CHAPTER XL

THE BLACK BOOK

Two days after the last interview between Madame de Hansfeld and De Morville at the Opera ball, Iris had again taken, as she promised, the _Black Book_ to De Brévannes, who read therein the following lines, which, as before, he attributed to the princess:--

"I am so troubled at this meeting, that I can scarcely collect my thoughts. I am afraid to recall what I have promised to M. de Brévannes. I have given him cause to suspect, perhaps......

"What, then, can be this man's power? I went to meet him quite resolved to display the most pitiless coldness; and yet, scarcely did I see him but I forgot all--even his threats!

"What fatality has brought him here for my misfortune?

"No, no, I shall never love him!

"I am horrified at myself. What! in presence of Raphael's murderer I have not felt either hatred or fury! Oh, shame, shame upon me! he saw my weakness.

"Alas! what am I to do? When I hear his voice, when his ardent look is fixed upon me, my firmest resolutions forsake me,--I only think of listening to him, of looking at him.

"He is so handsome, with that manly and bold beauty, which the first time I saw him made upon me so deep, so lasting an impression! Every thing in him bespeaks one of those men so passionately energetic, who love as I would be loved, as I never have been loved. Oh! if my will and his were united, at what a pitch of happiness might we not arrive!

"Blessed be this book! I can say to it what I dare not reveal to any human creature,--what I dare not even utter aloud.

"He has begged to introduce his wife to me. I hate her by anticipation,--and yet it is to her that I shall be indebted one day for receiving her husband. But this obligation irritates me against her,--it is her happiness I envy. She bears the name of the man who exercises such irresistible influence over me,--a name which I cannot now hear without being troubled. Oh, that woman! I hate her, I hate her--she is too happy!

"After all, why blush at my love? It will never be guilty--for it will never be happy!

"My heart's ambition is too great. He shall never know what he might have been to me had we both been free. Oh! what a dream! what paradise!

"The passion I experience is too powerful, too vast, to descend even to the falsehoods to which we should both be reduced, if we sought the pleasures of a vulgar love. No, no, to belong to him in the open gaze of day, in the face of the world, to bear his name nobly and proudly--or bury my unhappy love in the depths of my heart. No human power can make me surrender one of these two alternatives.

"But as he and I wear the chains of marriage,--those heavy, dragging chains! but as chance, in liberating the one would not liberate the other, my life will be but one long regret, one long punishment. What I say to you is true,--I have no interest in lying to myself. I know well enough my own firmness of character to be sure of my resolution.

"And then he also has so much will, so much energy, that it is to be worthy of him to imitate his energy and will, even though they should be employed in resisting him.

"Oh he does not know what power it implies to have resisted a man like him.

"I find a singular charm in thus accounting to myself for thoughts, of which he will for ever remain in ignorance,--in being in these mute confidences as tender, as impassioned towards him, as I am cold and reserved in his presence: I am content with my last trial on this point--with what a chilling air I received him!

"But then what courage it required! But for the presence of Iris I should have been still more cold, but as she was there I felt protected against myself.

"This young girl troubles me, she is so singularly careful and attentive to me,--yet, I know not why, I feel a vague presentiment that her conduct is hypocritical. She is gloomy, distracted, preoccupied. What have I done to her? Sometimes, it is true, at moments of melancholy or irritation, I am cross to her. I must think of this and watch her.

"What have I learned? No, no, it is impossible,--hell would not have that.

"His wife, Bertha de Brévannes, unfaithful to him!

"What if the proofs which are brought to me were true?

"Oh, he is shamefully betrayed! Wicked creature! with her soft and gentle air; she does not feel, then, what it is to be so happy, so honoured, as to bear his name? He--he deceived--like the lowest of men--he jested at, mocked at, perhaps,--I cannot express what I feel at this idea, which never would have occurred to me.

"Oh! I am mad--mad; it is not love, it is _idolatry!_"

The supposed memoranda of Madame de Hansfeld had been perfidiously broken off at this place.

As he read the latter portion, which referred to the pretended infidelity of Bertha, De Brévannes bounded from his seat with anguish and rage.

For the very reason that the reading of the first part of the journal had plunged him into all the ravishments of pride, and that pride excited to the highest pitch, this counter-blow was the more painful, and he could hardly restrain himself when he thought that he was, perchance, playing a foolish part in the eyes of Paula. He knew women well enough to be aware, that if it be pleasant, very pleasant, to them to carry off a husband or a lover from a faithful heart, they care but very little to serve as a revenge for a man who has been himself deceived.

Iris herself was frightened at the expression of anger and hatred which contracted De Brévannes' features, as he read this passage in the Black Book, and she left Bertha's husband assured of having stricken where she wished to strike.

In fact, she quitted M. de Brévannes in a state of excitement impossible to describe.

On the one hand, he flattered himself that he was beloved by Madame de Hansfeld with intense energy,--but he had also the certainty that he should never obtain any thing from so resolute a woman, who drew from the very excess of her love the means of resistance which she calculated on using; desiring and believing most firmly that she proved her passion by the obstinate refusals in which she gloried.

On the other hand, his blood boiled with rage when he thought that Bertha deceived him,--that, perhaps, he was an object of mockery and sarcasm to society. The least circumstances of his conversation with his wife returned to his mind, and he found in them the confirmation of those suspicions which some lines of the Black Book had awakened.

He did not know what to resolve upon. The day after he was to present his wife to Madame de Hansfeld; it was, therefore, necessary to be on his guard with Bertha until after the introduction, which he looked upon as so important for the future success of his love,--but how to restrain himself until then; he--always accustomed to make his wife endure his fits of ill temper on any occasion, however trivial.

He exhausted thought in reflecting as to the person who could be the guilty participator with Madame de Brévannes. And, after mature reflection, remembering the retiring habits Bertha had of late affected, he persuaded himself that she was engaged in some low and vulgar amour.

Iris, with infernal sagacity, had skilfully made it appear that Paula dwelt greatly on the happiness and pride she would have had in bearing the name of De Brévannes; and it was that name Bertha was dishonouring.

The snare was too skilfully spread for this vain, jealous, haughty, and wickedly cruel man, to allow of his escaping it. And this was all calculated in the well-digested and infernal scheme of Iris.

In fact, after having passed through every degree of anger, and having mentally devoted himself to the most violent threats against Bertha and her unknown accomplice, De Brévannes suddenly smiled with savage joy,--he was calm, appeased, more than satisfied, at Bertha's infidelity; and he had but one fear, that of not being able to procure flagrant proofs of his own dishonour.

* * * * *

He judged it requisite to his projects to conceal from Madame de Brévannes the information he had received, in order to watch closely her slightest motions, and he was thus desirous of lulling her into the most perfect security.

Thus the next day (the day on which Bertha was to be introduced) De Brévannes entered his wife's apartment, after having first sent her a very large nosegay and a beautiful head-dress of real flowers.