Valentine (29 page)

“Hush, Louise,” cried Valentine, throwing her arms about her with a pained expression; “cease to slander yourself so. What woman was ever nobler and stronger than you in her downfall ? Are you to be blamed forever for a sin committed at the age of ignorance and weakness ? Alas! you were only a child ! and since then you have been sublime; you have compelled the esteem of everyone who has a noble heart. You cannot deny that you know what virtue is ?”

“In heaven's name, do not learn it at the same cost,” rejoined Louise; “abandoned to my own devices from childhood, deprived of the help of religion and of a mother's love and protection, left in charge of our grandmother, who is so frivolous and so utterly devoid of modesty, I was certain to go from bad to worse. Yes, that would have happened but for the terrible heartrending lessons that I learned from fate. My lover sacrificed by my father ; my father himself, overwhelmed by grief and shame because of my sin, seeking and finding death on the battlefield within a few days; and I, banished, ignominiously driven out of my father's house, and reduced to the necessity of dragging my wretchedness from place to place, with my child starving to death in my arms ! Ah ! Valentine, that is a ghastly fate !”

It was the first time that Louise had ever spoken thus
openly of her misfortunes. Excited by the impending painful crisis, she yielded to the melancholy satisfaction of pitying herself, and she forgot Valentine's sorrows and the help which it was her duty to give her. But her outcries of remorse and despair produced more effect than the most eloquent remonstrances. By placing before Valentine's eyes the picture of the misery to which the passions may lead, she terrified her beyond words. Valentine felt that she was on the brink of the abyss into which her sister had fallen.

“You are right,” she cried, “it is a ghastly fate, and to bear it with courage and virtue one must be you ; my soul, being weaker, would be irrevocably lost. But do you help me to be brave, Louise ; help me to send Bénédict away.”

As she uttered that name a slight noise behind her caused her to turn her head. They both gave a piercing shriek when they saw Bénédict standing behind them, like a ghost.

“You mentioned my name, madame,” he said, with that profound calmness which often led people astray as to his real feelings.

Valentine tried to smile. Louise did not share her error.

“Where were you, pray, that you heard so distinctly ?” she asked.

“I was very near, mademoiselle,” he replied, with a mocking glance.

“That is at least very strange,” said Valentine, severely. “My sister told you, I believe, that she wished to speak to me in private, and yet you remained near enough to listen, it appears ?”

Bénédict had never seen Valentine angry with him ; he was dazed for a moment, and was on the point of
abandoning his bold project. But, as it was a critical and decisive moment for him, he put a bold face upon it, and, maintaining in his expression and his manner that serious firmness which gave him so much power over the minds of others, he said:

“It is quite useless to conceal the truth ; I have been sitting behind this curtain, and have not lost a word of your conversation. I might have listened to still more, and have left the room, unseen, by the same window by which I came in. But I was so interested in the subject of your discussion——”

He paused, seeing that Valentine had become paler than her neckerchief, and had sunk into a chair with an air of consternation. He longed to throw himself at her feet, to weep on her hands; but he realized too fully the necessity of overcoming the excitement of the two women by his own self-possession and firmness.

“I was so interested in your discussion,” he continued, “that I thought that it was my right to return and take part in it. Whether I did wrong, the future will decide. Meanwhile, let us try to be stronger than our destiny. Louise, you have no reason to blush on account of what you have said in my presence. You cannot forget that you have often accused yourself in similar terms to me, and I am tempted to believe that there is some coquetry in your virtuous humility, you know so well what the effect of it must be on those who, like myself, revere you for the trials you have gone through.”

As he spoke, he took Louise's hand as she leaned over her sister with her arms about her; then he led her gently and affectionately toward a chair at some little distance, and, when he had seated her in it, he tenderly put her hand to his lips, then took possession of the chair
from which he had ousted her, turned his back, and paid no further attention to her.

“Valentine !” he said in a deep, grave tone.

It was the first time that he had ventured to call her by her name in the presence of a third person. Valentine started, removed her hands with which she had concealed her face, and bestowed a cold and offended glance upon him. But he repeated her name with an authoritative gentleness, and love shone so brightly in his eyes that Valentine hid her face again in order not to see him.

