CHAPTER XXXVII

PROPOSITION

De Brévannes did not for a moment consider how humiliating and odious was the part he was preparing for his wife: no consideration, no scruple, ever prevented this man from going straight to his purpose. Under the existing circumstances, and reflecting how he could make use of Bertha as a means to his end, he said, with a kind of villainous cynicism,--

"This is the first time that my marriage has ever been of any use to me."

He still thought it necessary to assume towards his wife a tone less harsh than usual, in order to make her decide on allowing herself to be presented to the Princess de Hansfeld. Bertha visited but very little, she was so very timid; and thus, anticipating some difficulties on her part, he preferred overcoming them by mildness, as his threats would be vain before the obstinate refusal of his wife.

She so little expected her husband's visit, that she was giving free vent to her tears at the recollection that she should never again see M. de Hansfeld. For the first time she felt the full force and extent of her love. She had courage enough to refrain from cursing this cruel separation, when she reflected on the trouble in which a guilty passion might involve her existence. No longer seeing Arnold, she would be, at least, out of the reach of that danger. Such a consolation always costs many tears, and thus this young lady had hardly time to dry her eyes before her husband was by her side.

Bertha had sufficient resolution not to surprise M. de Brévannes by the sight of her tears, but yet they annoyed him, for the transition was rather extreme to begin talking to his wife of the pleasures of the world and her presentation to Madame de Hansfeld. Repressing, however, a feeling of impatience, he said, in a gentle tone, to Bertha, and affecting not to see her chagrin (as thereby he could more rapidly open on his own desire),--

"Pardon me, my love, I disturb you."

"No, no, Charles, you do not at all disturb me," said Bertha, wiping away the fresh tears that sprung to her eyes, and which she considered as reproaches for her fault.

"Have you seen your father to-day?"

"Yes; you gave me leave to go there when I----"

"Oh," said De Brévannes, interrupting Bertha, "I am not reproaching you! I do not like your father's temper, and I could not possibly live with him; but I do justice to his frankness of character, the austerity of his principles, and I am perfectly content when I know you are with him."

Bertha had nothing to reproach herself withal, and yet her heart smote her as if she had abused her husband's confidence, when, for the first time for a long while, he spoke kindly to her, and she looked down and made no reply.

De Brévannes proceeded,--

"Then these visits to your father are your only amusement since our return to Paris. With the exception of that first night at the Français, you have been nowhere; I really must draw you from your solitude."

"You are too kind, Charles. You know I do not like society, I have been so long accustomed to the life I lead; therefore, I pray you not to occupy yourself with what you call my amusements."

"Come, come, you are a child, and must let me think and decide for you in this matter: you will not repent it."

"But, Charles----"

"Oh, I shall be as obstinate as ever, and more so! for I mean it to be very agreeable to you in spite of yourself; when once you have got over your timidity, the world, which inspires you with so much alarm, will have a thousand attractions for you."

Bertha looked at her husband, quite surprised at the extraordinary change in his accent and manner. He spoke with such singular mildness at the very moment when she was reproaching herself for feeling too strong an inclination for M. de Hansfeld. The anguish, we might almost say the remorse, of the young wife increased in proportion to the apparent kindness of her husband, and she replied, with a blush,--

"Really, Charles, I am very grateful to you for all you would do for me; I am even astonished!"

"Poor, little dear, without thinking of it you reproach me severely."

"Oh, pardon me, I did not intend!"

"But I receive the reproach because I deserve it. Yes, since our return I have neglected you so much that the least attention on my part astonishes you. But patience, I have my revenge to take. That is not all; they think me an Othello, and believe it is from jealousy that I conceal my treasure from all eyes. I will reply to these maligners by taking my treasure into a great deal of society this winter, and thus prove that you inspire me with as much pride as confidence."

"I can only reply to such kind offers by accepting them, although with regret and solely from obedience to you; for I much prefer solitude, and, if you will allow me, Charles, I will live as I have done hitherto."

"No, no, I tell you; I will be as self-willed as yourself."

"Well, then, be it so. I will do what you desire; only be so kind as promise me that I shall not be forced to amuse myself too much," said Bertha, smiling bitterly. "I will go into the world since you desire it; but not too often, I hope?"

"Make yourself easy; when you have been there a few times, it will be I, I am sure, who will be obliged to restrain your wishes to return to it."

"Oh, you need not fear that, Charles!"

"You will see--you will see."

"I find myself so constrained in the society of persons whom I do not know, and I seem to see ill-natured critics in all who are around me."

"You are much too handsome not to excite the envy and malevolence of the women; but the admiration of the men avenges you, without considering that amongst the persons to whom I wish to present you there are some of such high rank, and even so exclusive, that your admission amongst them must create much jealousy."

"What do you mean, Charles?"

"You will soon learn, my love, and I shall have great pleasure in telling you. I am delighted to see you enter so fully into my views; I expected, I will tell you, to have more resistance to overcome."

