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GONTRAN made an admirable fiance, as I courteous as he was assiduous. With the aid of Andermatt’s purse, he made presents to everyone; and he constantly visited the young girl, either at her own house, or that of Madame Honorat. Paul nearly always accompanied him now, in order to have the opportunity of meeting Charlotte, saying to himself, after each visit, that he would see her no more. She had bravely resigned herself to her sister’s marriage, and she referred to it with apparent unconcern, as if it did not cause her the slightest anxiety. Her character alone seemed a little altered, more sedate, less open. While Gontran was talking soft nothings to Louise in a half-whisper in a corner, Bretigny conversed with her in a serious fashion, and allowed himself to be slowly vanquished, allowed this fresh love to inundate his soul like a flowing tide. He knew what was happening to him, and gave himself up to it, thinking: “Bah! when the moment arrives. I will make my escape — that’s all.”

When he left her, he would go up to see Christiane, who now lay from morning till night stretched on a long chair. At the door, he could not help feeling nervous and irritated, prepared beforehand for those light quarrels to which weariness gives birth. All that she said, all that she was thinking of, annoyed him, even ere she had opened her lips. Her appearance of suffering, her resigned attitude, her looks of reproach and of supplication, made words of anger rise to his lips, which he repressed through good-breeding; and, even when by her side, he kept before his mind the constant memory, the fixed image, of the young girl whom he had just quitted.

As Christiane, tormented with seeing so little of him, overwhelmed him with questions as to how he spent his days, he invented stories, to which she listened attentively, seeking to find out whether he was thinking of some other woman. The powerlessness which she felt in herself to keep a hold on this man, the powerlessness to pour into him a little of that love with which she was tortured, the physical powerlessness to fascinate him still, to give herself to him, to win him back by caresses, since she could not regain him by the tender intimacies of love, made her suspect the worst, without knowing on what to fix her fears.

She vaguely realized that some danger was lowering over her, some great unknown danger. And she was filled with undefined jealousy, jealousy of everything — of women whom she saw passing by her window, and whom she thought charming, without even having any proof that Bretigny had ever spoken to them.

She asked of him: “Have you noticed a very pretty woman, a brunette, rather tall, whom I saw a little while ago, and who must have arrived here within the past few days?”

When he replied, “No, I don’t know her,” she at once jumped to the conclusion that he was lying, turned pale, and went on: “But it is not possible that you have not seen her. She appears to me very beautiful.”

He was astonished at her persistency. “I assure you I have not seen her. I’ll try to come across her.”

She thought: “Surely it must be she!” She felt persuaded, too, on certain days, that he was hiding some intrigue in the locality, that he had sent for his mistress, an actrcss perhaps. And she questioned everybody, her father, her brother, and her husband, about all the women young and desirable, whom they observed in the neighborhood of Enval. If only she could have walked about, and seen for herself, she might have reassured herself a little; but the almost complete loss of motion which her condition forced upon her now made her endure an intolerable martyrdom.

When she spoke to Paul, the tone of her voice alone revealed her anguish, and intensified his nervous impatience with this love, which for him was at an end. He could no longer talk quietly about anything with her save the approaching marriage of Gontran, a subject which enabled him to pronounce Charlotte’s name, and to give vent to his thoughts aloud about the young girl. And it was a mysterious source of delight to him even to hear Christiane articulating that name, praising the grace and all the qualities of this little maiden, compassionating her, regretting that her brother should have sacrificed her, and expressing a desire that some man, some noble heart, should appreciate her, love her, and marry her.

He said: “Oh! yes, Gontran acted foolishly there. She is perfectly charming, that young girl.”

Christiane, without any misgiving, echoed: “Perfectly charming. She is a pearl! a piece of perfection!”

Never had she thought that a man like Paul could love a little maid like this, or that he would be likely to marry her. She had no apprehensions save of his mistresses. And it was a singular phenomenon of the heart that praise of Charlotte from Christiane’s lips assumed in his eyes an extreme value, excited his love, whetted his desire, and surrounded the young girl with an irresistible attraction.

Now, one day, when he called at Madame Honorat’s house to meet there the Oriol girls, they found Doctor Mazelli installed there as if he was at home. He stretched forth both hands to the two young men, with that Italian smile of his, which seemed to give away his entire heart with every word and every movement.

Gontran and he were linked by a friendship at once familiar and futile, made up of secret affinities, of hidden likenesses, of a sort of confederacy of instincts, rather than any real affection or confidence.

The Comte asked: “What about your little blonde of the Sans-Souci wood?”

