A FALSE FRIEND.
Night had set in dark and cold.The sky, which had been clear till the sun went down, was now covered with gray and lurid clouds; a strong wind raised here and there, in circling eddies, the snow that was beginning to fall thick and fast.
The lamps threw a dubious light into the interior of Dr.Baleinier's carriage, in which he was seated alone with Adrienne de Cardoville.The charming countenance of the latter, faintly illumined by the lamps beneath the shade of her little gray hat, looked doubly white and pure in contrast with the dark lining of the carriage, which was now filled with that, sweet, delicious, and almost voluptuous perfume which hangs about the garments of young women of taste.The attitude of the girl, seated next to the doctor, was full of grace.Her slight and elegant figure, imprisoned in her high-necked dress of blue cloth, imprinted its wavy outline on the soft cushion against which she leaned; her little feet, crossed one upon the other, and stretched rather forward, rested upon a thick bear-skin, which carpeted the bottom of the carriage.In her hand, which was ungloved and dazzlingly white, she held a magnificently embroidered handkerchief, with which, to the great astonishment of M.
Baleinier, she dried her eyes, now filled with tears.
Yes; Adrienne wept, for she now felt the reaction from the painful scenes through which she had passed at Saint-Dizier House; to the feverish and nervous excitement, which had till then sustained her, had succeeded a sorrowful dejection.Resolute in her independence, proud in her disdain, implacable in her irony, audacious in her resistance to unjust oppression, Adrienne was yet endowed with the most acute sensibility, which she always dissembled, however, in the presence of her aunt and those who surrounded her.
Notwithstanding her courage, no one could have been less masculine, less of a virago, than Mdlle.Cardoville.She was essentially womanly, but as a woman, she knew how to exercise great empire over herself, the moment that the least mark of weakness on her part would have rejoiced or emboldened her enemies.
The carriage had rolled onwards for some minutes; but Adrienne, drying her tears in silence, to the doctor's great astonishment, had not yet uttered a word.
"What, my dear Mdlle.Adrienne?" said M.Baleinier, truly surprised at her emotion; "what! you, that were just now so courageous, weeping?"
"Yes," answered Adrienne, in an agitated voice; "I weep in presence of a friend; but, before my aunt--oh! never."
"And yet, in that long interview, your stinging replies "
"Ah me! do you think that I resigned myself with pleasure to that war of sarca**? Nothing is more painful to me than such combats of bitter irony, to which I am forced by the necessity of defending myself from this woman and her friends.You speak of my courage: it does not consist, I assure you, in the display of wicked feelings--but in the power to repress and hide all that I suffer, when I hear myself treated so grossly--in the presence, too, of people that I hate and despise--
when, after all, I have never done them any harm, and have only asked to be allowed to live alone, freely and quietly, and see those about me happy."
"That's where it is: they envy your happiness, and that which you bestow upon others."
"And it is my aunt," cried Adrienne, with indignation, "my aunt, whose whole life has been one long scandal that accuses me in this revolting manner!--as if she did not know me proud and honest enough never to make a choice of which I should be ashamed! Oh! if I ever love, I shall proclaim it, I shall be proud of it: for love, as I understand it, is the most glorious feeling in the world.But, alas!" continued Adrienne, with redoubled bitterness, "of what use are truth and honor, if they do not secure you from suspicions, which are as absurd as they are odious?" So saying, she again pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Come, my dear Mdlle.Adrienne," said M.Baleinier, in a voice full of the softest unction, "becalm--it is all over now.You have in me a devoted friend." As he pronounced these last words, he blushed in spite of his diabolical craft.
"I know you are my friend," said Adrienne: "I shall never forget that, by taking my part to-day, you exposed yourself to the resentment of my aunt-
-for I am not ignorant of her power, which is very great, alas! for evil."
"As for that," said the doctor, affecting a profound indifference, "we medical men are pretty safe from personal enmities."
"Nay, my dear M.Baleinier! Mme.de Saint-Dizier and her friends never forgive," said the young girl, with a shudder."It needed all my invincible aversion, my innate horror for all that is base, cowardly, and perfidious, to induce me to break so openly with her.But if death itself were the penalty, I could not hesitate and yet," she added, with one of those graceful smiles which gave such a charm to her beautiful countenance, "yet I am fond of life: if I have to reproach myself with anything, it is that I would have it too bright, too fair, too harmonious; but then, you know, I am resigned to my faults."
"Well, come, I am more tranquil," said the doctor, gayly; "for you smile-
-that is a good sign."
"It is often the wisest course; and yet, ought I smile, after the threats that my aunt has held out to me? Still, what can she do? what is the meaning of this kind of family council? Did she seriously think that the advice of a M.D'Aigrigny or a M.Tripeaud could have influenced me? And then she talked of rigorous measures.What measures can she take; do you know?"
"I think, between ourselves, that the princess only wished to frighten you, and hopes to succeed by persuasion.She has the misfortune to fancy herself a mother of the Church, and dreams of your conversion," said the doctor, maliciously, for he now wished to tranquillize Adrienne at any cost; "but let us think no more about it.Your fire eyes must shine with all their lustre, to fascinate the minister that we are going to see."
