There was a party at Cayrol’s. In the drawing-rooms of the mansion in the Rue Taitbout everything was resplendent with lights, and there was quite a profusion of flowers. Cayrol had thought of postponing the party, but was afraid of rousing anxieties, and like an actor who, though he has just lost his father, must play the following day, so Cayrol gave his party and showed a smiling face, so as to prevent harm to his business.
Matters had taken a turn for the worse during the last three days. The bold stroke, to carry out which Herzog had gone to London so as to be more secret, had been got wind of. The fall of the shares had not taken place. Working with considerable sums of money, the loss on the difference was as great as the gains would have been. The shares belonging to the European Credit Company had defrayed the cost of the game. It was a disaster. Cayrol, in his anxiety, had applied for the scrip and had only found the receipt given to the cashier. Although the transaction was most irregular, Cayrol had not said anything; but, utterly cast down, had gone to Madame Desvarennes to tell her of the fact.
The Prince was in bed, pretending to be ill. His wife, happily ignorant of all that was going on, rejoiced secretly at his indisposition because she was allowed to nurse him and have him all to herself. Panine, alarmed at the check they had experienced, was expecting Herzog with feverish impatience, and to keep out of sight had chosen the privacy of his own room.
Still, Cayrol had been allowed to see him, and with great circumspection told him that his non-appearance at the same time that Herzog was absent was most fatal for the Universal Credit Company. It was absolutely necessary that he should be seen in public. He must come to his party, and appear with a calm face. Serge promised to come, and had imposed on Micheline the heavy task of accompanying him to Jeanne’s. It was the first time since her return from Nice that she had entered the house of her husband’s mistress.
The concert was over, and a crowd of guests were coming from the large drawing-room to the boudoir and little drawing-room.
“The symphony is over. Ouf!” said Savinien, yawning.
“You don’t like music?” asked Marechal, with a laugh.
“Yes, military music. But two hours of Schumann and Mendelssohn at high pressure is too much for one man. But I say, Marechal, what do you think of Mademoiselle Herzog’s being at Cayrol’s soiree. It is a little too strong.”
“How so?”
“Why, the father has bolted, and the daughter is preparing a dance. Each has a different way of using their feet.”
“Very pretty, Monsieur Desvarennes, but I advise you to keep your flashes of wit to yourself,” said Marechal, seriously. “That may not suit everybody.”
“Oh, Marechal, you, too, making a fuss!”
And turning on his heel, he went to the refreshment table.
Prince and Princess Panine were just coming in. Micheline was smiling, and Serge was pale, though calm. Cayrol and Jeanne came toward them. Everybody turned to look at them. Jeanne, without embarrassment, shook hands with her friend. Cayrol bowed respectfully to Micheline.
“Princess,” he said, “will you honor me by taking my arm? You are just in time, they are going to begin dancing.”
“Not myself, though, thank you,” replied Micheline, with a sad smile, “I am still very weak, but I will look on.”
And on Cayrol’s arm she entered the large drawing-room. Serge followed with Jeanne.
The festivities were at their height. The orchestra was playing a waltz, and in a whirl of silk and gauze the young people seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Suzanne Herzog was sitting alone near a window, in a simple white dress, and without a single ornament. Marechal had just approached her, and she had welcomed him with a smile.
“Are you not dancing to-night, Mademoiselle?” he asked.
“I am waiting to be invited,” she answered, sadly, “and, like sister Anne, I see nobody coming. There are ugly reports abroad about my father’s fortune, and the Argonauts are drawing off.”
“Will you give me a dance?” said Marechal. “I don’t dance to perfection, never having practised much, but with a good will.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Marechal, I would rather talk. I am not very cheerful to-night, and, believe me, I only came because Madame Desvarennes wished it. I would rather have remained at home. Business has gone wrong with my father by what I can hear, for I don’t know what goes on at the office. I feel more inclined to cry than to laugh. Not that I regret the loss of money, you know; I don’t care for it, but my father must be in despair.”
Marechal listened silently to Suzanne, not daring to tell her what he thought of Herzog, and respected the real ignorance or willing blindness of the young girl who did not doubt her father’s loyalty.
The Princess, leaning on Cayrol’s arm, had just finished promenading round the rooms, when she perceived Suzanne and, leaving the banker, came and seated herself beside her. Many of the guests looked at each other and whispered words which Micheline did not hear, and if she had heard would not have understood. “It is heroic!” some said. Others answered, “It is the height of impudence.”