The Italian smiled: “Bah! we are on terms of indifference toward one another. She is one of those women who offer everything and give nothing.”

And they began to chat. The handsome physician performed certain offices for the young girls, especially for Charlotte. When addressing women, he manifested a perpetual adoration in his voice, his gestures, and his looks. His entire person, from head to foot, said to them, “I love you” with an eloquence in his attitude which never failed to win their favor. He displayed the graces of an actress, the light pirouettes of a danseuse, the supple movements of a juggler, an entire science of seduction natural and acquired, of which he constantly made use.

Paul, when returning to the hotel with Gontran, exclaimed in a tone of sullen vexation: “What does this charlatan come to that house for?”

The Comte replied quietly: “How can you ever tell when dealing with such adventurers? These sort of people slip in everywhere. This fellow must be tired of his vagabond existence, and of giving way to every caprice of his Spaniard, of whom he is rather the valet than the physician — and perhaps something more. He is looking about him. Professor Cloche’s daughter was a good catch — he has failed with her, he says. The second of the Oriol girls would not be less valuable to him. He is making the attempt, feeling his way, smelling about, sounding. He would become co-proprietor of the waters, would try to knock over that idiot, Latonne, would in any case get an excellent practice here every summer for himself, which would last him over the winter. Faith! this is his plan exactly — no doubt of it!”

A dull rage, a jealous animosity, was aroused in Paul’s heart. A voice exclaimed: “Hey! hey!” It was Mazelli, who had overtaken them. Bretigny said to him, with aggressive irony: “Where are you rushing so quickly, doctor? One would say that you were pursuing fortune.” The Italian smiled, and, without stopping, but skipping backward, he plunged, with a mimic’s graceful movement, his hands into his two pockets, quickly turned them out and showed them, both empty, holding them wide between two fingers by the ends of the seams. Then he said: “I have not got hold of it yet.” And, turning on his toes, he rushed away like a man in a great hurry.

They found him again several times, on the following days, at Doctor Honorat’s house, where he made himself useful to the three ladies by a thousand graceful little services, by the same clever tactics which he had no doubt adopted when dealing with the Duchess. He knew how to do everything to perfection, from paying compliments to making macaroni. He was, moreover, an excellent cook, and protecting himself from stains by means of a servant’s blue apron, and wearing a chef’s cap made of paper on his head, while he sang Neapolitan ditties in Italian, he did the work of a scullion, without appearing a bit ridiculous, amusing and fascinating everybody, down to the half-witted housekeeper, who said of him: “He is a marvel!”

His plans were soon obvious, and Paul no longer had any doubt that he was trying to get Charlotte to fall in love with him. He seemed to be succeeding in this. He was so profuse of flattery, so eager, so artful in striving to please, that the young girl’s face had, when she looked at him, that air of contentment which indicates that the heart is gratified.

Paul, in his turn, without being even able to account to himself for his conduct, assumed the attitude of a lover, and set himself up as a rival. When he saw the doctor with Charlotte, he would come on the scene, and, with his more direct manner, exert himself to win the young girl’s affections. He showed himself straigthforward and sympathetic, fraternal, devoted, repeating to her, with the sincerity of a friend, in a tone so frank that one could scarcely see in it an avowal of love: “I am very fond of you; cheer up!”

Mazelli, astonished at this unexpected rivalry, had recourse to all his powers of captivation; and, when Bretigny, bitten with jealousy, that naïve jealousy which takes possession of a man when he is dealing with any woman, even without being in love with her, provided only he has taken a fancy to her — when, filled with this natural violence, he became aggressive and haughty, the other, more pliant, always master of himself, replied with sly allusions, witticisms, well-turned and mocking compliments.

It was a daily warfare which they both waged fiercely, without either of them perhaps having a well-defined object in view. They did not want to give way, like two dogs who have gained a grip of the same quarry.

Charlotte had recovered her good humor, but along with it she now exhibited a more biting waggery, a certain sphinxlike attitude, less candor in her smile and in her glance. One would have said that Gontran’s desertion had educated her, prepared her for possible deceptions, disciplined, and armed her.

She played off her two admirers against one another in a sly and dexterous fashion, saying to each of them what she thought necessary, without letting the one fall foul of the other, without ever letting the one suppose that she preferred the other, laughing slightly at each of them in turn in the presence of his rival, leaving them an equal match without appearing even to take either of them seriously. But all this was done simply, in the manner of a schoolgirl rather than in that of a coquette, with that mischievous air exhibited by young girls which sometimes renders them irresistible.

