CHAPTER XLIII

THE PIN

"You sent for me, godmother?" said Iris.

"Yes; shut the door, see that no one can overhear us."

Iris went out for a moment, and then returned.

"No one, godmother."

Paula's heart beat in a strange manner, and she lowered her eyes before the searching glance of the gipsy girl; at length she said, making an effort over herself,--

"Listen to me attentively. The conversation I am about to have with you will be the last we shall ever have on the subject of--you know what. You said to me some days since,--'a word--a sign from you--this pin'--I suppose--and----"

Paula could not finish the sentence. Iris replied,--

"And you are free!"

"You told me so."

"I repeat it."

"You say you are devoted to me."

"In the past--at the present--for the future!"

"Give me a proof."

"Speak, godmother."

"Tell me by what means you propose _to make me free?_"

Madame de Hansfeld's voice faltered, then she added, instantly and quickly,--

"Without either you or me being inculpated in the--the--What is to be done?"

These words seemed to burn Paula's lips as she uttered them.

"Why that question?"

"I have no faith in the possibility of what you have promised me and do not look to profit by it, but I wish to know by what means you propose--in fact, you understand me----"

"What purpose will it answer to tell you?"

"If they appear to me less horrid than I conjecture, perhaps--I do not know----"

Then the princess, frightened at what she had said, put her hand over her eyes and exclaimed,--

"No, no, leave me--go--and never more return. I will never see you again! Begone!"

"Forgive me, godmother!"

"No, begone, I tell you!"

"Well, then, I will tell you by what means."

And Iris lowered her voice, awaiting with anxiety another order to go.

Paula remained silent.

Iris continued,--

"Yes, I will, as you desire it, inform you of the means by which you may be free. But mind, beware!"

Madame de Hansfeld looked steadfastly at Iris.

"I am to mind?--beware?"

"Yes! for you may bitterly repent having interrogated me on this subject. You have scruples now, and they will become greater when you are informed of my intentions. But for the promise you extracted from me not to do anything without your knowledge I might have saved you a world of anguish; sometimes even I ask myself if I am not mad to obey you in this particular. I have no wish or aim but your welfare. The odium of the perjury will only fall back on me; no matter--you will be happy!"

"Have you dared to disobey me in what you have promised?"

"Unfortunately, I have not dared; your word is law to me--at least allow this submission to your will to give you a profound, blind faith in my word."

"Your word?" said Paula, scornfully.

"Yes, and I swear to you that events have so marched without your mixing with them in any way, as you know better than any one else; that in less than a week you may, perhaps, be free, and not only will no suspicion light on you, but the interest, the sympathies of the world will be with you."

Madame de Hansfeld looked at Iris with surprise, almost with consternation.

"But this being the case, why do you not inform me fully as to these events since you say I am so entirely strange to them?"

"Because of your scruples, godmother."

"My scruples? Why should I have any? Am I not innocent of what is passing?"

"Your scruples will arise, although very absurd: they will arise, I tell you, and you will listen to them."

"In what way?"

"Suppose you were informed of every particular, by some unheard--of prodigy, of the future destiny of a person utterly indifferent to you, whom you do not even know. This prescience might acquaint you that this person would die in eight days,--die by some fatal occurrence, although you would not, in the slightest way, be mixed up in the causes of this death, or in any way profit by it, or without your being able to change the course of events which lead to it; yet would you not feel a kind of agony at this disclosure; would you not consider yourself as in some way mixed up with this result when you saw the person ignorant of the terrible fate in store whilst you were cognisant of it?"

"I should not think myself an accomplice in this death, but I should feel much horror at seeing that person advance, confident and tranquil, towards an abyss of which he knew nothing."

"Well! would not your horror become remorse if this person were your own husband, and if his destiny fulfilled your every wish, realised your every hope?"

"What do you mean?"

"How innocent soever you might be of such a catastrophe, should you not consider yourself as almost criminal,--only because you were informed beforehand? Again, do not ask me any more; do not compel me to speak! You will repent it when too late. Rely on me!"

"Rely on you? No, no, I know what you are capable of. I was entirely innocent of your horrible attempts on M. de Hansfeld, yet appearances condemned me, yet I tell you I wish to know all."

"Have you resolved on renouncing M. de Morville?"

"What has that to do with it?"