"If I consented so quickly, it was from fear of displeasing you. Say but a word, and you will see with what facility I will renounce pleasures no doubt much envied."

"Assuredly that is a word I shall not say, my dear love; far from it, I shall say one which, on the contrary, would prevent you from renouncing those vain joys of the world, and which you seem so greatly to undervalue."

"And that word----"

"Do you recollect the night at the Théâtre Français?"

"Certainly."

"I mean do you remember the circumstances which have most attracted the public attention, not on the stage, but amongst the auditory?"

"Why, first there was Madame Girard's strange head-dress."

"Yes, the sobieska, certainly; and then?"

Bertha was so far from expecting what her husband was about to say to her, that she reflected a minute or so before she replied,--

"I do not know; was it the Marquise de Luceval?"

"You are, at the same time, drawing nearer to the truth and the box of the person to whom I allude."

"In what way?"

"In the next box to Madame de Luceval do you not remember a very handsome foreign princess, of whom all the world was speaking in terms of admiration?"

"A foreign princess!" repeated Bertha mechanically, whilst her heart was struck with an indefinable presentiment.

"Yes, the Princess de Hansfeld."

"What! the princess! It is she to whom----"

"I hope to present you the day after to-morrow."

"Oh, never, never!" exclaimed Bertha, involuntarily. To take advantage of this offer, which gave her the means of seeing the prince again, seemed to her most odious treachery.

De Brévannes, although astonished at his wife's exclamation, at first believed that she refused from timidity, and said,--

"Come, come, what a child you are! Although a a very high lady, the Princess de Hansfeld is one of the plainest persons in the world, and you will please her very much, I am sure."

"My dear Charles, I beg of you not to introduce me to the princess, but leave me in the retirement in which I have hitherto lived."

"My dearest girl, I beg of you, in my turn," said De Brévannes, repressing his ire, "not to have any such whim and bad taste. But just now you decided on doing what I desired, and yet now you wish to withdraw your promise. Be consistent, pray."

"It is really impossible! No, no, Charles, I beg of you, do not exact this from me."

"Really now, this is quite silly! You obstinately refuse what so many would sue for as an unexpected boon."

"I know it, I believe it; and, therefore, if I refuse, believe that I have my reasons for so doing."

"Reasons! reasons! and what may they be?"

"None in particular, but I have no wish to go into society."

De Brévannes amazed at this resistance vainly endeavoured to detect the cause. He was persuaded that the love of retirement was not the sole motive for this refusal, and, for a moment, he believed his wife jealous of the princess, and therefore replied, with a sort of kind air,--

"Be candid now, conceal nothing from me,--is there not a little jealousy in this?"

"Jealousy?"

"Yes; are you foolish enough to imagine that I am smitten by the princess?"

"No, I have no such idea, I assure you."

"What, then, can it be?" cried De Brévannes, giving way to his long-repressed impatience.

"Charles, be kind! be generous!"

"I am weary of being so, madame; and, as you have no regard for my entreaties, you shall obey my commands, and the day after to-morrow you will accompany me to Madame de Hansfeld's. Do you understand me now?"

"Charles, one word, I pray. It is to be agreeable to myself, is it not, that you wish to take me to the princess's?"

"Unquestionably,--and what then?"

"Why, since it was for me that you formed the idea, I beseech you to give it up!"

"You shall obey me!"

"Oh! go by yourself! It can be of very little consequence whether or not----"

"It is of so much consequence that you must go,--do you comprehend that?"

"It pains me to refuse you, but as you cannot force me to go----"

"Well?"

"I will not go!"

"You will not go?"

"No!"

"Your obstinacy is most absurd; and you think to lay down the law to me?"

"I act as I feel I ought."

"By refusing to go to Madame de Hansfeld's?"

"Yes, Charles."

"I am not in a humour to guess riddles, and I will therefore end our conversation in two words: if you persist in your refusal, you shall never see your father again as long as you live, but in a week you shall return to Lorraine, which you shall never again quit; I have a right to fix your place of residence. You know my will is inflexible, and therefore reflect in time."

Bertha bowed her head without any reply. Her husband could, in truth, send her to Lorraine, separate her from her father, of whom she was the sole support, as, by a just feeling of pride, Pierre Raimond refused the pension which De Brévannes had hitherto allowed him. This was not all: by obeying her husband, Bertha could conceal from the engraver the reason why she continued to see him; for he would a thousand times have preferred that his daughter should go to Lorraine, than that she should obey her husband's commands, when those commands brought her into contact with Arnold.

One moment she was on the point of confessing to De Brévannes the motive of her resistance; but reflecting on the ferocious jealousy of her husband, his anger against the engraver, from whom he would, perhaps, separate her for ever, she rejected this idea.

