CHAPTER XV

THE INTERVIEW

This time, also, the metamorphosis of the Marquis was complete. He seemed to be not more than twenty years of age; his chestnut hair, without powder, parted in the middle over his forehead, framed his charming face, candid and ingenuous. He was clothed in black; he dropped his eyes timidly, twirled his hat in his hands with an embarrassed air, and remained near the door without daring to move a step.

The _conseillère_, agitated, irritated and threatening, with her hand upon the poniard, expecting to see a bold and brilliant gentleman of audacious mien and free speech, stood stupefied at the appearance of this youth of such rare beauty, who, quite intimidated, seemed to hesitate to approach her.

Hardly believing her eyes, and fearing some mistake, Martha said to him sharply:

"Are you really the Marquis de Létorière!"

"Yes, madame _la conseillère_," replied the Marquis, with a trembling voice, not lifting his eyes, and blushing deeply.

"Do you come from France?"

"Yes, madame _la conseillère_; I arrived here three days ago." . . .

At the sound of this sweet voice, so pure and youthful in tone, Martha's astonishment was doubled; she dropped her poniard, leaned towards the Marquis, and said in a milder voice:

"You are, then, the Marquis de Létorière, a party in a lawsuit?"

"Yes, madame _la conseillère_". . .

"In a lawsuit against the Dukes of Brunswick and Brandenbourg?"

"Yes, madame _la conseillère._"

Hearing these answers, almost childlike in simplicity, and stammered out timidly, Martha, reassured, rose and took two steps towards the door, saying to the Marquis:

"Come nearer, sir!" . . .

Létorière, for the first time, raised his great tender and melancholy eyes, looked earnestly at the lady, and then lowered them under his long eyelashes.

In her whole life Martha had never encountered a look at once so sweet and so seductive; she was moved, and said to the Marquis, with a sort of quick impatience:

"Come nearer, sir! . . . one would say that I frightened you." . . .

"Oh, no, madame _la conseillère_; you do not frighten me. . . . 'For the virtuous woman is an excellent gift, and she shall be given to man for his good deeds,' says the Scripture."

"He quotes Scripture!" cried Martha, with admiration, her fears quite dispelled. "But I do really intimidate you?"

"Madame . . . it is because you are so majestic . . . you resemble so much one of the daughters of our king, that my heart beats in spite of myself;" and the Marquis placed his hand upon his heart with a movement full of grace. "Mercy on me, I can hardly speak! Ah! do not wish me to do it, madame. Self-command is impossible in circumstances like these," said Létorière, casting a look at once timid and imploring upon the lady, who was flattered by the effect she produced, and by her resemblance to one of the daughters of the King of France.

"I don't know whether I am asleep or awake," said Martha to herself; "how is it that he has been called shameless? audacious? a pitiless seducer? But perhaps he is playing with me! perhaps this appearance of candor is only an abominable feint of the evil spirit! Perhaps it is only the artifice of the tiger, who approaches his prey with soft steps, the better to seize and devour it!"

As this suspicion took possession of her mind, imitating, to a certain extent, in her retreat, the side-ling and stealthy step of the tiger, she prudently regained her fortress, that is to say, the table, and said softly to her husband:

"Prepare your blunderbuss, Flachsinfingen . . . the moment approaches . . ."

By quick movement under the cover, it was impossible to guess whether the councillor raised his blunderbuss or made an impatient gesture.

Once safely intrenched, with her poniard near at hand, the lady resumed her imperious tone, her repulsive physiognomy, and said, harshly, to Létorière:

"Well! and what do you want, sir? My husband is convinced of the justice of the claims of the German princes, and all your efforts will be useless."

"Adieu, then, madame, since you will not deign to hear me! I have no longer any hope. . . . Alas! ye Fates, how unhappy I am!"

The Marquis, putting one of his hands before his eyes, turned towards the door in profound dejection.

Noting this movement, which was far from announcing hostile intentions, and hearing this accent of despair, the councillor's wife forgot all her suspicions, emerged for the second time from her fortress, approached the Marquis, and said to him in a softer voice, but which betrayed a little pettishness:

"Who told you I would not listen to you, young man? Why are you going away? Although the question of your lawsuit may be settled, it is my husband's duty to listen to your claims. . . . Confide in me, then . . . reassure yourself. Have I such a terrifying look? See, come near me,--don't be afraid!" And thus speaking, Martha took the Marquis by the hand and led him slowly to a scat, repeating: "Tranquillize yourself; you must not be afraid of me any more, my child."

At this moment a burst of roaring laughter was heard, the cloth on the table was suddenly thrust aside, and the great fat councillor appeared, blunderbuss in hand, crying with increasing merriment:

"Where is your poniard now? where is your helmet? where is your buckler, Martha? It is you who have to soothe this Pharaoh! this Nebuchadnezzar. . . . Ah, ha! behold Judith calming the emotion of Holofernes!"