Mazelli, however, seemed suddenly to be having the advantage. He had apparently become more intimate with her, as if a secret understanding had been established between them. While talking to her, he played lightly with her parasol and with one of the ribbons of her dress, which appeared to Paul, as it were, an act of moral possession, and exasperated him so much that he longed to box the Italian’s ears.

But, one day, at Père Oriol’s house, while Bretigny was chatting with Louise and Gontran, and, at the same time, keeping his eye fixed on Mazelli, who was telling Charlotte in a subdued voice some things that made her smile, he suddenly saw her blush with such an appearance of embarrassment as to leave no doubt for one moment on his mind that the other had spoken of love. She had cast down her eyes, and ceased to smile, but still continued listening; and Paul, who felt disposed to make a scene, said to Gontran: “Will you have the goodness to come out with me for five minutes?”

The Comte made his excuses to his betrothed, and followed his friend.

When they were in the street, Paul exclaimed: “My dear fellow, this wretched Italian must, at any cost, be prevented from inveigling this girl, who is defenseless against him.”

“What do you wish me to do?”

“To warn her of the fact that he is an adventurer.”

“Hey, my dear boy, those things are no concern of mine.”

“After all, she is to be your sister-in-law.”

“Yes, but there is nothing to show me conclusively that Mazelli has guilty designs upon her. He exhibits the same gallantry toward all women, and he has never said or done anything improper.”

“Well, if you don’t want to take it on yourself, I’ll do it, although it concerns me less assuredly than it does you.”

“So then you are in love with Charlotte?”

“I? No — but I see clearly through this blackguard’s game.”

“My dear fellow, you are mixing yourself up in matters of a delicate nature, and — unless you are in love with Charlotte— “

“No — I am not in love with her — but I am hunting down imposters, that’s what I mean!”

“May I ask what you intend to do?”

“To thrash this beggar.”

“Good! the best way to make her fall in love with him. You fight with him, and whether he wounds you, or you wound him, he will become a hero in her eyes.”

“What would you do then?”

“In your place?”

“In my place.”

“I would speak to the girl as a friend. She has great confidence in you. Well, I would say to her simply in a few words what these hangers-on of society are. You know very well how to say these things. You possess an eloquent tongue. And I would make her understand, first, why he is attached to the Spaniard; secondly, why he attempted to lay siege to Professor Cloche’s daughter; thirdly, why, not having succeeded in this effort, he is striving, in the last place, to make a conquest of Mademoiselle Charlotte Oriol.”

“Why do you not do that, yourself, who will be her brother-in-law?”

“Because — because — on account of what passed between us — come! I can’t.”

“That’s quite right. I am going to speak to her.”

“Do you want me to procure for you a private conversation with her immediately?”

“Why, yes, assuredly.”

“Good! Walk about for ten minutes. I am going to carry off Louise and Mazelli, and, when you come back, you will find the other alone.”

Paul Bretigny rambled along the side of the Enval gorges, thinking over the best way of opening this difficult conversation.

He found Charlotte Oriol alone, indeed, on his return, in the cold, whitewashed parlor of the paternal abode; and he said to her, as he sat down beside her: “It is I, Mademoiselle, who asked Gontran to procure me this interview with you.”

She looked at him with her clear eyes: “Why, pray?”

“Oh! it is not to pay you insipid compliments in the Italian fashion. It is to speak to you as a friend —— as a very devoted friend, who owes you good advice.”

“Tell me what it is.”

He took up the subject in a roundabout style, dwelt upon his own experience, and upon her inexperience, so as to lead gradually by discreet but explicit phrases to a reference to those adventurers who are everywhere going in quest of fortune, taking advantage with their professional skill of every ingenuous and good-natured being, man or woman, whose purses or hearts they explored.

She turned rather pale as she listened to him.

Then she said: “I understand and I don’t understand. You are speaking of some one — of whom?”

“I am speaking of Doctor Mazelli.”

Then, she lowered her eyes, and remained a few seconds without replying; after this, in a hesitating voice: “You are so frank that I will be the same with you. Since — since my sister’s marriage has been arranged, I have become a little less — a little less stupid! Well, I had already suspected what you tell me — and I used to feel amused of my own accord at seeing him coming.”

She raised her face to his as she spoke, and in her smile, in her arch look, in her little retroussé nose, in the moist and glittering brilliancy of her teeth which showed themselves between her lips, so much open-hearted gracefulness, sly gaiety, and charming frolicsomeness appeared that Bretigny felt himself drawn toward her by one of those tumultuous transports which flung him distracted with passion at the feet of the woman who was his latest love. And his heart exulted with joy because Mazelli had not been preferred to him. So then he had triumphed.

