of the sofa on which Ernestine was seated.
M. de Mornand straightened himself up hastily, and, perceiving the marquis, demanded with great hauteur:
"What can not be, monsieur?"
"You can not dance with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur," answered the hunchback, still in the same quiet tone.
M. de Mornand shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, then, turning to Ernestine, repeated:
"Will mademoiselle do me the honour to accept my arm?"
Embarrassed and bewildered, Ernestine turned to M. de Maillefort as if to ask his advice, and again the marquis repeated in the same quiet but impressive tone, emphasising each word strongly:
"Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand."
Ernestine was so impressed by M. de Maillefort's grave, almost solemn manner that, turning to M. de Mornand, she said, casting down her eyes:
"I must beg you to excuse me, monsieur, for I feel too fatigued to keep the promise I made you."
M. de Mornand bowed low before Ernestine without uttering a word, but as he straightened himself up he cast a meaning glance at the hunchback.
That gentleman answered it by pointing to one of the doors of the gallery towards which he, too, directed his steps, leaving Mlle. de Beaumesnil in a state of great mental perturbation.
This little scene had passed unnoticed, the few words interchanged between the marquis and M. de Mornand having been uttered in subdued tones and in the midst of the confusion that always accompanies the forming of a quadrille, so no one but Madame de la Rochaiguë and the Duchesse de Senneterre had the slightest suspicion of what had occurred.
M. de Mornand on his way to the gallery was accosted successively by M. de la Rochaiguë and M. de Ravil, who had watched with mingled wonder and uneasiness their protégé's futile efforts to induce the heiress to keep her engagement.
"What! you are not going to dance?" inquired De Ravil.
"What has happened, my dear M. de Mornand?" asked the baron, in his turn. "I thought I saw you talking with that accursed hunchback, whose insolence and audacity really exceed all bounds."
"You are right, monsieur," replied the prospective minister, his face darkening. "M. de Maillefort seems to think he can do anything he pleases. Such insolence as his must be put a stop to. He actually had the impertinence to forbid your ward's dancing with me."
"And she obeyed him?" exclaimed the baron.
"What else could the poor girl do after such an injunction?"
"Why this is abominable, outrageous, inconceivable!" exclaimed the baron. "I will go to my ward at once, and – "
"That is useless now," said M. de Mornand. Then, turning to Ravil, he added:
"Come with me. I must have an explanation with M. de Maillefort. He is waiting for me in the gallery."
"I, too, will accompany you," added the baron.
As the three gentlemen approached the hunchback, they saw Messrs. de Morainville and d'Hauterive standing beside him, as well as five or six other men who had been assembled at the request of the marquis.
"M. de Maillefort, I have a few words of explanation to ask of you," said M. de Mornand, in coldly polite tones.
"I am at your service, monsieur."
"Then, if agreeable to you, you and I will go to the picture-gallery. Ask one of your friends to accompany you."
"I am not disposed to comply with your request, monsieur, for I intend to have our explanation as public as possible."
"Monsieur?"
"I do not see why you should fear publicity if I do not."
"So be it, then," responded M. de Mornand, "so I ask you here before these gentleman, why, when I had the honour to invite a certain young lady to dance a few minutes ago, you took the liberty of saying to that young lady, 'Mlle. de Beaumesnil can not and must not dance with M. de Mornand.' Those were your very words."
"Those were my very words, monsieur. You have an excellent memory. I hope it will not play you false, presently."
"And I wish to say to M. de Maillefort," interposed the baron, "that he arrogates to himself an authority, a right, and a surveillance which belong to me exclusively, for in telling my ward that – "
"My dear baron," said the marquis, smilingly, interrupting M. de la Rochaiguë, "you are a model, paragon, and example for all guardians, past, present and future, as I will prove to you later, but permit me now to reply to M. de Mornand, whom I have just had the honour to congratulate upon his excellent memory, and to ask him if he recollects something I said to him at a certain matinée dansante given by the Duchesse de Senneterre, – something in relation to a slight scratch that was intended to fix in his memory a date which I might have occasion to remind him of at some future day."
"That is true, monsieur," said M. de Mornand, "but that affair has not the slightest connection with the explanation I just demanded of you."
"On the contrary, monsieur, this explanation is the natural consequence of that affair."
"Be more explicit, if you please, monsieur."
"I will. At that entertainment at the house of Madame de Senneterre, in the garden, under a clump of lilacs, in the presence of several gentlemen, and notably M. de Morainville and M. d'Hauterive here, you had the audacity to calumniate Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil in the most shameless manner."
"Monsieur!"
"Without either compassion or consideration for an unfortunate lady who was then lying at the point of death," continued the hunchback, interrupting M. de Mornand, indignantly, "you insulted her in the most cowardly manner and even went so far as to say that no honourable man would ever marry the daughter of such a mother as Madame de Beaumesnil."
And at a hasty movement on the part of M. de Mornand, who was white with rage, the marquis, turning to Messrs. de Morainville and d'Hauterive, asked:
"Is it not true that M. de Mornand made that remark in your presence, gentlemen?"
"M. de Mornand did make that remark in our presence," they replied. "It is impossible for us to deny the fact."
"And I, myself, unseen by you, heard you make it, monsieur," continued the hunchback, "and, carried away with just indignation, I could not help exclaiming, 'Scoundrel!'"
"So it was you!" cried Mornand, furious to see all his hopes of future wealth thus rudely blighted.
"Yes, it was I, and that is why I just told Mlle. de Beaumesnil that she could not and should not dance with you, monsieur, – a man who had publicly defamed her mother; and I leave it to these gentlemen here if I have not done perfectly right to interfere in this matter."
A silence that was anything but complimentary to M. de Mornand followed the words of the hunchback.
De Ravil alone ventured to speak. It was in an ironical tone.
