“Why are you so troubled, my boy?” continued his old friend.
“I did not dare to speak to you,” answered Jack; “I am poor and without any position.”
“You can remedy all this.”
“But there is something else: you do not know that I am illegitimate!”
“Yes, I knowand so is she,” said the doctor, calmly. “Now listen to a long story.”
They were in the doctor’s library. Through the open window they saw a superb autumnal landscape, long country roads bordered with leafless trees; and beyond, the old country cemetery, its yew-trees prostrated, and its crosses upheaved.
“You have never been there,” said M. Rivals, pointing out to Jack this melancholy spot. “Nearly in the centre is a large white stone, on which is the one word Madeleine.
“There lies my daughter, Cιcile’s mother. She wished to be placed apart from us all, and desired that only her Christian name should be put upon her tomb, saying that she was not worthy to bear the name of her father and mother. Dear child, she was so proud! She had done nothing to merit this exile after death, and if any should have been punished, it was I, an old fool, whose obstinacy brought all our misfortunes upon us.
“One day, eighteen years ago this very month, I was sent for in a hurry on account of an accident that had happened at a hunt in the Forκt de Sιnart. A gentleman had been shot in the leg. I found the wounded man on the state-bed at the Archambaulds. He was a handsome fellow, with light hair and eyes, those northern eyes that have something of the cold glitter of ice. He bore with admirable courage the extraction of the balls, and, the operation over, thanked me in excellent French, though with a foreign accent. As he could not be moved without danger, I continued to attend him at the forester’s; I learned that he was a Russian of high rank,‘the Comte Nadine,’ his companions called him.
“Although the wound was dangerous, Nadine, thanks to his youth and good constitution, as well as to the care of Mother Archambauld, was soon able to leave his bed, but as he could not walk at all, I took compassion on his loneliness, and often carried him in my cabriolet home to my own house to dine. Sometimes, when the weather was bad, he spent the night with us. I must acknowledge to you that I adored the man. He had great stores of information, had been everywhere, and seen everything. To my wife he gave the pharmaceutic recipes of his own land, to my daughter he taught the melodies of the Ukraine. We were positively enchanted with him all of us, and when I turned my face homeward on a rainy evening, I thought with pleasure that I should find so congenial a person at my fireside. My wife resisted somewhat the general enthusiasm, but as it was rather her habit to cultivate a certain distrust as a balance to my recklessness, I paid little attention. Meanwhile our invalid was quite well enough to return to Paris, but he did not go, and I did not ask either myself or him why he lingered.
“One day my wife said, ‘M. Nadine must explain why he comes so often to the house; people are beginning to gossip about Madeleine and himself.’
“‘What nonsense!’ I exclaimed. I had the absurd notion that the count lingered at Etiolles on my account; I thought he liked our long talks, idiot that I was. Had I looked at my daughter when he entered the room, I should have seen her change color and bend assiduously over her embroidery all the while he was there. But there are no eyes so blind as those which will not see; and I chose to be blind. Finally, when Madeleine acknowledged to her mother that they loved each other, I went to find the comte to force an explanation.
“He loved my daughter, he said, and asked me for her hand, although he wished me to understand the obstacles that would be thrown in the way by his family. He said, however, that he was of an age to act for himself, and that he had some small income, which, added to the amount that I could give Madeleine, would secure their comfort.
“A great disproportion of fortune would have terrified me, while the very moderation of his resources attracted me. And then his air of lordly decision, his promptness in arranging everything, was singularly attractive. In short, he was installed in the house as my future son-in-law, without my asking too curiously by what door he entered. I realized that there was something a little irregular in the affair, but my daughter was very happy; and when her mother said, ‘We must know more before we give up our daughter,’ I laughed at her, I was so certain that all was right. One day I spoke of him to M. Viιville, one of the huntsmen.
“‘Indeed, I know nothing of the Comte Nadine,’ he said; ‘he strikes me as an excellent fellow. I know that he bears a celebrated name, and that he is well educated. But if I had a daughter involved, I should wish to know more than this. I should write, if I were you, to the Russian embassy; they can tell you everything there.’