Unfortunately for Bertha, there was no mid course between the two alternatives. Her first impulse had been to resist with determination her husband's desires, because the tears she had shed at the remembrance of Arnold enlightened her as to the danger of this love, hitherto so calm, and thus she was forced to bow before so fatal a necessity. She replied to her husband, with a tone of despair,--

"You exact it, sir, and I obey."

"Really, it is very fortunate for you, madame."

"Only remember I have done all in my power to resist your commands; I have conjured you, supplicated you, to allow me to live in retirement, and it was you--you who would take me from it, in order to throw me into the whirlpool of the world," said Bertha, growing animated as she spoke,--"of the world, in which I have neither support nor counsel, where I shall be exposed to all the dangers which beset a young and absolutely isolated woman."

"Isolated!--but I, madame?"

"Hear me, sir! I am scarcely twenty-two years of age, you have weighed me down with unkindness and neglect,--I love you no longer; I am resolutely determined never to forget my duties, but, although perfectly confident in myself, there are certain perils to which I do not wish to expose myself."

This time Bertha had struck true by vaguely arousing the savage jealousy of De Brévannes, and she hoped thus to make him reflect upon the results of throwing a young woman, without love for or confidence in her husband, into the midst of the dissipations of society.

De Brévannes was really amazed at this new language, and looked at Bertha with irritation mingled with surprise.

"What do you say, madame?" he exclaimed. "Do you wish to make me understand that you are capable of such indignity as to forget what I have done for you? Take care, madame, take care; do not sport with such ideas, they are too serious; reflect well that self-love is a thousand times more irritable and more ardent for vengeance than love itself. If ever you had but the thought of wronging me----But no," he said, turning livid with the bare idea, "do not let us even mention such an idea--it is too serious."

"And it is because a serious day may arrive, sir, that I do suggest the idea; and as a virtuous woman, I entreat you to leave me in my retirement, and not voluntarily expose me to perils which, perhaps, I may not have the strength to resist. I owe you much, no doubt, but believe me, do not compel me also to calculate the tears I have shed, for then I could believe the debt acquitted."

"What audacity!"

"I would rather be audacious before I had done wrong, than hypocritical afterwards. Once more, for the sake of your repose as well as mine, I entreat you to leave me in my obscure anti unknown existence. Then I can promise you that I shall never fail in my duty; otherwise----"

"Otherwise?"

"You will cast me almost defenceless into the midst of the perils of the world. I know my duties, and shall endeavour to struggle; but I tell you, circumstances might occur when my powers would fail me."

The good sense, the frankness of this language, made De Brévannes' jealous blood boil again in his veins; he knew too well his wrongs to Bertha, not to see that she struggled solely and absolutely from duty. Yet duty without affection is often powerless against the incitements of passion.

This man's hell began. Placed between his jealousy and his love, he hesitated between the desire to draw his connexion with Madame de Hansfeld more closely through the introduction of Bertha, and the fear of seeing his wife surrounded by admirers.

The thought of being jealous of the prince, whom he only knew from the description of his singularities, did not occur to him for a moment; but independently of him, he conjured up a host of fearful phantoms, or rather attractive adorers. Already he saw himself mocked at, pointed at with the finger; he who had made a marriage of love, ridiculous as it was, as he said to himself,--he who had sacrificed his vanity, his ambition, his cupidity, to a poor obscure girl, was not to be safe from a painful destiny! Was he to be always a dupe in the eyes of the world, as well after as before his marriage?

At these thoughts De Brévannes shook with passion.

Now he saw in Bertha's frankness a guarantee for the future; now, on the contrary, he saw a kind of cynic defiance, until at last he was so actually alarmed at the language of a virtuous woman, who, disdained by her husband, whom she no longer loved, was at length disabused as to human frailty, and preferred avoiding, to confronting, danger.

Still not to introduce Bertha to the princess was to renounce a future which he contemplated as so brilliant.

The sacrifice was impossible, and like those who, despairing of making themselves beloved, hope to make themselves feared, he attempted to intimidate Bertha, and said to her brutally,--

"When a woman has the effrontery to profess such principles openly, madame, she has no need to go into the world to deceive her husband."

"Enough, sir, enough," said Bertha proudly; "since you interpret me thus I have nothing to add. I will accompany you when you please to the Princess de Hansfeld."

"And be on your guard as to what you do; at least, remember this--and I repeat it designedly to you--love may be indulgent, generous; pride, never; and as I should be pitiless towards you if you have the bad taste to conduct yourself improperly, so I will crush you, break you to atoms without remorse. So mind," he added, with lips contracted by passion, and taking Bertha rudely by the arm.

His wife very calmly disengaged herself and replied to him,--

"With any one but me, sir, you would, perhaps, be wrong in thus contrasting the attraction of danger to the attraction which love may offer. Believe me, when the respect of duty is powerless, terror is but vain."

And with these words Bertha quitted the room, leaving M. de Brévannes in a state of extreme irritation and intense anxiety.