“Valentine,” he said, “do not try upon me these puerile pretences which are said to be the main reliance of your sex; we cannot deceive each other any more. Look at this scar! I shall carry it to the grave ! It is the seal and the symbol of my love for you. You cannot believe that I will consent to ruin you; that is too silly an error for you to fall into. Do not think of such a thing, Valentine.”

He took her hands in his. Cowed by his air of resolution, she allowed him to retain them, and gazed at him with a frightened expression.

“Do not hide your face from me,” he said, “and do not be afraid to look at the spectre whom you drew back from the tomb ! You would have it so, madame ! It is your own fault that I stand before you to-day an object of terror and aversion. But listen, my Valentine, my all-powerful mistress, I love you too well to vex you. Say a word and I return to the shroud from which you drew me forth.”

With that he took a pistol from his pocket and showed it her.

“You see,” he continued, “it is the same one, the very same. Its gallant service did not injure it; it is a
faithful friend and always at your orders. Speak, send me away, it is always ready.—Oh ! don't be afraid,” he cried mockingly, as the two women, pale with terror, recoiled shrieking; “ don't be afraid that I will commit the impropriety of killing myself before your eyes; I know too well how much consideration must be shown to a woman's nerves.”

“This is a horrible scene,” cried Louise, in the utmost distress ; “ you want to kill Valentine.”

“You may scold me in a moment, mademoiselle,” he replied shortly, with a haughty air; “I am speaking to Valentine now, and I have not finished.”

He uncocked his pistol and put it in his pocket.

“You see, madame,” he continued, addressing Valentine, “ it is entirely on your account that I am still alive, not for your pleasure, but for my own. My pleasures are and always will be very modest. I ask nothing which you could not grant without remorse to one for whom you felt only the purest friendship. Consult your memory and your conscience ; have you found him very audacious and very dangerous, this Bénédict, who has but one passion in the world. That passion is you. You cannot hope that he will ever have another, for he is already old in heart and in experience. The man who has loved you will never love another woman, for, after all, this Bénédict, whom you propose to spurn, is no brute ! What! you love me enough to be afraid of me, and you despise me enough to hope to resign me to the idea of losing you ! Oh! what madness! No, no! I will not lose you so long as I have a breath of life, I swear by heaven and by hell! I will see you ; I will be your friend, your brother, or may God damn me forever if——”

“Hush, for pity's sake,” said Valentine, in a choking
voice, pale as death and clasping her hands convulsively. “I will do whatever you wish; I will destroy my soul forever, if I must, to save your life.”

“No, you will not destroy your soul,” he replied, “you will save us both. Do you think, pray, that I, too, cannot keep an oath and deserve heaven ? Alas ! before I saw you I hardly believed in God; but I have adopted all. your principles, all your beliefs. I am ready to swear by whatever one of your angels you prefer. Let me live, Valentine; what does it matter to you ? I do not fear death; being imposed upon me by you, it would be sweeter this time than before. But, Valentine, in pity's name, don't condemn me to nothingness !—You frown at that word. Why, you know that I believe in heaven with you ; but heaven without you is nothingness. It cannot be where you are not; I am so certain of it that, if you condemn me to death, I shall, perhaps, kill you too, in order not to lose you. I have had that idea before. It came very near overshadowing all other ideas. But take my advice ; let us live a few more days on earth. Are we not happy ? Wherein are we guilty, pray ? You will not leave me, will you ? You will not order me to die; that is impossible, for you love me, and you know that your honor, your repose and your principles are sacred to me.—Do you believe me capable of wronging her, Louise ?” he said, turning abruptly to the older sister. “You drew just now a ghastly picture of the evils into which passions lead us. I tell you that I have faith in myself, and that, if I had been the man who loved you long ago, I would not have poisoned and blasted your life. No, Louise, no, Valentine, all men are not dastards.”

Bénédict talked much more, sometimes with vehemence, sometimes with bitter irony, sometimes gently
and affectionately. After terrifying the two women, and subjugating them by fear, he succeeded in conquering them by emotion. He obtained such mastery over their wills that, when he left them, he had wrested from them promises which, an hour earlier, they would have deemed themselves quite incapable of making.

