"You forget, madame, the danger your son is in at this moment; which can, perhaps, be averted only by Monsieur de Portenduere's desire to please me. If he knew that you had made me these unworthy proposals that danger might not be escaped. Besides, let me tell you, madame, that I shall be far happier in the moderate circumstances to which you allude than I should be in the opulence with which you are trying to dazzle me. For reasons hitherto unknown, but which will yet be made known, Monsieur Minoret, by persecuting me in an odious manner, strengthened the affection that exists between Monsieur de Portenduere and myself--which I can now admit because his mother has blessed it. I will also tell you that this affection, sanctioned and legitimate, is life itself to me. No destiny, however brilliant, however lofty, could make me change. I love without the possibility of changing. It would therefore be a crime if I married a man to whom I could take nothing but a soul that is Savinien's. But, madame, since you force me to be explicit, I must tell you that even if I did not love Monsieur de Portenduere I could not bring myself to bear the troubles and joys of life in the company of your son. If Monsieur Savinien made debts, you have often paid those of your son. Our characters have neither the similarities nor the differences which enable two persons to live together without bitterness. Perhaps I should not have towards him the forbearance a wife owes to her husband; I should then be a trial to him. Pray cease to think of an alliance of which I count myself quite unworthy, and which I fell I can decline without pain to you; for with the great advantages you name to me, you cannot fail to find some girl of better station, more wealth, and more beauty than mine."
"Will you swear to me," said Zelie, "to prevent these young men from taking that journey and fighting that duel?"
"It will be, I foresee, the greatest sacrifice that Monsieur de Portenduere can make to me, but I shall tell him that my bridal crown must have no blood upon it."
"Well, I thank you, cousin, and I can only hope you will be happy."
"And I, madame, sincerely wish that you may realize all your expectations for the future of your son."
These words struck a chill to the heart of the mother, who suddenly remembered the predictions of Ursula's last dream; she stood still, her small eyes fixed on Ursula's face, so white, so pure, so beautiful in her mourning dress, for Ursula had risen too to hasten her so-called cousin's departure.
"Do you believe in dreams?" said Zelie.
"I suffer from them too much not to do so."
"But if you do--" began Zelie.
"Adieu, madame," exclaimed Ursula, bowing to Madame Minoret as she heard the abbe's entering step.
The priest was surprised to find Madame Minoret with Ursula. The uneasiness depicted on the thin and wrinkled face of the former post mistress induced him to take note of the two women.
"Do you believe in spirits?" Zelie asked him.
"What do you believe in?" he answered, smiling.
"They are all sly," thought Zelie,--"every one of them! They want to deceive us. That old priest and the old justice and that young scamp Savinien have got some plan in their heads. Dreams! no more dreams than there are hairs on the palm of my hand."
With two stiff, curt bows she left the room.
"I know why Savinien went to Fontainebleau," said Ursula to the abbe, telling him about the duel and begging him to use his influence to prevent it.
"Did Madame Minoret offer you her son's hand?" asked the abbe.
"Yes."
"Minoret has no doubt confessed his crime to her," added the priest.
Monsieur Bongrand, who came in at this moment, was told of the step taken by Zelie, whose hatred to Ursula was well known to him. He looked at the abbe as if to say: "Come out, I want to speak to you of Ursula without her hearing me."
"Savinien must be told that you refused eighty thousand francs a year and the dandy of Nemours," he said aloud.
"Is it, then, a sacrifice?" she answered, laughing. "Are there sacrifices when one truly loves? Is it any merit to refuse the son of a man we all despise? Others may make virtues of their dislikes, but that ought not to be the morality of a girl brought up by a de Jordy, and the abbe, and my dear godfather," she said, looking up at his portrait.
Bongrand took Ursula's hand and kissed it.
"Do you know what Madame Minoret came about?" said the justice as soon as they were in the street.
"What?" asked the priest, looking at Bongrand with an air that seemed merely curious.
"She had some plan for restitution."
"Then you think--" began the abbe.
"I don't think, I know; I have the certainty--and see there!"
So saying, Bongrand pointed to Minoret, who was coming towards them on his way home.
"When I was a lawyer in the criminal courts," continued Bongrand, "I naturally had many opportunities to study remorse; but I have never seen any to equal that of this man. What gives him that flaccidity, that pallor of the cheeks where the skin was once as tight as a drum and bursting with the good sound health of a man without a care? What has put those black circles round his eyes and dulled their rustic vivacity? Did you ever expect to see lines of care on that forehead?
Who would have supposed that the brain of that colossus could be excited? The man has felt his heart! I am a judge of remorse, just as you are a judge of repentance, my dear abbe. That which I have hitherto observed has developed in men who were awaiting punishment, or enduring it to get quits with the world; they were either resigned, or breathing vengeance; but here is remorse without expiation, remorse pure and ******, fastening on its prey and rending him."
The judge stopped Minoret and said: "Do you know that Mademoiselle Mirouet has refused your son's hand?"
"But," interposed the abbe, "do not be uneasy; she will prevent the duel."
"Ah, then my wife succeeded?" said Minoret. "I am very glad, for it nearly killed me."
"You are, indeed, so changed that you are no longer like yourself," remarked Bongrand.