All this was utterly incomprehensible to Létorière, who, for the moment, surprised by the sudden apparition of the councillor, could hardly control the desire to laugh which the grotesque figure of Flachsinfingen excited.

But Martha, as much irritated as humiliated by her husband's raillery at the foolish precautions she had taken, rushed towards him angrily, crying:

"Are you not ashamed to employ such vile means to play the spy upon your wife? Oh, you odious tyrant! Oh, you abominably jealous man! God o' mercy! have I ever given you cause to doubt my virtue?"

And Martha raised her eyes towards heaven to call God to witness the injustice of the poor councillor's suspicion, who, astonished, stupefied by such unexpected reproaches, stood with open mouth, the blunderbuss in his hand.

"How then, my wife," said he; "you? . . ."

"I will hear nothing from you," said Martha, taking him by the arm . . . "Leave me." . . .

"But, . . ."

"Go away, sir . . . go away . . . your presence makes me sick!" and Martha rudely pushed her husband towards the door of a closet which opened from the room.

"But . . . my wife!" . . . said the councillor, still expostulating.

"And before this young man, too! Heavens! what will he think of me?" cried Martha.

"But, what the devil! . . . it is you who . . ."

"To lie in ambush there traitorously, with a blunderbuss!" added Martha.

"But really . . . my wife!"--and the councillor, losing ground, was still pushed towards the door.

"A veritable assassin! worthy of an Italian bandit!" continued Martha, with horror.

"Nevertheless, wife, it was you who . . ."

"An Aulic Councillor to play such a part! You disgust me! . . . go out! . . . go out!" . . .

And after a pretty long struggle, Flachsinfingen disappeared in the closet, of which his wife drew the bolts.

"Well done!" said Létorière, laughing inwardly at seeing himself shut up with Martha; "it is no longer she, but myself now, who has need of defence. . . . I don't like the presence of the man with the blunderbuss," he added, looking round him with a frightened air.

Martha soon returned, her eyes cast down like an offended prude's.

"I am so confused at this scene, sir! . . . Alas! my husband is unhappily jealous . . . frightfully jealous! Good gracious! without the least reason! He is, in short, so fanciful, that, knowing I was going to have an interview with you . . . with a young gentleman" . . . and the lady hesitated, "whom they say; . . . in short . . . whose reputation is such; . . . in a word . . . my husband hid himself . . . for . . . my grief! you comprehend the rest!"

"Yes, madame, I have already been told that the councillor was very jealous," said the Marquis, timidly.

"Ah! . . . you have been told that!"--and Martha simpered.

"Yes, madame, I have been told that the councillor was very jealous of the influence which you exercise over his clients, who always address themselves to you rather than to him. . . . You are known to be so good . . . to possess such a correct judgment . . . and yet your husband ought to bless you every day; for the Scripture says, _The husband who has a good wife is happy, and that the number of his years shall be doubled._" This was said with an expression of such virgin innocence, with so gentle and pious an accent, that Martha, stupefied, after taking a long look at the enchanting face, said to herself: "He is a true paschal lamb. . . . Poor innocent! . . . sacred texts always in his mind! . . . how he interests me!" . . . and she added aloud:

"Tell me how it is, that, young as you are, your parents allow you to travel alone? How is it that they confide so important a lawsuit to your inexperience?"

"Alas, madame, I am an orphan. . . . I am poor. . . . I have no one to help me, and my only friend and guide is my old preceptor."

"But how is it that, pleasing as you are, you have such a reputation?"

"I, madame?" asked Létorière, with angelic simplicity, "what reputation?"

The councillor's wife was confounded; she could easily understand that stories had been exaggerated; but that a youth of such rare candor, and of such a pious education, could pass for an heartless seducer, was beyond her comprehension.

"Have you no relative of your name at the French court?" she asked, anxiously.

"No, madame." . . .

"It is plain that the German princes have spread these injurious reports about their adversary," thought Martha. "But tell me, what steps have you taken hitherto?"

"Alas! most useless ones, madame. . . . I went first to the castle of the Baron of Henferester." . . .

"Good heavens! poor child, did you venture into the den of that frightful Polyphemus?"

"Yes, madame; oh, he frightened me so! And then . . ."

"Go on, go on! Tell me all; and in order to put you at your ease, I will tell you that my husband and myself both cordially detest the baron."

"I did not know that, madame; that is why I feared . . . to tell you . . ."

"No, no, tell me all!"

"Well, madame, I went to the castle of Henferester. The baron began to ridicule me because I went in a carriage instead of on horseback."

"The wicked old centaur! . . . He thinks that everybody is like himself, all iron and steel," said Martha, contemptuously.

"Then, when I began to speak to him of my lawsuit, he said to me in his loud voice "'_Dinner first, . . . we can talk better glass in hand._'"

"The drunkard! I recognize him there."

"Not daring to oppose the baron, I went to the table; but at the risk of displeasing him, as he had not said grace, I asked his permission to say it."

"Poor little martyr! . . . Well done, my child! and the brute let you say it, I hope?"