This was the result of their agreement:

Louise went to Paris, and returned a fortnight later with her son. She compelled Madame Lhéry to agree upon an amount which she was to pay each month for board. Bénédict and Valentine undertook Valentin's education between them, and continued to see each other almost every day after sunset.

Valentin was fifteen years old, tall, slender and fair. He resembled Valentine; like her, he had an equable and compliant disposition. His great blue eyes had that expression of caressing softness which was so charming in her; his smile had the same frank kindliness. He had no sooner seen her than he became so fond of her that his mother was jealous.

They arranged the employment of his time thus : in the morning he passed two hours with his aunt, who instructed him in social accomplishments; the rest of the day he passed at the cottage in the ravine. Bénédict was sufficiently well educated to be an acceptable substitute for his teachers. He had, so to speak, forced Louise to entrust the child's education to him; he had
felt that he had the courage and firmness of will to undertake it and to devote several years of his life to him. It was a way of paying his debt to her, and his conscience embraced the opportunity with ardor. But when he had seen Valentin, his resemblance to Valentine in features and disposition—even the similarity of their names—caused him to feel an affection for the boy of which he did not believe himself capable. He adopted him in his heart, and, to spare him the long walk he was obliged to take every day, he induced his mother to let him live at the cottage. As a result, he had to consent that Louise and Valentine should introduce some improvements there, on the pretext of making it more convenient for the new occupant. Through their efforts the little house in the ravine became in a few days a most delightful retreat for a frugal and poetic man like Bénédict. The damp, unhealthy ground was covered by a floor raised several feet above the earth. The walls were covered with a dark and very cheap material, which was neatly drawn together like a tent overhead to conceal the timbers of the roof. Some simple but neat furniture, choice books, a few engravings, and some dainty pictures painted by Valentine, were brought from the château, and a delightful study was created, as if by enchantment, beneath Bénédict's thatched roof. Valentine presented her nephew with a pretty little pony, on which he went every morning to breakfast and study with her. The gardener came from the château to put the little garden at the cottage in order. He masked the prosaic vegetables behind hedges of vines; he sowed flowers over the patch of greensward in front of the door ; he trained bindweed and hops over the dark thatch of the roof; he crowned the doorway with a canopy of honeysuckle and clematis; he thinned out the holly and boxwood in
the ravine, and opened several vistas through which one could obtain views of a wild and picturesque beauty. Like a man of intelligence, not brutalized by the science of horticulture, he left untouched the long ferns which clung to the rocks; he cleansed the brook without removing its mossy stones and the purple heather along its banks; in fact, he beautified the place very considerably. Bénédict's liberality and Valentine's kindness prevented any impertinent gossip. Who could help loving Valentine ? At the outset, the appearance of Valentin, that living witness of his mother's disgrace, caused a little idle talk in the village and among the servants of the château. However well inclined one may be to bear good-will to all men, one does not readily let slip so favorable an opportunity of blaming and criticizing. Thereafter they watched everything. Bénédict's frequent visits to the château were observed, and the mysterious and retired life led by Madame de Lansac. Some old women, who, by the way, cordially detested Madame de Raimbault, remarked to their neighbors, with a sigh and a compassionate leer, that there had been a great change in the habits of the people at the château since the countess went away, and that she would hardly be pleased with what was going on there, if she could have any suspicion of it. But the gossip was brought abruptly to a close by the appearance of an epidemic in the province. Valentine, Louise and Bénédict spared no efforts, exposed themselves fearlessly to the danger of contagion, contributed generously, anticipated all the wants of the poor, and enlightened the ignorance of the rich. Bénédict had studied medicine a little. He saved many sufferers with a bloodletting and a few simple prescriptions. The gentle nursing of Louise and Valentine soothed the last sufferings of others, or allayed the grief
of the survivors. When the epidemic had passed, no one remembered the scruples which had arisen concerning the sudden appearance of that handsome boy in the neighborhood. Whatever Valentine, Louise or Bénédict did was declared to be beyond criticism ; and if anybody from a neighboring town had ventured to refer slightingly to them, there was not a peasant within three leagues who would not have made him pay dear for it. An idle and inquisitive stranger would have received a warm welcome if he had asked prying questions concerning anyone of the three in the village wine-shops.