The Princess was talking with Suzanne and was looking at her husband who, leaning against a door, was following Jeanne with his eyes.
At a sign from Cayrol, Marechal left the room. The secretary joined Madame Desvarennes, who had come with Pierre and had remained in Cayrol’s private office. During this party matters of moment were to be discussed, and a consultation was about to take place between the interested parties. On seeing Marechal enter, Madame only uttered one word:
“Cayrol?”
“Here he is,” answered the secretary.
Cayrol came in, hurriedly.
“Well,” he asked, with great anxiety, “have you any news?”
“Pierre has just come from London,” answered the mistress. “What we feared is true. Herzog, conjointly with my son-in-law, has made use of the ten millions belonging to the European Credit.”
“Do you think that Herzog has really bolted?” inquired Marechal.
“No! he is too deep for that,” replied Cayrol. “He will return. He knows that in compromising the Prince it is as if he had compromised the firm of Desvarennes, therefore he is quite easy on the matter.”
“Can the one be saved without the other?” asked the mistress.
“It is impossible. Herzog has so firmly bound up his interests with those of the Prince that it will be necessary to extricate both or let both perish together.”
“Well, we must save Herzog into the bargain, then!” said Madame Desvarennes, coldly. “But by what means?”
“These,” answered Cayrol. “The shares taken away by Herzog, under the security of the Prince’s signature, were deposited by the shareholders. When the Universal Credit removed to its new offices, these shares were taken away by mistake. It will suffice to replace the scrip. I will give back the receipt to the Prince and all trace of this deplorable affair will be wiped out.”
“But the numbers of the shares will not be the same,” said Madame Desvarennes, accustomed to minute regularity in all operations.
“We can explain the change by feigning a sale when they were high, and buying them up when low. We will show a profit, and the shareholders will not quarrel. Besides, I reserve the right of divulging Herzog’s fraud without implicating Panine, if the shareholders insist. Trust me, I will catch Herzog another time. It is my stupid confidence in that man which has been partly the cause of this disaster. I will make your business mine and force him to shell out. I shall leave for London to-night, by the 1.50 train. Promptness of action in such a case is the first step toward success.”
“Thank you, Cayrol,” said the mistress. “Have my daughter and the Prince arrived?”
“Yes, Serge is calm; he has more power over himself than I could have believed.”
“What does it matter to him what is going on? Is it he who will feel the blow? No. He knows that I shall go on working to keep him in idleness and maintain him in luxury. I may think myself lucky if he is reclaimed by this hard lesson, and does not again begin to rummage in other people’s safes, for then I should be unable to save him.”
The mistress rose and, with flashing eyes, walked up and down the room.
“Oh, the wretch!” she said. “If ever my daughter ceases to come between him and me!”
A terrible gesture finished the sentence.
Cayrol, Marechal, and Pierre looked at each other. The same thought came to their minds, dark and fearful. In a paroxysm of rage this fond mother, this energetic and passionate woman, would be capable of killing any one.
“You remember what I told you one day,” murmured Marechal, approaching Cayrol.
“I would prefer the hatred of ten men to that of such a woman,” answered Cayrol.
“Cayrol!” continued Madame Desvarennes, after a few moments of meditation, “the conduct of the business of which you spoke to us a little while ago depends solely on you, does it not?”
“On me alone.”
“Do it at once, then, cost me what it may. Has it been noised abroad?”
“No one has the slightest suspicion. I have not mentioned it to a living soul,” said the banker—“except to my wife,” added he with a frankness which drew a smile from Pierre. “But my wife and I are one.”
“What did she say?” asked Madame Desvarenes, looking straight at Cayrol.
“If I had been the person concerned,” he said, “she could not possibly have been more affected. She loves you so much, Madame, you and those belonging to you. She besought me to do all in my power to get the Prince out of this scrape. She had tears in her eyes: And, truly, if I did not feel bound to serve you from gratitude I would do it for her sake and to give her pleasure. I was touched, I can assure you. Really, she has a heart!”
Marechal exchanged a look with Madame Desvarennes, who advanced toward the banker, and shook him by the hand, saying:
“Cayrol, you are truly a good man!”
