Читать книгу The Third Estate - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 9

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The name of M. de Rochefort was like water on the fire of his emotion.

It recalled to him instantly the falsity of his position, the obstacles and difficulties before him, and the recklessness of his own action, both in regard to Eugénie and himself. It also roused all his rage and jealousy.

'You must swear to me never to marry M. de Rochefort,' he said roughly.

'Oh, never,' she answered with conviction. 'Oh, never, never indeed.'

For her the young Duke did not exist; he was not even a personality. His projected marriage with her did not trouble her, it was too remote, too absurd. She could and would refuse at every cost.

'But you?' she added, questioning his silence. 'You and Pélagie?'

He rose from the bench and crossed to the wall. Eugénie sat watching him; she realised the insecurity and the danger of her position. At any moment someone might come upon them; it was even possible that the gardener, having safely pocketed his fee, might inform at the house of this secret interview.

But Eugénie would sooner face whatever might come than alarm her lover by reminding him of their danger; she did not wish in any way to distract him from herself.

He raised his eyes to look at her, leaning his shoulder against the wall, in the attitude of a man exhausted.

'Speak to me!' cried Eugénie.

'What shall I say to you? Swear to me not to even see M. de Rochefort.'

'Oh, God!' exclaimed the girl desperately. 'Why should you say that to me? I do not even think of M. de Rochefort!'

'Nor of any other man?'

'Nor of any other man! Why do you torture me, you know it!'

'But I want to hear you say so.'

'There is no need for your jealousy,' she answered. 'If my faith was our only trouble we should be happy indeed.'

He returned to his seat beside her and took her hands in his.

'Wear a higher gown, Eugénie, and longer sleeves—you are not for the eyes of others.' He suddenly bent and kissed her wrist with a violence that left the red mark of his teeth on the white flesh.

'I do not know your name,' whispered Eugénie, shivering. 'Donatien,' he answered, absorbed, looking at her hand and turning it about.

'What are you going to do?' she stammered.

He raised his dark eyes, now brooding and thoughtful, from the contemplation of her hand; something in his look both frightened and fascinated her.

'What are you going to do with me?' she asked again. 'I do not know,' he answered.

Her instincts of honour and rectitude urged her to use a name that she knew hateful to both of them.

'You must break with Pélagie—this is not fair to her—' Pélagie can marry M. de Rochefort,' he said, with a sudden smile.

Eugénie was thankful for this palliative for her conscience. 'Indeed and it would be most pleasant,' she said eagerly. 'He seemed to me like Pélagie, grave and good.'

And she tried to forget her sister's words of happiness that were faintly sounding, like an echo, in her heart.

'And I am neither. I am not good, Eugénie,' said the Marquis. 'What have you heard about me?' he added suddenly.

'Heard about you. What should I have heard? I have been at a school in Artois. Madame keeps us very quiet, and as soon as Pélagie's marriage was talked of we were sent away. Madame always spoke of you as—brilliant'

'A brilliant match for us,' she would have said, but for sudden shame.

'And now, what are you going to do?' she added.

'Leave it all to me, Eugénie, I will do everything. I only ask you to love me.'

He rose with sudden energy.

'This must end,' he continued. 'Trust in me. Eugénie, tell me I have all your trust, all your faith.'

'All, all!' She rose also and stood facing him.

'It is enough,' he said. 'I have seen you, I have heard you, I have held you in my arms.'

He turned towards the little door by which he had entered.

'Ah, must you go!' she cried. She clung to him now, bold at the thought of losing him, and holding up her lovely face, flushed with passion and tenderness.

But he put her aside.

'Nay, there is much to do—one kiss, one only, dear.' He kissed her forehead as he spoke.

'Ah, you are cold,' she cried desperately. 'I shall soon be forgotten.'

'I shall never forget you. I will not kiss you now—you are mine, it is enough—useless to light the lamp of love for nothing—think of me continually until we meet again. Goodbye, my beloved.'

She followed him to the narrow door against which she leant, all her beauty radiant, tempting him to stay.

He took her face between his hands and kissed her again; then, as he was leaving her, he took out the purple stone from his pocket and put it in her hand.

'Look at that and think of me,' he said, and hurried away. Eugénie turned back into the garden, bewildered, distraught.

He had said that he was hers—that this affection was for ever, the strongest thing in his life. She tried to recall his every word; he loved her—loved her as she had never dreamt to be loved, as she had never imagined men could, or did, love.

She stared at the purple gem he had given her, kissed it and slipped it into the bosom of her dress, then hurried across the garden and into the house.