He asked: “You do not love him, then?”

“Whom? Mazelli?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him with such a pained expression in her eyes that he felt thrown off his balance, and stammered, in a supplicating voice: “What? — you don’t love — anyone?”

She replied, with a downward glance: “I don’t know — I love people who love me.”

He seized the young girl’s two hands, all at once, and kissing them wildly in one of those moments of impulse in which the head loses its controlling power, and the words which rise to the lips come from the excited flesh rather than the wandering mind, he faltered:

“I! — I love you, my little Charlotte; yes, I love you!”

She quickly drew away one of her hands, and placed it on his mouth, murmuring: “Be silent! — be silent, I beg of you! It would cause me too much pain if this were another falsehood.”

She stood erect; he rose up, caught her in his arms, and embraced her passionately.

A sudden noise parted them; Père Oriol had just come in, and he was gazing at them, quite scared. Then, he cried: “Ah! bougrrre! ah! bougrrre! ah! bougrrre of a savage!”

Charlotte had rushed out, and the two men remained face to face. After some seconds of agitation, Paul made an attempt to explain his position.

“My God! Monsieur — I have conducted myself — it is true — like a— “

But the old man would not listen to him. Anger, furious anger, had taken possession of him, and he advanced toward Bretigny, with clenched fists, repeating:

“Ah! bougrrre of a savage— “

Then, when they were nose to nose, he seized Paul by the collar with his knotted peasant’s hands.

But the other, as tall, and strong with that superior strength acquired by the practice of athletics, freed himself with a single push from the countryman’s grip, and, pushing him up against the wall:

“Listen, Père Oriol, this is not a matter for us to fight about, but to settle quietly. It is true, I was embracing your daughter. I swear to you that this is the first time — and I swear to you, too, that I desire to marry her.”

The old man, whose physical excitement had subsided under the assault ot his adversary, but whose anger had not yet been calmed, stuttered:

“Ha! that’s how it is! You want to steal my daughter; you want my money. Bougrrre of a deceiver!” Thereupon, he allowed all that was on his mind to escape from him in a heap of grumbling words. He found no consolation for the dowry promised with his elder girl, for his vinelands going into the hands of these Parisians. He now had his suspicions as to Gontran’s want of money, Andermatt’s craft, and, without forgetting the unexpected fortune which the banker brought him, he vented his bile and his secret rancor against those mischievous people who did not let him sleep any longer in peace.

One would have thought that his family and his friends were coming every night to plunder him, to rob him of everything, his lands, his springs, and his daughters. And he cast these reproaches into Paul’s face, accusing him also of wanting to get hold of his property, of being a rogue, and of taking Charlotte in order to have his lands.

The other, soon losing all patience, shouted under his very nose: “Why, I am richer than you, you infernally currish old donkey. I would bring you money.”

The old man listened in silence to these words, incredulous but vigilant, and then, in a milder tone, he renewed his complaints.

Paul then answered him and entered into explanations; and, believing that an obligation was imposed on him, owing to the circumstances under which he had been surprised, and for which he was solely responsible, he proposed to marry the girl without asking for any dowry.

Père Oriol shook his head and his ears, heard Paul reiterating his statements, but was unable to understand. To him this young man seemed still a pauper, a penniless wretch.

And, when Bretigny, exasperated, yelled, in his teeth: “Why, you old rascal, I have an income of more than a hundred and twenty thousand francs a year — do you understand? — three millions,” the other suddenly asked: “Will you write that down on a piece of paper?”

“Yes, I will write it down!”

“And you’ll sign it?”

“Yes, I will sign it.”

“On a sheet of notary’s paper?”

“Yes, certainly — on a sheet of notary’s paper!” Thereupon, he rose up, opened a press, took out of it two leaves marked with the Government stamp, and, seeking for the undertaking which Andermatt, a few days before, had required from him, he drew up an odd promise of marriage, in which it was made a condition that the fiancé vouched for his being worth three millions; and, at the end of it Bretigny affixed his signature.

When Paul found himself in the open air once more, he felt as if the earth no longer turned round in the same way. So then, he was engaged, in spite of himself, in spite of her, by one of those accidents, by one of those tricks of circumstance, which shut out from you every point of escape. He muttered: “What madness!” Then he reflected: “Bah! I could not have found better perhaps in all the world!” And in his secret heart he rejoiced at this snare of destiny.