“I know it,” said Cayrol, smiling to hide his emotion, “and you may rely upon me.”
Micheline appeared on the threshold of the room. Through the half-open door the dancers could be seen passing to and fro, and the sound of music floated in the air.
“What has become of you, mamma? I hear that you have been here for more than an hour.”
“I was talking on business matters with these gentlemen,” answered Madame Desvarennes, smoothing from her brow the traces of her cares by an effort of will. “But you, dear, how do you feel? Are you not tired?”
“Not more so than usual,” replied Micheline, looking round to follow the movements of her husband, who was trying to reach Jeanne.
“Why did you come to this party? It was unwise.”
“Serge wished me to come, and I did not care to let him come without me.”
“Eh! dear me!” exclaimed Madame Desvarennes. “Let him do what he likes. Men are savages. When you are ill it won’t hurt him.”
“I am not ill, and I won’t be,” resumed Micheline, warmly. “We are going away now.”
She motioned to Serge with her fan. Panine came to her.
“You will take me home, won’t you, Serge?”
“Certainly, dear one,” answered Serge.
Jeanne, who was listening at a distance, raised her hand to her forehead as a sign that she wanted him. A feeling of surprise came over the Prince, and he did not understand what she meant. Micheline had seen the sign. A deadly pallor spread over her features, and a cold perspiration broke out on her forehead. She felt so ill that she could have cried out. It was the first time she had seen Serge and Jeanne together since the dreadful discovery at Nice. She had avoided witnessing their meeting, feeling uncertain of herself, and fearing to lose her self-control. But seeing the two lovers before her, devouring each other with their looks, and making signs to each other, made her feel most terribly jealous and angry.
Serge had decided to obey the imperious signs which Jeanne made to him, and turning toward his wife, said:
“I remember now, my dear, that before going home I must call at the club. I promised, and cannot put it off. Excuse my not going with you, and ask your mother to accompany you.”
“Very well,” said Micheline, in a trembling voice. “I will ask her. You are not going just yet?”
“In a moment.”
“I, too, shall leave in a moment.”
The young wife did not want to lose one detail of the horrible comedy being played under her very eyes. She remained to learn, unawares, the reason for which Jeanne kept her husband.
Not thinking that he was watched, Serge had gone across to Jeanne, and affecting a smile, inquired:
“What is the matter?”
“Serious news.” And she explained that she must speak to her lover that evening.
“Where?” Serge asked, with astonishment.
“Here,” answered Jeanne.
“But your husband?” the Prince said.
“Is leaving in an hour. Our guests will not remain late. Go to the garden, and wait in the pavilion. The door of the back stairs leading to my dressing-room will be open. When everybody has gone, come up.”
“Take care; we are observed,” said Serge, uneasily.
And they began to laugh with affectation and talked aloud about frivolous things, as if nothing serious were occupying their thoughts. Cayrol had come back again. He went up to Madame Desvarennes, who was talking with her daughter, and, full of business, thoughtlessly said:
“I will telegraph you as soon as I reach London.”
“Are you going away?” inquired Micheline, a light dawning on her mind.
“Yes,” said Cayrol; “I have an important matter to settle.”
“And when do you start?” continued Micheline, in such a changed voice that her mother was frightened.
“In a moment,” answered the banker. “Allow me to leave you. I have several orders to give.”
And leaving the boudoir, he regained the little drawing-room.
Micheline, with clinched hands and fixed gaze, was saying to herself:
“She will be alone to-night, and has asked him to come to her. He told me an untruth about his having to go to the club. He is going to see her!”
And passing her hand across her brow, as if to drive away an unpleasant thought, the young wife remained silent, dismayed and crushed.
“Micheline, what is the matter with you?” asked Madame Desvarennes, seizing her daughter’s hand, which was icy cold.
“Nothing,” stammered Micheline.
“You are ill, I see. Come, let us go home. Come and kiss Jeanne—”
“I!” cried Micheline, with horror, instinctively recoiling as if dreading some impure contact.
Madame Desvarennes became suddenly cold and calm. She foresaw a terrible revelation, and observing her daughter narrowly, said:
“Why do you cry out when I speak of your kissing Jeanne? Whatever is the matter?”
Micheline grasped her mother’s arm, and pointed to Serge and Jeanne, who were in the little drawing-room, laughing and talking, surrounded by a group of people, yet alone.