She saw nothing of her sister or mother. She went quickly to her own room and locked the door, flung herself face downwards on her bed, drew the dark gleaming jewel from her dress and pressed it to her lips.

Meanwhile, de Sarcey returned to his hôtel, half wondering and half resentful about this emotion which had only been intensified by this second sight of Eugénie, and which was more intense and more absorbing than he had imagined any feeling could be.

When he reached his house he found a communication ordering him join his regiment at Versailles by the next day; the disorders were growing in that town, all efforts to dislodge or ignore the Assembly of M. de Mirabeau had proved unavailing, and the famous chevaux légers were needed at their post.

M. de Sarcey cared nothing about the troubles and tumults at Versailles; he scarcely knew their cause or object. One face only rose before him—this would mean separation from Eugénie; he had only a few hours in Paris, and then he must leave, perhaps for a considerable time.

And meanwhile the Haultpennes would be sending out the porte-claquette with the announcement of his betrothal to Pélagie and arranging a marriage between Eugénie and M. de Rochefort.

The Marquis violently cursed M. de Mirabeau and his intolerable company of agitators, also the weakness of the Government that had allowed things to come to this pass. But his rage did not help the Marquis; his hand was forced and he knew it; he must take a step he had not wished to take—at least so immediately. The Haultpennes were afraid of him, and he had never, in all his life, been afraid of anyone. He gave his orders for the journey to Versailles on the morrow, and sent a valet round to M. le Président with a message to say that he would wait on him that afternoon.

Then he flung himself on his bed, worn out, in much the same position that Eugénie lay on hers, and fell asleep, dreaming much the same dreams.

At the hour he had named, M. de Sarcey arrived at the rue Neuve du Luxembourg and was at once ushered into the private room of M. de Haultpenne. He seated himself without ceremony, his hat and his cane in his hand, and looked at M. le Président.

That gentleman was never alone with his future son-in-law without feeling overawed and slightly uncomfortable. He received M. de Sarcey with exaggerated courtesy. He had been at some pains to keep the appointment, because he really was due at a sitting of the Courts but he said nothing of this, but expressed himself as flattered by the visit.

He did not add that it surprised him; he had thought that everything had been settled yesterday, even to the date for the marriage.

The Marquis turned his full dark eyes on him.

'I have come, Monsieur,' he said abruptly, 'to speak of my proposed marriage.'

M. le Président bent his head.

'I am ordered to Versailles,' continued the Marquis, 'immediately. I leave to-morrow, and this affair must be settled before I go.' He spoke without embarrassment, without feeling any.

'I am at your service,' said M. le Président courteously, almost humbly.

'First of all,' said the Marquis, 'I wish you to suspend the sending out of the porte-claquette with the announcement of the marriage.'

M. de Haultpenne looked at him sharply.

'I am sorry for that, Monseigneur. Madame my wife sent off the announcement this very morning.'

'Madame was in a vast hurry,' said the Marquis, his face clouding with instant impatience. 'I am sorry that she should have been so hasty.'

'So hasty, Monseigneur? What reason was there for delay?' He started, rather alarmed by the haughty face of M. de Sarcey.

Was not everything settled yesterday?' he added.

'I believe so. But there must be an alteration in the contract I signed.'

M. le Président looked relieved.

'An alteration!' he answered readily. 'Why, anything—in reason, in my power,' he added, with sudden caution, for it occurred to him that the Marquis might be wishing to extort more money, and more than the huge sums he had already settled on Pélagie, M. de Haultpenne could not afford without stripping himself altogether.

The Marquis divined his fear.

'It is not about the settlements that I wished to speak,' he said, expressing himself with the frank haughtiness that was almost insolence, 'but on another, matter.'

'Another matter!' echoed M. le Président, staring at him. 'Does that surprise you?'

'I confess I cannot imagine what this matter can be.'

'It may amaze you.'

The Marquis leant back in his chair, his legs crossed, his hand, half-hidden in lace, resting on his cane, his dark eyes fixed on M. de Haultpenne, with an expression which seemed to say that he did not care if that person was amazed or not.

M. le Président looked back at him doubtfully. An always lurking fear of this magnificent noble whom he had bought for his daughter sprang suddenly into life; some of the stories that he had heard of M. de Sarcey, things that he had tried lately to forget, flashed through his mind.

'You must enlighten me, Monseigneur,' he said, rather tremulously.

'I will make myself brief, Monsieur le Président. I am pressed for time.'

M. de Sarcey did not change his position nor lower his eyes.

'I wish you to change the name of the lady in that paper,' he said. 'I wish to marry Mademoiselle Eugénie instead of her sister.'