Mme. du Tillet rose with frigid dignity, for his words had terrified her. She rang, and a footman came.
“My horses,” she said. “And send Virginie; I wish to dress.”
“Where are you going?” said du Tillet.
“Men who have any manners do not question their wives. You profess to be a gentleman.”
“You have not been yourself for the last two days, since your flippant sister has twice been to see you.”
“You ordered me to be flippant,” she said. “I am practising on you.”
Gigonnet, who took no interest in family broils, saluted Mme. du Tillet and went out.
Du Tillet looked fixedly at his wife, whose eyes met his without wavering.
“What is the meaning of this?” he said.
“It means that I am no longer a child to be cowed by you,” she replied. “I am, and shall remain all my life, a faithful, attentive wife to you; you may be master if you like, but tyrant, no.”
Du Tillet left her, and Marie-Eugénie retired to her room, quite unnerved by such an effort.
“But for my sister’s danger,” she said to herself, “I should never have ventured to beard him thus; as the proverb says, ‘It’s an ill wind that blows no good.’ ”
During the night Mme. du Tillet again passed in review her sister’s confidences. Raoul’s safety being assured, her reason was no longer overpowered by the thought of this imminent danger. She recalled the alarming energy with which the Countess had spoken of flying with Nathan, in order to console him in his calamity if she could not avert it. She foresaw how this man, in the violence of his gratitude and love, might persuade her sister to do what to the well-balanced Eugénie seemed an act of madness. There had been instances lately in the best society of such elopements, which pay the price of a doubtful pleasure in remorse and the social discredit arising out of a false position, and Eugénie recalled to mind their disastrous results. Du Tillet’s words had put the last touch to her panic; she dreaded discovery; she saw the signature of the Comtesse de Vandenesse in the archives of the Nucingen firm and she resolved to implore her sister to confess everything to Félix.
Mme. du Tillet did not find the Countess next morning; but Félix was at home. A voice within called on Eugénie to save her sister. Tomorrow even might be too late. It was a heavy responsibility, but she decided to tell everything to the Count. Surely he would be lenient, since his honor was still safe and the Countess was not so much depraved as misguided. Eugénie hesitated to commit what seemed like an act of cowardice and treachery by divulging secrets which society, at one in this, universally respects. But then came the thought of her sister’s future, the dread of seeing her some day deserted, ruined by Nathan, poor, ill, unhappy, despairing; she hesitated no longer, and asked to see the Count. Félix, greatly surprised by this visit, had a long conversation with his sister-in-law, in the course of which he showed such calm and self-mastery that Eugénie trembled at the desperate steps he might be revolving.
“Don’t be troubled,” said Vandenesse; “I shall act so that the day will come when your sister will bless you. However great your repugnance in keeping from her the fact that you have spoken to me, I must ask you to give me a few days’ grace. I require this in order to see my way through certain mysteries, of which you know nothing, and above all to take my measures with prudence. Possibly I may find out everything at once! I am the only one to blame, dear sister. All lovers play their own game, but all women are not fortunate enough to see life as it really is.”
IX
A Husband’s Triumph
Mme. du Tillet left Vandenesse’s house somewhat comforted. Félix, on his part, went at once to draw forty thousand francs from the Bank of France, and then hastened to Mme. de Nucingen. He found her at home, thanked her for the confidence she had shown in his wife, and returned her the money. He gave, as the reason for this mysterious loan, an excessive almsgiving, on which he had wished to impose some limit.
“Do not trouble to explain, since Mme. de Vandenesse has told you about it,” said the Baronne de Nucingen.
“She knows all,” thought Vandenesse.
The Baroness handed him his wife’s guarantee and sent for the four bills. Vandenesse, while this was going on, scanned the Baroness with the statesman’s piercing eye; she flinched a little, and he judged the time had come for negotiating.
“We live, madame,” he said, “at a period when nothing is stable. Thrones rise and disappear in France with a disconcerting rapidity. Fifteen years may see the end of a great empire, of a monarchy, and also of a revolution. No one can take upon himself to answer for the future. You know my devotion to the legitimist party. Such words in my mouth cannot surprise you. Imagine a catastrophe: would it not be a satisfaction to you to have a friend on the winning side?”
“Undoubtedly,” she replied with a smile.
“Supposing such a case to occur, will you have in me, unknown to the world, a grateful friend, ready to secure for M. de Nucingen under these circumstances the peerage to which he aspires?”
“What do you ask from me?” she said.
“Not much. Only the facts in your possession about M. Nathan.”
The Baroness repeated her conversation of the morning with Rastignac, and said to the ex-peer of France, as she handed him the four bills which the cashier brought her:
“Don’t forget your promise.”
So far was Vandenesse from forgetting this magical promise, that he dangled it before the eyes of the Baron de Rastignac in order to extract from him further information.
On leaving the Baron, he dictated to a scrivener the following letter addressed to Florine:
“If Mlle. Florine wishes to know what