“You suppose, of course, that I went to the embassy. That is just what I did not do; I was too careless, too blindly confident, too busy. I have never been able in my whole life to do what I wished, for I have never had any time; my whole existence has been too short for the half of what I have wished to do. Tormented by my wife on the subject of this additional information, I finished by lying, ‘Yes, yes, I went there; everything is satisfactory.’ Since then I remember the singular air of the comte each time he thought I was going to Paris; but at that time I saw nothing; I was absorbed in the plans that my children were making for their future happiness. They were to live with us three months in the year, and to spend the rest of the time in St. Petersburg, where Nadine was offered a government situation. My poor wife ended in sharing my joy and satisfaction.
“The end of the winter passed in correspondence. The count’s papers were long in coming, his parents utterly refused their consent. At last the papers camea package of hieroglyphics impossible to decipher,certificates of birth, baptism, &c. That which particularly amused us was a sheet filled with the titles of my future son-in-law, Ivanovitch Nicolaevitch Stephanovitch.
“‘Have you really as many names as that?’ said my poor child, laughing; ‘and I am only Madeleine Rivals.’
“There was at first some talk of the marriage taking place in Paris with great pomp, but Nadine reflected that it was not wise to brave the paternal authority on this point, so the ceremony took place at Etiolles, in the little church where to this very day are to be seen the records of an irreparable falsehood. How happy I was that morning as I entered the church with my daughter trembling on my arm, feeling that she owed all her happiness to me!
“Then, after mass, breakfast at the house, and the departure of the bridal couple in a post-chaiseI can see them now as they drove away.
“The ones who go are generally happy; those who stay are sad enough. When we took our seats at the table that night, the empty chair at our side was dreary enough. I had business which took me out-of-doors; but the poor mother was alone the greater part of the time, and her heart was devoured by her regrets. Such is the destiny of women; all their sorrows and their griefs come from within, and are interwoven with their daily lives and employments.
“The letters that we soon began to receive from Pisa, and Florence, were radiant with happiness. I began to build a little house by the side of our own; we chose the furniture and the wall papers. ‘They are herethey are there,’ we said; and at last we expected the final letters we should receive before they returned.
“One evening I came in late; my wife had gone to her room; I supped alone; when suddenly I heard a step in the garden. The door opened, my daughter appeared; but she was no longer the fair young girl whom I had parted with a month before. She looked thin and ill, was poorly dressed, and carried in her hand a little travelling-bag.
“‘It is I,’ she whispered hoarsely; ‘I have come.’
“‘Good heavens! what has happened? Where is Nadine?’
“She did not answer; her eyes closed, and she trembled violently from head to foot. You may imagine my suspense.
“‘Speak to me, my child. What has happened? Where is your husband?’
“‘I have noneI have never had one;’ and suddenly, without looking at me, she began to tell me, in a low voice, her horrible history.
“He was not a count, his name was not Nadine. He was a Russian Jew by the name of Roesh, a miserable adventurer. He was married at Riga, married at St. Petersburg. All his papers were false, manufactured by himself. His resources he owed to his skill in counterfeiting bills on the Russian bank. At Turin he had been arrested on an order of extradition. Think of my little girl alone in this foreign town, separated violently from her husband, learning abruptly that he was a forger and a bigamist,for he made a full confession of his crimes. She had but one thought, that of seeking refuge with us. Her brain was so bewildered, that, as she told us afterwards, when she was asked where she was going, she simply answered ‘To mamma.’ She left Turin hastily, without her luggage, and at last she was safe with us, and weeping for the first time since the catastrophe.