“Look at them!” she cried.
“What do you mean?” exclaimed the mother in agony. She read the truth in her daughter’s eyes.
“You know—” she began.
“That he is her lover,” cried Micheline, interrupting her. “Don’t you see that I am dying through it?” she added, sobbing bitterly and falling into her mother’s arms.
The mistress carried her as if she had been a child into Cayrol’s private office, and shut the door. Then, kneeling beside the couch on which Micheline was stretched, she gave vent to her grief. She begged her daughter to speak to her, and warmed her hands with kisses; then, seeing her still cold and motionless, she was frightened, and wanted to call for help.
“No; be quiet!” murmured Micheline, recovering. “Let no one know. I ought to have held my peace; but I have suffered so much I could not help myself.
“My life is blasted, you see. Take me away; save me from this infamy! Jeanne, my sister, and Serge. Oh! make me forget it! For pity’s sake, mamma, you who are so strong, you who have always done what you wished, take from my heart all the pain that is there!”
Madame Desvarennes, overcome by such a load of grief, lost command of herself, and, quite brokenhearted, began to cry and moan.
“O God! Micheline, my poor child! you were suffering so and did not tell me. Oh! I knew you no longer trusted your old mother. And I stupidly did not guess it! I said to myself, at least she knows nothing about it, and sacrificed everything to keep the knowledge of their wrong-doing from you. Don’t cry any more, darling, you will break my heart. I, who would have given up everything in the world to see you happy! Oh, I have loved you too much! How I am punished!”
“It is I who am punished,” said Micheline, sobbing, “for not obeying you. Ah! children ought always to heed their mother. She divines the danger. Is it not too horrible, mamma? I, who have sacrificed everything for him, to think that he does not love me, and never will love me! What will my life be without confidence, hope, or affection? I am too unhappy. It would be better to die!”
“Die! you!” cried her mother, whose eyes, wet with tears, dried in a moment, as if by an inward fire. “Die! Come, don’t talk such nonsense! Because a man treats you with scorn and betrays you? Are men worth dying for? No, you shall live, my darling, with your old mother. You shall have a deed of separation from your husband.”
“And he will be free,” exclaimed Micheline, angrily. “He will go on loving her! Oh! I cannot bear that thought. Do you know, what I am going to tell you seems awful. I love him so much, that I would rather see him dead than unfaithful.”
Madame Desvarennes was struck, and remained silent. Serge dead! That idea had already occurred to her as a dream of deliverance. It came upon her peremptorily, violently, irresistibly. She repelled it with an effort.
“I can never think of him but as vile and odious,” continued Micheline. “Every day his sin will seem more dastardly and his hypocrisy more base. There, a little while ago, he was smiling; and do you know why? Because Cayrol is going away, and during his absence Serge will return here tonight.”
“Who told you?”
“I read it in his joyful looks. I love him. He cannot hide anything from me. A traitor to me, and a traitor toward his friend, that is the man whom—I am ashamed to own it—I love!”
“Compose yourself! Someone is coming,” said Madame Desvarennes, and at the same time the door opened and Jeanne appeared, followed by Marechal, who was anxious at their disappearance.
“Is Micheline ill?” inquired Madame Cayrol, coming forward.
“No; it is nothing. Just a little fatigue,” said Madame Desvarennes. “Marechal, give my daughter your arm, and take her to her carriage. I shall be down in a minute.”
And holding Jeanne by the hand to prevent her following Micheline, she added:
“Stay; I have something to say to you.”
Jeanne looked surprised. Madame Desvarennes was silent for a moment. She was thinking about Serge coming there that night. She had only to say one word to Cayrol to prevent his going away. The life of this wretch was entirely in her hands then! But Jeanne! Was she going to ruin her? Had she the right thus to destroy one who had struggled and had defended herself? Would it be just? Jeanne had been led on against her will. She must question her. If the poor girl were suffering, if she repented, she must spare her.
Madame Desvarennes, having thus made up her mind, turned toward Jeanne who was waiting.
“It is a long time since I have seen you, my dear, and I find you happy and smiling. It is the first time since your marriage that you have seemed so happy.”
Jeanne looked at the mistress without answering. In these words she detected irony.
“You have found peace,” continued Madame Desvarennes, looking steadfastly at Jeanne with her piercing eyes. “You see, my dear, when you have a clear conscience—for you have nothing to reproach yourself with?”
