第 35 页

with them, at once went into the former's private room to smoke a cigar

there and chat in freedom. As the door remained wide open, one could

hear their gruff voices more or less distinctly. Meantime, General de

Bozonnet, delighted to find in Madame Fonsegue a serious, submissive

person, who listened without interrupting, began to tell her a very long

story of an officer's wife who had followed her husband through

every battle of the war of 1870. Then Hyacinthe, who took no

coffee--contemptuously declaring it to be a beverage only fit for

door-keepers--managed to rid himself of Rosemonde, who was sipping some

kummel, in order to come and whisper to his sister: "I say, it was very

stupid of you to taunt mamma in the way you did just now. I don't care a

rap about it myself. But it ends by being noticed, and, I warn you

candidly, it shows ill breeding."

Camille gazed at him fixedly with her black eyes. "Pray don't _you_

meddle with my affairs," said she.

At this he felt frightened, scented a storm, and decided to take

Rosemonde into the adjoining red drawing-room in order to show her a

picture which his father had just purchased. And the General, on being

called by him, likewise conducted Madame Fonsegue thither.

The mother and daughter then suddenly found themselves alone and face to

face. Eve was leaning on a pier-table, as if overcome; and indeed, the

least sorrow bore her down, so weak at heart she was, ever ready to weep

in her naive and perfect egotism. Why was it that her daughter thus hated

her, and did her utmost to disturb that last happy spell of love in which

her heart lingered? She looked at Camille, grieved rather than irritated;

and the unfortunate idea came to her of making a remark about her dress

at the very moment when the girl was on the point of following the others

into the larger drawing-room.

"It's quite wrong of you, my dear," said she, "to persist in dressing

like an old woman. It doesn't improve you a bit."

As Eve spoke, her soft eyes, those of a courted and worshipped handsome

woman, clearly expressed the compassion she felt for that ugly, deformed

girl, whom she had never been able to regard as a daughter. Was it

possible that she, with her sovereign beauty, that beauty which she

herself had ever adored and nursed, making it her one care, her one

religion--was it possible that she had given birth to such a graceless

creature, with a dark, goatish profile, one shoulder higher than the

other, and a pair of endless arms such as hunchbacks often have? All her

grief and all her shame at having had such a child became apparent in the

quivering of her voice.

Camille, however, had stopped short, as if struck in the face with a

whip. Then she came back to her mother and the horrible explanation began

with these simple words spoken in an undertone: "You consider that I

dress badly? Well, you ought to have paid some attention to me, have seen

that my gowns suited your taste, and have taught me your secret of

looking beautiful!"

Eve, with her dislike of all painful feeling, all quarrelling and bitter

words, was already regretting her attack. So she sought to make a

retreat, particularly as time was flying and they would soon be expected

downstairs: "Come, be quiet, and don't show your bad temper when all

those people can hear us. I have loved you--"

But with a quiet yet terrible laugh Camille interrupted her. "You've

loved me! Oh! my poor mamma, what a comical thing to say! Have you ever

loved _anybody_? You want others to love _you_, but that's another

matter. As for your child, any child, do you even know how it ought to be

loved? You have always neglected me, thrust me on one side, deeming me so

ugly, so unworthy of you! And besides, you have not had days and nights

enough to love yourself! Oh! don't deny it, my poor mamma; but even now

you're looking at me as if I were some loathsome monster that's in your

way."

From that moment the abominable scene was bound to continue to the end.

With their teeth set, their faces close together, the two women went on

speaking in feverish whispers.

"Be quiet, Camille, I tell you! I will not allow such language!"

"But I won't be quiet when you do all you can to wound me. If it's wrong

of me to dress like an old woman, perhaps another is rather ridiculous in

dressing like a girl, like a bride."

"Like a bride? I don't understand you."

"Oh! yes, you do. However, I would have you know that everybody doesn't

find me so ugly as you try to make them believe."

"If you look amiss, it is because you don't dress properly; that is all I

said."

"I dress as I please, and no doubt I do so well enough, since I'm loved

as I am."

"What, really! Does someone love you? Well, let him inform us of it and

marry you."

"Yes--certainly, certainly! It will be a good riddance, won't it? And

you'll have the pleasure of seeing me as a bride!"

Their voices were rising in spite of their efforts to restrain them.

However, Camille paused and drew breath before hissing out the words:

"Gerard is coming here to ask for my hand in a day or two."

Eve, livid, with wildly staring eyes, did not seem to understand.

"Gerard? why do you tell me that?"

"Why, because it's Gerard who loves me and who is going to marry me! You

drive me to extremities; you're for ever repeating that I'm ugly; you

treat me like a monster whom nobody will ever care for. So I'm forced to

defend myself and tell you the truth in order to prove to you that

everybody is not of your opinion."

Silence fell; the frightful thing which had risen between them seemed to

have arrested the quarrel. But there was neither mother nor daughter left

there. They were simply two suffering, defiant rivals. Eve in her turn

drew a long breath and glanced anxiously towards the adjoining room to

ascertain if anyone were coming in or listening to them. And then in a

tone of resolution she made answer:

"You cannot marry Gerard."

"Pray, why not?"

"Because I won't have it; because it's impossible."

"That isn't a reason; give me a reason."

"The reason is that the marriage is impossible that is all."

"No, no, I'll tell you the reason since you force me to it. The reason is

that Gerard is your lover! But what does that matter, since I know it and

am willing to take him all the same?"

And to this retort Camille's flaming eyes added the words: "And it is

particularly on that account that I want him." All the long torture born

of her infirmities, all her rage at having always seen her mother

beautiful, courted and adored, was now stirring her and seeking vengeance

in cruel triumph. At last then she was snatching from her rival the lover

of whom she had so long been jealous!

