Two years after Mme. du Bousquier’s marriage, just at the time of the Abbé’s death, Mlle. Armande went up to her as she came out of church. Both women had been to St. Leonard’s to hear a messe noire said for M. de Sponde; and Mlle. Armande, a generous-natured woman, thinking that she ought to try to comfort the weeping heiress, walked with her as far as the Parade. From the Parade, still talking of the beloved and lost, they came to the forbidden Hôtel d’Esgrignon, and Mlle. Armande drew Mme. du Bousquier into the house by the charm of her talk. Perhaps the poor brokenhearted woman loved to speak of her uncle with someone whom her uncle had loved so well. And besides, she wished to receive the old Marquis’ greetings after an interval of nearly three years. It was half-past one o’clock; the Chevalier de Valois had come to dinner, and with a bow he held out both hands.
“Ah! well, dear, good, and well-beloved lady,” he said tremulously, “we have lost our sainted friend. Your mourning is ours. Yes; your loss is felt as deeply here as under your roof—more deeply,” he added, alluding to du Bousquier.
A funeral oration followed, to which everyone contributed his phrase; then the Chevalier, gallantly taking the lady’s hand, drew it under his arm, pressed it in the most adorable way, and led her aside into the embrasure of a window.
“You are happy, at any rate?” he asked with a fatherly tone in his voice.
“Yes,” she said, lowering her eyes.
Hearing that “Yes,” Mme. de Troisville (daughter of the Princess Scherbelloff) and the old Marquise de Castéran came up; Mlle. Armande also joined them, and the group took a turn in the garden till dinner should be ready. Mme. du Bousquier was so stupid with grief that she did not notice that a little conspiracy of curiosity was on foot among the ladies.
“We have her here, let us find out the answer to the riddle,” the glances exchanged among them seemed to say.
“You should have children to make your happiness complete,” began Mlle. Armande, “a fine boy like my nephew—”
Tears came to Mme. du Bousquier’s eyes.
“I have heard it said that it was entirely your own fault if you had none,” said the Chevalier, “that you were afraid of the risk.”
“I!,” she cried, innocently; “I would endure a hundred years in hell to have a child.”
The subject thus broached, Mme. la Vicomtesse de Troisville and the dowager Marquise de Castéran steered the conversation with such exceeding tact, that they entangled poor Rose until, all unsuspectingly, she revealed the secrets of her married life. Mlle. Armande laid her hand on the Chevalier’s arm, and they left the three matrons to talk confidentially. Then Mme. du Bousquier’s mind was disabused with regard to the deception of her marriage; and as she was still “a natural,” she amused her confidantes with her irresistible naivete. Before long the whole town was in the secret of du Bousquier’s manoeuvres, and knew that Mlle. Cormon’s marriage was a mockery; but after the first burst of laughter, Mme. du Bousquier gained the esteem and sympathy of every woman in it. While Mlle. Cormon rushed unsuccessfully at opportunities of establishing herself, everyone had laughed; but people admired her when they knew the position in which she was placed by the severity of her religious principles. “Poor, dear Mlle. Cormon!” was replaced by “poor Mme. du Bousquier!”
In this way the Chevalier made du Bousquier both ridiculous and very unpopular for a while, but the ridicule died down with time; the slander languished when everybody had cut his joke; and besides, it seemed to many persons that the mute Republican had a right to retire at the age of fifty-seven. But if du Bousquier previously hated the Maison d’Esgrignon, this incident so increased his rancor that he was pitiless afterwards in the day of vengeance. Mme. du Bousquier received orders never to set foot in that house again; and by way of reprisals, he inserted the following paragraph in the Orne Courier, his own new paper:
“A Reward of rente to bring in a thousand francs will be paid to any person who shall prove that one M. de Pombreton existed either before or after the Emigration.”
Though Mme. du Bousquier’s happiness was essentially negative, she saw that her marriage had its advantages. Was it not better to take an interest in the most remarkable man in the place than to live alone? After all, du Bousquier was better than the dogs, cats, and canaries on which old maids centre their affections; and his feeling for his wife was something more genuine and disinterested than the attachment of servants, confessors, and legacy-hunters. At a still later period she looked upon her husband as an instrument in God’s hands to punish her for the innumerable sins which she discovered in her desires for marriage; she regarded herself as justly rewarded for the misery which she had brought on Mme. Granson, and for hastening her own uncle’s end. Obedient to a religious faith which bade her kiss the rod, she praised her husband in public; but in the confessional, or over her prayers at night, she often wept and entreated God to pardon the apostate who said one thing and thought another, who wished for the destruction of the order of nobles and the Church, the two religions of the Maison Cormon. Living in an uncongenial atmosphere, compelled to suppress herself, compelled likewise by a sense of duty to make her husband happy, and to injure him in nothing, she became attached to him with an indefinable affection, perhaps the result of use and wont. Her life was a perpetual contradiction. She felt the strongest aversion
