The Clique of Gold by Emile Gaboriau (inspirational books .txt) 📖

her bitter grief; then she made an effort, and said in a pained voice,—

“Do you really tell me so, papa? What! you would bring another wife to this house, which is still alive with the voice of her whom we have lost? You would make her sit down in the chair in which she used to sit, and let her rest her feet on the cushion which she embroidered? Perhaps you would even want me to call her mamma? Oh, dear papa! surely you do not think of such profanation!”

The count’s trouble was pitiful to behold. And yet, if Henrietta had been less excited, she would have read in his eye that his mind was made up.

“What I mean to do is done in your behalf, my dear child,” he stammered out at last. “I am old; I may die; we have no near relations; what would become of you without a friend?”

She blushed crimson; but she said timidly,—

“But, papa, there is M. Daniel Champcey.”

“Well?”

The count’s eyes shone with delight as he saw that she was falling into the pit he had dug for her. The poor girl went on,—

“I thought—I had hoped—poor mamma had told me—in fact, since you had allowed M. Daniel to come here”—

“You thought I intended to make him my son-in-law?”

She made no answer.

“That was in fact the idea your mother had. She had certainly very odd notions, against which I had to use the whole strength of my firm will. A sailor is a sorry kind of husband, my dear child; a word from his minister may part him for years from his wife.”

Henrietta remained silent. She began to understand the nature of the bargain which her father proposed to her, and it made her indignant. He thought he had said enough for this time, and left her with these words,—

“Consider, my child; for my part, I will also think of it.”

What should she do? There were a hundred ways; but which to choose? Finding herself alone, she took a pen, and for the first time in her life she wrote to Daniel:—

“I must speak to you instantly. Pray come.

“Henrietta.”

She gave the letter to a servant, ordering him to carry it at once to its address; and then she waited in a state of feverish anxiety, counting the minutes.

Daniel Champcey had, in a house not far from the university, three rooms, the windows of which looked out upon the gardens of an adjoining mansion, where the flowers bloomed brilliantly, and the birds sang joyously. There he spent almost all the time which was not required by his official duties. A walk in company with his friend, Maxime de Brevan; a visit to the theatre, when a particularly fine piece was to be given; and two or three calls a week at Count Ville-Handry’s house,—these were his sole and certainly very harmless amusements.

“A genuine old maid, that sailor is,” said the concierge of the house.

The truth is, that, if Daniel’s natural refinement had not kept him from contact with what Parisians call “pleasure,” his ardent love for Henrietta would have prevented his falling into bad company. A pure, noble love, such as his, based upon perfect confidence in her to whom it is given, is quite sufficient to fill up a life; for it makes the present delightful, and paints the distant horizon of the future in all the bright colors of the rainbow.

But, the more he loved Henrietta, the more he felt bound to be worthy of her, and to deserve her affections. He was not ambitious. He had chosen a profession which he loved. He had a considerable fortune of his own, and was thus, by his private income and his pay as an officer, secured against want. What more could he desire? Nothing for himself.

But Henrietta belonged to a great house; she was the daughter of a man who had filled a high position; she was immensely rich; and, even if he had married her only with her own fortune, she would have brought him ten times as much as he had. Daniel did not want Henrietta, on the blessed day when she should become his own, to have any thing to wish for or to regret. Hence he worked incessantly, indefatigably, waking up every morning anew with the determination to make himself one of those names which weigh more than the oldest parchments, and to win one of those positions which make a wife as proud as she is fond of her husband. Fortunately, the times were favorable to his ambition. The French navy was in a state of transformation; but the marine was as yet unreformed, waiting, apparently, for the hand of a man of genius.

And why might not he be that man? Supported by his love, he saw nothing impossible in that thought, and fancied he could overcome all obstacles.

“Do you see that d—— little fellow, there, with his quiet ways?” said Admiral Penhoel to his young officers. “Well, look at him; he’ll checkmate you all.”

Daniel was busy in his study, finishing a paper for the minister, when the count’s servant came and brought him Henrietta’s letter. He knew that something extraordinary must have happened to induce Henrietta, with her usual reserve, to take such a step, and, above all, to write to him in such brief but urgent terms.

“Has any thing happened at the house?” he asked the servant.

“No, sir, not that I know.”

“The count is not sick?”

“No, sir.”

“And Miss Henrietta?”

“My mistress is perfectly well.”

Daniel breathed more freely.

“Tell Miss Henrietta I am coming at once; and make haste, or I shall be there before you.”

As soon as the servant had left, Daniel dressed, and a moment later he was out of the house. As he walked rapidly up the street in which the count lived, he thought,—

“I have no doubt taken the alarm too soon; perhaps she has only some commission for me.”

But he was beset with dark presentiments, and had to tell himself that that was not likely to be the case. He felt worse than ever, when, upon being shown into the drawing-room, he saw Henrietta sitting by the fire, deadly pale, with her eyes all red and inflamed from weeping.

“What is the matter with you?” he cried, without waiting for the door to be closed behind him. “What has happened?”

“Something terrible, M. Daniel.”

“Tell me, pray, what. You frighten me.”

“My father is going to marry again.”

At first Daniel was amazed. Then, recalling at once the gradual transformation of the count, he said,—