"You wretched girl!" stammered Eve, wounded in the heart and almost

sinking to the floor. "You don't know what you say or what you make me

suffer."

However, she again had to pause, draw herself erect and smile; for

Rosemonde hastened in from the adjoining room with the news that she was

wanted downstairs. The doors were about to be opened, and it was

necessary she should be at her stall. Yes, Eve answered, she would be

down in another moment. Still, even as she spoke she leant more heavily

on the pier-table behind her in order that she might not fall.

Hyacinthe had drawn near to his sister: "You know," said he, "it's simply

idiotic to quarrel like that. You would do much better to come

downstairs."

But Camille harshly dismissed him: "Just _you_ go off, and take the

others with you. It's quite as well that they shouldn't be about our

ears."

Hyacinthe glanced at his mother, like one who knew the truth and

considered the whole affair ridiculous. And then, vexed at seeing her so

deficient in energy in dealing with that little pest, his sister, he

shrugged his shoulders, and leaving them to their folly, conducted the

others away. One could hear Rosemonde laughing as she went off below,

while the General began to tell Madame Fonsegue another story as they

descended the stairs together. However, at the moment when the mother and

daughter at last fancied themselves alone once more, other voices reached

their ears, those of Duvillard and Fonsegue, who were still near at hand.

The Baron from his room might well overhear the dispute.

Eve felt that she ought to have gone off. But she had lacked the strength

to do so; it had been a sheer impossibility for her after those words

which had smote her like a buffet amidst her distress at the thought of

losing her lover.

"Gerard cannot marry you," she said; "he does not love you."

"He does."

"You fancy it because he has good-naturedly shown some kindness to you,

on seeing others pay you such little attention. But he does not love

you."

"He does. He loves me first because I'm not such a fool as many others

are, and particularly because I'm young."

This was a fresh wound for the Baroness; one inflicted with mocking

cruelty in which rang out all the daughter's triumphant delight at seeing

her mother's beauty at last ripening and waning. "Ah! my poor mamma, you

no longer know what it is to be young. If I'm not beautiful, at all

events I'm young; my eyes are clear and my lips are fresh. And my hair's

so long too, and I've so much of it that it would suffice to gown me if I

chose. You see, one's never ugly when one's young. Whereas, my poor

mamma, everything is ended when one gets old. It's all very well for a

woman to have been beautiful, and to strive to keep so, but in reality

there's only ruin left, and shame and disgust."

She spoke these words in such a sharp, ferocious voice that each of them

entered her mother's heart like a knife. Tears rose to the eyes of the

wretched woman, again stricken in her bleeding wound. Ah! it was true,

she remained without weapons against youth. And all her anguish came from

the consciousness that she was growing old, from the feeling that love

was departing from her now, that like a fruit she had ripened and fallen

from the tree.

"But Gerard's mother will never let him marry you," she said.

"He will prevail on her; that's his concern. I've a dowry of two

millions, and two millions can settle many things."

"Do you now want to libel him, and say that he's marrying you for your

money?"

"No, indeed! Gerard's a very nice and honest fellow. He loves me and he's

marrying me for myself. But, after all, he isn't rich; he still has no

assured position, although he's thirty-six; and there may well be some

advantage in a wife who brings you wealth as well as happiness. For, you

hear, mamma, it's happiness I'm bringing him, real happiness, love that's

shared and is certain of the future."

Once again their faces drew close together. The hateful scene,

interrupted by sounds around them, postponed, and then resumed, was

dragging on, becoming a perfect drama full of murderous violence,

although they never shouted, but still spoke on in low and gasping

voices. Neither gave way to the other, though at every moment they were

liable to some surprise; for not only were all the doors open, so that

the servants might come in, but the Baron's voice still rang out gaily,

close at hand.

"He loves you, he loves you"--continued Eve. "That's what you say. But

_he_ never told you so."

"He has told me so twenty times; he repeats it every time that we are

alone together!"

"Yes, just as one says it to a little girl by way of amusing her. But he

has never told you that he meant to marry you."

"He told it me the last time he came. And it's settled. I'm simply

waiting for him to get his mother's consent and make his formal offer."

"You lie, you lie, you wretched girl! You simply want to make me suffer,

and you lie, you lie!"

Eve's grief at last burst forth in that cry of protest. She no longer

knew that she was a mother, and was speaking to her daughter. The woman,

the _amorosa_, alone remained in her, outraged and exasperated by a

rival. And with a sob she confessed the truth: "It is I he loves! Only

the last time I spoke to him, he swore to me--you hear me?--he swore upon

his honour that he did not love you, and that he would never marry you!"

A faint, sharp laugh came from Camille. Then, with an air of derisive

compassion, she replied: "Ah! my poor mamma, you really make me sorry for

you! What a child you are! Yes, really, you are the child, not I. What!

you who ought to have so much experience, you still allow yourself to be

duped by a man's protests! That one really has no malice; and, indeed,

that's why he swears whatever you want him to swear, just to please and

quiet you, for at heart he's a bit of a coward."

"You lie, you lie!"

"But just think matters over. If he no longer comes here, if he didn't

come to _dejeuner_ this morning, it is simply because he's had enough of

you. He has left you for good; just have the courage to realise it. Of

course he's still polite and amiable, because he's a well-bred man, and

doesn't know how to break off. The fact is that he takes pity on you."

"You lie, you lie!"

"Well, question him then. Have a frank explanation with him. Ask him his

intentions in a friendly way. And then show some good nature yourself,

and realise that if you care for him you ought to give him me at once in

his own interest. Give him back his liberty, and you will soon see that

I'm the one he loves."