"M. le marquis must be trying to pose as a paladin or knight-errant to inflict a wound upon a gallant gentleman, as a sort of memento, merely to prevent him from dancing a quadrille with Mlle. de Beaumesnil some day."
"Or rather to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, monsieur," corrected the marquis, "for your friend is as mercenary as Mlle. de Beaumesnil is rich, which is saying a good deal, and in the conversation I overheard at Madame de Senneterre's dance, M. de Mornand betrayed his intentions even at that early day. By defaming Madame de Beaumesnil's character, and making the disgraceful effects of his calumnies extend to the daughter, and even to any man who might wish to marry her, M. de Mornand hoped to drive away all rivals. This infamous conduct exasperated me beyond endurance. In my indignation the word 'Scoundrel!' escaped me. I subsequently devised a way to offer M. de Mornand the reparation due him, however. Hence the wound which was to serve as a sort of memento, and hence my resolve to prevent M. de Mornand from marrying Mlle. de Beaumesnil, and I have succeeded, for I defy him now to venture into the presence of the richest heiress in France, even if he delivers a dozen more philanthropical speeches on the cod fisheries, or even under your protection, baron, – you the most exemplary, admirable, and high-minded of guardians, who were not only willing, but eager, to sacrifice your ward's happiness and welfare to your absurd ambition."
And as no one made any attempt to reply, the hunchback continued:
"Ah, gentlemen, these villainies are of such frequent occurrence in society that it would be well to make an example of at least one offender. Because such shameful things often occur among respectable people, is that any reason they should go unpunished? What! there is a prison cell for poor devils who make a few louis by cheating at cards, and there is no pillory in which to place people who, by means of false pretences and foul lies, endeavour to secure possession of an enormous fortune, and plot in cold blood to enchain for ever an innocent child, whose only crime is the possession of a colossal fortune, which, unbeknown to her, excites the most shameless cupidity in those around her! And when these men succeed, people praise them and envy them and welcome them to their houses. People praise their shrewdness and go into ecstasies over their good fortune! Yes, for thanks to the wealth acquired by such unworthy means, they will entertain magnificently, and their gold not only enables them to gratify their every wish, but to attain any official position, no matter how exalted. The unfortunate woman who has enriched them, and whom they have so basely deceived, weeps her life away or plunges into a career of dissipation in order to forget her misery. Ah, gentlemen, I have at least had the satisfaction of bringing two scoundrels to grief, for M. de Macreuse, whom I drove from this house a few minutes ago, had devised a similar scheme."
"You are outwitted like the fool that you are, and it has been very cleverly done," De Ravil whispered in the ear of his friend, who stood as if petrified. "I will never forgive you as long as I live for having made me lose my percentage on that dowry."
Noble and generous sentiments exert such an irresistible influence sometimes that, after the hunchback's scathing words, M. de Mornand felt that he was censured by every one. Not a voice was lifted in his defence, but fortunately the termination of the quadrille brought quite a crowd of people into the gallery, and the prospective minister was thus afforded an opportunity to make his escape, pale and agitated, and without having been able to find a word to say in refutation of M. de Maillefort's grievous charges.
The marquis then rejoined Madame de la Rochaiguë, who was as entirely in the dark concerning what had just taken place as Ernestine.
"It is absolutely necessary that you take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once," M. de Maillefort said to the baroness. "Her presence here is no longer desirable. Yes, my dear child," added the marquis, turning to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "the unpleasant curiosity you excite is increasing, instead of diminishing. To-morrow I will tell you all, but now take my advice and go home at once."
"Oh, gladly, monsieur," replied Ernestine, "for I am in misery."
So the young girl rose and took the arm of Madame de la Rochaiguë, who said to the hunchback, in a tone of the liveliest gratitude:
"I understand the situation now, I think. M. de Mornand had also entered the lists, it seems."
"We will talk all this over to-morrow. Now, in Heaven's name, take Mlle. de Beaumesnil away at once!"
"Ah, you are certainly our guardian angel, my dear marquis," whispered Madame de la Rochaiguë. "I was wise to confide in you!"
"Yes, yes, but for pity's sake, get Mlle. de Beaumesnil away."
The orphan cast a quick glance of gratitude at the hunchback, then, agitated and almost terrified by the exciting events of the evening, she left the ballroom in company with Madame de la Rochaiguë; but M. de Maillefort remained, unwilling to appear to leave under cover of the sort of stupor his daring act had caused.
De Ravil, like a true cynic, had no sooner witnessed the ruin of his friend Mornand's hopes than he abandoned him then and there. The future minister had thrown himself into a cab, but Ravil wended his way homeward on foot, reviewing the events that had just occurred, and comparing the overthrow of M. de Mornand with that of M. de Macreuse.
As he turned the corner of the street on which Madame de Mirecourt's house stood, De Ravil saw in the bright moonlight a man a short distance ahead of him, walking now slowly, now with feverish haste.
The agitated bearing of this man excited the cynic's curiosity. He quickened his pace, and soon recognised M. de Macreuse, who could not tear himself away from the house where the marquis lingered, – the marquis whose heart Macreuse would have torn from his breast, had he been able to do it.
Yielding to a truly diabolical impulse, Ravil approached Macreuse, and said:
"Good evening, M. de Macreuse."
The abbé's protégé raised his head, and the evil passions that filled his heart could be read so plainly in his face that De Ravil congratulated himself upon his idea.
"What do you want?" Macreuse demanded, brusquely, not recognising De Ravil at the first glance. Then looking at him more attentively, he said:
"Ah, it is you, M. de Ravil; excuse me."
He made a movement as if about to walk on, but De Ravil checked him by saying:
"M. de Macreuse, I feel sure that we are likely to understand and be of service to each other."