Jeanne saw in this sentence a question and not an affirmation. She answered, boldly:
“Nothing!”
“You know that I love you, and would be most lenient,” continued Madame Desvarennes, sweetly, “and that you might safely confide in me!”
“I have nothing to fear, having nothing to tell,” said Jeanne.
“Nothing?” repeated the mistress, with emphasis.
“Nothing,” affirmed Jeanne.
Madame Desvarennes once more looked at her adopted daughter as if she would read her very soul. She found her quite calm.
“Very well, then!” said she, hastily walking toward the door.
“Are you going already?” asked Jeanne, offering her brow to Madame Desvarennes’s lips.
“Yes, good-by!” said the latter, with an icy kiss.
Jeanne, without again turning round, went into the drawing-room. At the same moment, Cayrol, in a travelling-coat, entered the office, followed by Pierre.
“Here I am, quite ready,” said the banker to Madame Desvarennes. “Have you any new suggestion to make to me, or anything else to say?”
“Yes,” replied Madame Desvarennes, in a stern voice which made Cayrol start.
“Then make haste. I have only a moment to spare, and you know the train waits for no one.”
“You will not go!”
Cayrol, in amazement, answered:
“Do you mean it? Your interests are at stake yonder.”
“Your honor is in danger here,” cried the mistress, vehemently.
“My honor!” repeated Cayrol, starting back. “Madame, do you know what you are saying?”
“Ay!” answered Madame Desvarennes. “And do you remember what I promised you? I undertook to warn you, myself, if ever the day came when you would be threatened.”
“Well?” questioned Cayrol, turning quite livid.
“Well! I keep my promise. If you wish to know who your rival is, come home to-night.”
Some inaudible words rattled in Cayrol’s throat.
“A rival! in my house! Can Jeanne be guilty? Do you know, if it is true I will kill them both!”
“Deal with them as your conscience dictates,” said Madame Desvarennes. “I have acted according to mine.”
Pierre, hitherto dumb with horror at the scene of which he had been a witness, shook off his stupor, and going up to Madame Desvarennes, said:
“Madame, do you know that what you have just done is frightful!”
“How? That man will be acting within his rights the same as I am. They are seeking to take away his wife, and they are killing my daughter, and dishonoring me! We are defending ourselves! Woe to those who are guilty of the crime!”
Cayrol had fallen, as if thunderstruck, on a chair, with haggard eyes; his voice was gone, and he looked the image of despair. Madame Desvarennes’s words came back to him like the refrain of a hated song. To himself he kept repeating, without being able to chase away the one haunting thought: “Her lover, to-night, at your house!” He felt as if he were going mad. He was afraid he should not have time to wreak his vengeance. He made a terrible effort, and, moaning with grief, he arose.
“Take care!” said Pierre. “Here’s your wife.”
Cayrol eyed Jeanne, who was approaching. Burning tears came to his eyes. He murmured:
“She, with a look so pure, and a face so calm! Is it possible?”
He nodded a farewell to Pierre and Madame Desvarennes, who were leaving, and recovering himself, advanced to meet Jeanne.
“Are you off?” she inquired. “You know you have no time to lose!”
Cayrol shuddered. She seemed anxious to get rid of him.
“I have still a few minutes to spend with you,” he said, with emotion. “You see, Jeanne, I am sad at going away alone. It is the first time I have left you. In a moment our guests will be gone—I beg of you, come with me!”
Jeanne smiled. “But you see, dear, I am in evening dress.”
“The night of our marriage I brought you away from Cernay like that. Wrap yourself up in your furs, and come! Give me this proof of affection. I deserve it. I am not a bad man—and I love you so!”
Jeanne frowned. This pressing vexed her.
“This is childish,” she said. “You will return the day after tomorrow, and I am tired. Have some pity for me.”
“You refuse?” asked Cayrol, becoming gloomy and serious.
Jeanne touched his face slightly with her white hand.
“Come! Don’t leave me in a temper! You won’t miss me much, you will sleep all the way. Good-by!”
Cayrol kissed her; in a choking voice, he said:
“Good-by!”
And he left her.
Jeanne’s face brightened, as she stood listening for a moment and heard the carriage which contained her husband rolling away. Uttering a sigh of relief, she murmured:
“At last!”
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