"I must know this--for in this case only ought I to speak to you. It would be cruel to allow two creatures of God to perish for nothing."

"Then the life of two persons would be endangered?" cried Madame de Hansfeld.

"Wretched me! wretched you!" said Iris, much distressed, or appearing to be so, at her indiscretion. "You make me say what I did not wish to utter. Well, yet at this moment, the lives of two persons are in jeopardy."

"Thank God! you have been compelled to speak out: I will never buy the happiness of my whole life at such a price. I renounce M. de Morville! And may I be accursed if I ever----"

"Stay, godmother! I know the strength of your scruples, but I know, too, the strength of your love; although the lives of two persons may be in jeopardy, you may be accursed."

"Wretched girl!"

"Stay, godmother! let us leave events to follow their course--what will be will be!"

"Now you have filled my soul with affright, for I know of what you are capable: you seek to be silent. No--no--speak--I desire--I command you!"

"Well, then, since you force me to speak out, you shall know all. The prince loves Bertha, and is beloved by her; you know the fierce jealousy of M. de Brévannes. He already hates the prince because he is your husband! Now he knows that he is loved by his wife, he hates him to very death. Suppose Bertha were so imprudent as to grant M. de Hansfeld an interview--innocent or guilty--voluntarily or by chance--no matter--M. de Brévannes is informed of it; surprises them by a stratagem; appearances are against them--what would he do, think you? What would he do?"

"_Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!_"

"What would he do? Why, he believes himself beloved by you; believes by making you free--you and himself by the double murder be might commit with impunity, he would obtain your hand----"

"This is an infernal machination!"

"Would you be free? Yes or no! And how far would you have participated in all this? Your husband deceives you for the wife of a man whom you hate. You cannot help this. This man kills them both! Are you his accomplice? Who or what prevents you from marrying M. de Morville? In what way even could he ever suspect you of having been mixed up in this machination? On the contrary, as I tell you, the interest and sympathies of the world would be with you."

"You are mad; M. de Brévannes would hardly go to such an extremity if he believed himself beloved by me; and he would not surely dare to offer me his hand,--stained, imbrued with my husband's blood?"

"Such is the man's proud jealousy, so ungoverned, so wild, that under no circumstances would he hesitate to kill his wife and her seducer; but as he loves you with all the more ardour as he believes himself madly adored by you, he does not doubt that you would brave all appearances, even to bestowing your hand upon him, and at this moment he is spreading the snare in which your husband and his wife must inevitably perish."

"You have lost your senses. This man, vain as he is, can never believe himself beloved by me. I have scarcely said a few civil words to him in order to avert the evil he might do me."

"But I have spoken for you!"

"You have spoken for me?"

Iris related to Madame de Hansfeld the history of the _Black Book_.

Paula was overwhelmed, stupefied at this revelation. She could hardly credit such daring with such diabolical plotting.

"It is most horrible!" she exclaimed.

Iris looked at her mistress with a strange smile, and replied,--

"You had until now reproached me with acting without your consent. I was wrong. I wished to conceal from you the thread of the events which were in preparation, and you have forced me to disclose all to you. You will now repent it that you know all. Whilst you were in ignorance of this plot, its success was a stroke of chance for you by which you would have profited without compunction. Now you know all, if you do not reveal it, you become an accomplice."

"Then why did you obey me?" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, mechanically. "Why did you tell me all these horrors?"

This was an odious remark, and betrayed the secret and homicidal thought of Paula.

"I obeyed you," replied Iris, bitterly, "because I expected with impatience your order to do so, and if you had not given me that order I should have told you all without your commands."

"What says she?"

"I do not abuse myself; whilst I am working your happiness, I am hastening my own misery. When you marry M. de Morville, I should become to you merely an object of contempt and horror. It is true I might have acted in silence without informing you, and leaving you innocently to reap the fruit of this deadly plot. But I will confess--I had not the courage. I am willing to die for you, but it must be on condition that you say at least, 'Die for me!'"

"Strange and abominable creature!"

"Your happiness will be my misery, I know; but at least, in the bosom of your happy love you may perchance have a recollection for me."

"If you sacrifice yourself thus for my interest, you should have waited until what you call my happiness was assured, in order to have made this disclosure to me.

