“How?”
“Well, you must be angry; you must say, ‘I thought you loved and valued me; but you have ceased to care for me; you feel no jealousy—,’ but you know it all, chapter and verse.—‘Under such circumstances Maxime’ (drag me in) ‘would kill his man on the spot’ (and cry). ‘And Fabien’ (make him ashamed of himself by comparing him with Fabien)—‘Fabien would have a dagger ready to stab you to the heart. That is what I call love! There, go! Goodnight, goodbye! Take back your house; I am going to marry Fabien. He will give me his name, he will! He has thrown over his old mother!’—In short, you—”
“Of course, of course! I will be magnificent!” cried Madame Schontz. “Ah, Maxime! There will never be but one Maxime, as there never was but one de Marsay.”
“La Palférine is greater than I,” said de Trailles modestly. “He is getting on famously.”
“He has a tongue, but you have backbone and a grip. How many people have you kept going! How many have you doubled up!”
“La Palférine has every qualification; he is deep and well informed, while I am ignorant,” replied Maxime.—“I have seen Rastignac, who came to terms at once with the Keeper of the Seals. Fabien will be made President of the Court and officer of the Legion of Honor after a year’s probation.”
“I will take up religion,” replied Madame Schontz, emphasizing the phrase so as to win an approving look from Maxime.
“Priests are worth a hundred of us!” said Maxime.
“Really?” said Aurélie. “Then I may find someone to talk to in a country town.—I have begun my part. Fabien has already told his mother that grace has dawned on me, and he has bewitched the good woman with my million and his Presidency; she agrees that we are to live with her; she asked for a portrait of me, and has sent me hers; if Love were to look at it, he would fall backwards.—Go then, Maxime; I will demolish the poor man this evening. It goes to my heart.”
Two days later la Palférine and Maxime met at the door of the Jockey-Club.
“It is done,” said Charles-Édouard.
The words, containing a whole horrible and terrible drama, such as vengeance often carries out, made the Comte de Trailles smile.
“We shall have all de Rochefide’s jeremiads,” said Maxime, “for you and Aurélie have finished together. Aurélie has turned Arthur out of doors, and now we must get hold of him. He is to give three hundred thousand francs to Madame du Ronceret and return to his wife. We will prove to him that Béatrix is superior to Aurélie.”
“We have at least ten days before us,” said Charles-Édouard sapiently, “and not too much in all conscience; for now I know the Marquise, and the poor man will be handsomely fleeced.”
“What will you do when the bomb bursts?”
“We can always be clever when we have time to think it out; I am grand when I am able to prepare for it.”
The two gamblers went into the drawing-room together, and found the Marquis de Rochefide looking two years older; he had no stays on; he had sacrificed his elegance; his beard had grown.
“Well, my dear Marquis?” said Maxime.
“Oh, my dear fellow, my life is broken …” and for ten minutes Arthur talked, and Maxime gravely listened; he was thinking of his marriage, which was to take place a week hence.
“My dear Arthur, I advised you of the only means I knew of to keep Aurélie, and you did not choose …”
“What means?”
“Did I not advise you to go to supper with Antonia?”
“Quite true.—How can I help it? I love her.—And you, you make love as Grisier fences.”
“Listen to me, Arthur; give her three hundred thousand francs for her little house, and I promise you I will find you something better. I will speak to you again of the unknown fair one by and by; I see d’Ajuda, who wants to say two words to me.”
And Maxime left the inconsolable man to talk to the representative of the family needing consolation.
“My dear fellow,” said the other Marquis in an undertone, “the Duchess is in despair; Calyste has quietly packed up and procured a passport. Sabine wants to follow the fugitives, catch Béatrix, and claw her. She is expecting another child; and the whole thing looks rather murderous, for she has gone quite openly and bought pistols.”
“Tell the Duchess that Madame de Rochefide is not going, and within a fortnight the whole thing will be settled. Now, d’Ajuda, your hand on it? Neither you nor I have said anything or known anything. We shall admire the effects of chance—”
“The Duchess has already made me swear secrecy on the Gospels and the Cross.”
“You will receive my wife a month hence?”
“With pleasure.”
“Everybody will be satisfied,” replied Maxime. “Only warn the Duchess that something is about to happen which will delay her departure for Italy for six weeks; it concerns Monsieur du Guénic. You will know all about it later.”
“What is it?” asked d’Ajuda, who was looking at la Palférine.
“Socrates said before his death, ‘We owe a cock to Aesculapius.’ But your brother-in-law will be let off for the comb,” replied la Palférine without hesitation.
For ten days Calyste endured the burden of a woman’s anger, all the more implacable because it was seconded by a real passion. Béatrix felt that form of love so roughly but truly described to the Duchess by Maxime de Trailles. Perhaps there is no highly organized being that does not experience this overwhelming passion once in a lifetime. The Marquise felt herself quelled by a superior force, by a young man who was not impressed by her rank, who, being of as noble birth as herself, could look at her with a calm and powerful eye, and from whom her greatest feminine efforts could scarcely extract a smile of admiration. Finally, she was crushed by a tyrant, who always left her bathed in tears, deeply hurt, and believing herself wronged. Charles-Édouard