“I said, ‘Restrain yourself, my love, you will awaken your mother!’ but my tears fell as fast as her own. The next day my wife learned all; she did not reproach me. ‘I knew,’ she said, ‘from the beginning that there was some misfortune in this marriage.’ And, in fact, she had certain presentiments of evil from the hour that the man came under our roof. What is the diagnosis of a physician compared to the warning and confidences whispered by destiny into the ear of certain women? In the neighborhood the arrival of my child was quickly known. ‘Your travellers have returned,’ they said. They asked few questions, for they readily saw that I was unhappy. They noticed that the count was not with us, that Madeleine and her mother never went out; and very soon I found myself met with compassionate glances that were harder to bear than anything else. My daughter had not confided to me that a child would be born from this disastrous union, but sat sewing day after day, ornamenting the dainty garments, which are the joy and pride of mothers, with ribbons and lace; I fancied, however, that she looked at them with feelings of shame, for the least allusion to the man who had deceived her made her turn pale. But my wife, who saw things with clearer vision than my own, said, ‘You are mistaken: she loves him still.’
“Yes, she loved, and strong as was her contempt and distrust, her love was stronger still. It was this that killed her, for she died soon after Cιcile’s birth. We found under her pillow a letter, worn in all its folds, the only one she had ever received from Nadine, written before their marriage. She had read it often, but she died without once pronouncing the name that I am sure trembled all the time on her lips.
“You are astonished that in a tranquil village like this a complicated drama could have been enacted, such as would seem possible only in the crowded cities of London and Paris. When fate thus attacks, by chance as it were, a little corner so sheltered by hedges and trees, I am reminded of those spent balls which during a battle kill a laborer at work in the fields, or a child returning from school. I think if we had not had little Cιcile, my wife would have died with her daughter. Her life from that hour was one long silence, full of regrets and self-reproach.
“But it was necessary to bring up this child, and to keep her in ignorance of the circumstances of her birth. This was a matter of difficulty; it is true that we were relieved of her father, who died a few months after his condemnation. Unfortunately, several persons knew the whole story; and we wished to preserve Cιcile from all the gossip she would hear if she associated with other children. You saw how solitary her life was. Thanks to this precaution, she to-day knows nothing of the tempest that surrounded her birth; for not one of the kind people about us would utter one word which would give her reason to suspect that there was any mystery. My wife, however, was always in dread of some childish questions from Cιcile. But I had other fears: who could be certain that the child of my child did not inherit from her father some of his vices? I acknowledge to you, Jack, that for years I dreaded seeing her father’s characteristics in Cιcile; I dreaded the discovery of deceit and falsehood; but what joy it has been to me to find that the child is the perfected image of her mother! She has the same tender and half-sad smile, the same candid eyes, and lips that can say No.
“Meanwhile the future alarmed me: my granddaughter must some day learn the truth, and that truth must be divulged if she should ever marry.
“‘She must never love any one,’ said her grandmother.
“If this were possible, would it be wise to pass through life without a protector? Her destiny must be united with a fate as exceptional as her own. Such a one could hardly be found in our village, and in Paris we knew no one. It was about the time when these anxieties occupied our minds that your mother came to this place. She was supposed to be the wife of D’Argenton, but the forester’s wife told me the real circumstances. I said to myself instantly, ‘This boy ought to be Cιcile’s husband;’ and from that time I attended to your education.
“I looked forward to the time that you, a man grown, would come to me and ask her hand. This was the reason, of course, that I was so indignant when D’Argenton sent you to Indret. I said to myself, however, Jack may emerge from this trial in triumph. If he studies, if he works with his head as well as his hands, he may still be worthy of the wife I wish to give him. The letters that we received from you were all that they should be, and I ventured to indulge the hope I have named. Suddenly came the intelligence of the robbery. Ah, my friend, how terrified I was! how I bemoaned the weakness of your mother, and the tyranny of the monster who had driven you to evil courses! I respected, nevertheless, the tender affection that existed toward you in the heart of my little girl, I had not the courage to undeceive her. We talked of you constantly until the day when I told her that I had seen you at the forester’s. If you could have seen the light in her eyes, and how busy she was all day! a sign with her always of some excitement, as if her heart beating too quickly needed something, either a pen or a needle, to regulate its movements.