"Yes, madame, but he afterwards laughed so much that I felt scandalized." . . .

"I believe it. . . . Unfortunate lamb! . . . where were you straying, God of heaven!"

"As I ate but little, the baron said to me, 'You have dined, then?' 'No sir,' I answered, 'but the Scripture says: _Be not eager at the feast._'" . . .

"Well answered . . . to this glutton; my child, you might have added as a prediction that sleeplessness, and colic, and pains in the belly, are the inheritance of the intemperate,[18] and that is truly what I wish to him, the wicked brute!"

"Then, madame, he gave me a great glass filled with pure wine, telling me to pledge him. . . . 'But, sir,' said I, 'I never drink clear wine.' Then, madame, he shouted with laughter, and answered me: 'That's no matter . . . drink away' . . . to your mistress!'"

"To say such things to a child of that age! What abominable corruption!" and the _conseillère_ lifted up her hands to heaven.

"I did not understand what the baron said to me; I touched my lips to the great glass, and put it back on the table without drinking a drop. Then the baron looked me through and through, saying, in a loud voice, 'You do not drink wine, you eat nothing, you do not talk. Perhaps you would be more communicative between a tankard of kirchenwasser and a pipe well filled with tobacco.'"

"Kirchenwasser! a pipe! oh, the old sinner! to want to impart his odious barrack tastes to this youth, who seems more like a young girl than a young man!"

"But" I answered the baron, 'I never drink strong liquors, and I have never smoked.' . . . Then he began to swear--and how he did swear!--till I was ashamed for him, and he said: 'You don't smoke, you don't drink; I see that we shall not come to an understanding, for I interest myself only in people who resemble me! At least you hunt?' 'Yes sir, I have shot larks with a mirror.' Then, madame, he began to laugh, and to swear harder than ever, and said: 'Young man, excuse my frankness, but the Lord of Henferester would rather never touch wine, a bridle, or a gun again, than to take the part of a shooter of larks. . . I can do nothing for you.' And so, madame, I quitted the baron, and came away in utter despair."

"And Doctor Sphex,--have you seen him?" asked Martha, thoughtfully.

"Yes, madame, but he asked me, the first thing, if I was acquainted with profane literature . . . and a certain heathen author named Persius, which I have been told is improper for one of my age to read. I told him no; then he said that my cause was bad, and that my adversaries had the right of the case. . . . So I saw that there was no more hope in that quarter than in the other."

The _conseillère_ felt profoundly moved.

"Listen, my child!" said she; "you interest me more than I can tell you. . . . I am pained to see the other councillors so opposed to your interests; I can do nothing with them; all that I can do, is to endeavor to secure for you my husband's vote." . . .

"Ah! madame, can it be true?" cried Létorière, with an expression of the most lively gratitude. "Ah! the Scripture is right in saying: _The virtuous woman is the joy of her husband; she makes him pass all the years of his life in peace._ . . . Yes, madame, for I will bless your husband, and he will be proud of having--thanks to you--made the just cause to triumph."

"Always Scripture! he might truly be called a little clergyman," said Martha, with enthusiasm. "But," continued she, "don't indulge in foolish hopes, nor despair utterly; the baron and the doctor may yet revise their resolutions." . . . And Martha added to herself: "How much it costs me to deceive him so! He has very little chance, but I have not the heart to undeceive him."

"Ah, madame!" cried Létorière, throwing himself on his knees, "I feel it,--you will be my good angel. . . . To you I shall owe all the happiness of my future life. . . . Heavens! madame, how good and generous you are! Oh, let me here, at your feet, thank you again and again!"

The lady, very much moved and softened, turned her head, and said gently to the Marquis, giving him her hand to kiss . . .

"Come, come, my child, get up; don't stay there!" . . .

The Marquis, still on his knees, resolutely took the hand which she offered to him, carried it bravely to his lips, shutting his eyes, and saying, in a grateful and passionate voice:

"Oh, madame, how can I ever be grateful enough for all your kindness!" . . .

"Well, well, little simpleton," said Martha, softly disengaging her hand, and giving Létorière a slight tap with the other, "are you going to make me repent of my kindness?" . . .

After the Marquis had thrown himself at Martha's feet, the jolly face of the councillor, still armed with his blunderbuss, had cautiously appeared at an oval window over the door of the closet in which he was shut up.

Seeing his wife so little disposed to use her poniard to repulse this Holofernes, this Tarquin, this Nebuchadnezzar, the councillor, wishing playfully to revenge himself for his incarceration, fired his blunderbuss in the air, exclaiming, "Martha, did you not cry, 'To me, Flachsinfingen!'"

Then resting his elbows on the window, he began to laugh boisterously.

His wife, provoked by this new outburst of factiousness, fell in feigned convulsions.

Létorière escaped, calling for help, and left Martha in the hands of her women and her husband, who, seeing the unhappy issue of his pleasantry, hastily came out to seek pardon for his impertinence.

[Footnote 18: Ecclesiasticus, XXI. 20.]