"No, godmother: it is possible that you have more virtue than love, and thus your happiness would have been for ever poisoned. Now, on the contrary, when you know the price of your union with M. de Morville, you can choose, you have in your hands the future of your love for M. de Morville, the fate of Bertha de Brévannes, and of your husband. One word from you to M. de Brévannes as to the _Black Book_, and he will know that you do not love him, that he is the dupe of a trick of which I am the contriver, and which, instead of bringing his wife to the Hôtel Lambert, in order to make her the more safely fall into the snare that is spreading for her, as well as M. de Hansfeld, he ought to snatch Bertha away from a love as yet innocent; as, in that case, the death of his wife and the prince would be useless to him. This is your duty, godmother. Do it! Unquestionably M. de Brévannes, enraged, will circulate the most atrocious calumnies respecting you. What then? They are but calumnies--it is true M. de Morville may be afflicted at them, believe in them, and smile scornfully when he reflects on the ideal and romantic love he had for you; what then? During the long life in store for you with the prince whom you do not love, and who loves not you, you may repeat boastingly every day,--I have done my duty."

"Accursed be thou--demon sent from hell!" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, wildly, "leave me, leave me! Why do you come to enclose me in a frightful circle whence I cannot escape without causing the death of two unfortunates or by casting myself into an abyss of endless despair?"

"You deepen too much the shadows of the picture, godmother; you may step out of the fearful circle of which you speak, and go, with proud and elevated forehead, to the altar with M. de Morville, and pass with him afterwards a joyous and honoured existence."

"Oh! silence! silence!"

"And that, too, without making him perjure his oath, without making him culpable with his mother, for she would invoke blessings on the union which you might form with joy, without shame, without crime, by resting quiet and awaiting events, provoking nothing, doing no' thing, knowing nothing!"

"Oh, silence! silence!"

"Not even encouraging by a hypocritical word the ferocious and interested vengeance of M. de Brévannes, being always calmly polite to him. All is provided, for the Black Book will speak for you; the Black Book will say that in order to render your marriage possible hereafter, M. de Brévannes must not be suspected of loving you, and having calculated upon the vengeance which he will have drawn down on the prince and Bertha. It will also spare you attentions which, if noticed in the world, might arouse M. de Morville's jealousy--I tell you all has been provided for, carefully provided for, godmother."

"_Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!_ deliver me from this infamous creature!"

"So that after the tragic event," continued Iris, imperturbably, "M. de Brévannes could have no reproach to cast upon you, and you would close your door upon him without a word of explanation. Brévannes will be furious, but what can he say or do? The Black Book is in my hand-writing; he has not even a note of yours; besides, if he dared to complain, he must first confess the shameless calculations with which he almost provoked his own dishonour, in order to be justified in killing his wife and your husband. But he dares not, for he would inspire as much contempt as horror. Don't you think so, godmother?"

"Leave me, I tell you; go--go--you horrify me!"

"Mon Dieu! What am I doing beyond exposing to you the good and the ill? Now you are free--choose!"

"Monster! you know very well the drift of such language, and the criminal hopes which you evoke before my thoughts!"

"Am I a monster to bid you choose between good and ill? Is virtue then so terrible a thing to practise that it costs as many tears as crime?"

"Heaven have mercy upon me!"

"One last word, godmother. I may have played on certain passions in order to prepare certain events, but it no longer depends on me to regulate their progress, for they seem to hasten, and even to-morrow it may be too late. If you are decided on the _good_, that is to say, on preventing your husband from incurring the danger that impends over him and M. de Brévannes from the mystification of which he is the dupe, act without delay--this day--this hour--this instant. One hour's delay may destroy all--that is to say, may gain every thing for the interests of your love."

At this moment a valet-de-chambre entered after having knocked at the door.

"What is it?" inquired Paula.

"Not knowing if your ladyship was at home, I have begged M. and Madame de Brévannes to wait."

"They are here!" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, shuddering.

"Yes, princess."

"Madame has forgotten that she appointed this morning to receive the visit of M. and Madame de Brévannes," remarked Iris.

"Yes, true," said Paula, with a faltering voice, "I--yes--yes--to be sure."

"The princess will see them," said Iris, hastily; "request M. and Madame Brévannes to be good enough to wait for a few minutes."

The valet-de-chambre quitted the apartment.