13Ever since Mascarin's visit, the Count de Mussidan had been in adeplorable state of mind. Forgetting the injury to his foot, he passedthe night pacing up and down the library, cudgelling his brains forsome means of breaking the meshes of the net in which he wasentangled. He knew the necessity for immediate action, for he feltsure that this demand would only be the forerunner of numerous othersof a similar character. He thought over and dismissed many schemes.
Sometimes he had almost decided to go to the police authorities andmake a clean breast; then the idea of placing the affair in the handsof a private detective occurred to him; but the more he deliberated,the more he realized the strength of the cord that bound him, and thescandal which exposure would cause. This long course of thought had insome measure softened the bitterness of his wrath, and he was able toreceive his old friend M. de Clinchain with some degree of calmness.
He was not at all surprised at the receipt of the anonymous letter,--indeed, he had expected that a blow would be struck in that direction.
Still immersed in thought, M. de Mussidan hardly took heed of hiswife's presence, and he still paced the room, uttering a string ofbroken phrases. This excited the attention of the Countess, for herown threatened position caused her to be on the alert.
"What is annoying you, Octave?" asked she. "Surely, not M. deClinchain's attack of indigestion?"For many years the Count had been accustomed to that taunting andsarcastic voice, but this feeble joke at such a moment was more thanhe could endure.
"Don't address me in that manner," said he angrily.
"What is the matter--are you not well?""Madame!""Will you have the kindness to tell me what has taken place?"The color suffused the Count's face, and his rage burst forth the morefuriously from his having had to suppress it so long; and coming to ahalt before the chair in which the Countess was lounging, his eyesblazing with hate and anger, he exclaimed,--"All I wish to tell you is, that De Breulh-Faverlay shall not marryour daughter."Madame de Mussidan was secretly delighted at this reply, for it showedher that half the task required of her by Dr. Hortebise had beenaccomplished without her interference; but in order to act cautiously,she began at once to object, for a woman's way is always at first tooppose what she most desires.
"You are laughing at me, Count!" said she. "Where can we hope to findso good a match again?""You need not be afraid," returned the Count, with a sneer; "you shallhave another son-in-law."These words sent a pang through the heart of the Countess. Was it anallusion to the past? or had the phrase dropped from her husband'slips accidentally? or had he any suspicion of the influence that hadbeen brought to bear upon her? She, however, had plenty of courage,and would rather meet misfortune fact to face than await its coming indread.
"Of what other son-in-law are you speaking?" asked she negligently.
"Has any other suitor presented himself? May I ask his name? Do youintend to settle my child's future without consulting me?""I do, madame."A contemptuous smile crossed the face of the Countess, which goadedthe Count to fury.
"Am I not the master here?" exclaimed he in accents of intense rage.
"Am I not driven to the exercise of my power by the menaces of a packof villains who have wormed out the hidden secrets which haveovershadowed my life from my youth upward? They can, if they desire,drag my name through the mire of infamy."Madame de Mussidan bounded to her feet, asking herself whether herhusband's intellect had not given way.
"You commit a crime!" gasped she.
"I, madame, I myself! Does that surprise you? Have you never had anysuspicion? Perhaps you have not forgotten a fatal accident which tookplace out shooting, and darkened the earlier years of our marriedlife? Well, the thing was not an accident, but a deliberate murdercommitted by me. Yes, I murdered him, and this fact is known, and canbe proved."The Countess grew deadly pale, and extended her hand, as though toguard herself from some coming danger.
"You are horrified, are you?" continued the Count, with a sneer.
"Perhaps I inspire you with horror; but do not fear; the blood is nolonger on my hands, but it is here, and is choking me." And as hespoke he pressed his fingers upon his heart. "For twenty-three years Ihave endured this hideous recollection and even now when I wake in thenight I am bathed in cold sweat, for I fancy I can hear the last gaspsof the unhappy man.""This is horrible, too horrible!" murmured Madame de Mussidan faintly.
"Ah, but you do not know why I killed him,--it was because the deadman had dared to tell me that the wife I adored with all the passionof my soul was unfaithful to me."Words of eager denial rose to the lips of the Countess; but herhusband went on coldly, "And it was all true, for I heard all lateron.
"Poor Montlouis! /he/ was really loved. There was a little shop-girl,who toiled hard for daily bread, but she was a thousand times morehonorable than the haughty woman of noble race that I had justmarried.""Have mercy, Octave.""Yes, and she fell a victim to her love for Montlouis. Had he lived,he would have made her his wife. After his death, she could no longerconceal her fault. In small towns the people are without mercy; andwhen she left the hospital with her baby at her breast, the womenpelted her with mud. But for me," continued the Count, "she would havedied of hunger. Poor girl! I did not allow her much, but with it shemanaged to give her son a decent education. He has now grown up, andwhatever happens, his future is safe."Had M. de Mussidan and his wife been less deeply engaged in thishideous recital, they would have herd the stifled sobs that came fromthe adjoining room.
The Count felt a certain kind of savage pleasure in venting the rage,that had for years been suppressed, upon the shrinking woman beforehim. "Would it not be a cruel injustice, madame, to draw a comparisonbetween you and this unhappy girl? Have you always been deaf to thewhisperings of conscience? and have you never thought of the futurepunishment which most certainly awaits you? for you have failed in theduties of daughter, wife, and mother."Generally the Countess cared little for her husband's reproaches, welldeserved as they might be, but to-day she quailed before him.
"With your entrance into my life," continued the Count, "came shameand misfortune. When people saw you so gay and careless under the oak-trees of your ancestral home, who could have suspected that your heartcontained a dark secret? When my only wish was to win you for my wife,how did I know that you were weaving a hideous conspiracy against me?
Even when so young, you were a monster of dissimulation and hypocrisy.
Guilt never overshadowed your brow, nor did falsehood dim thefrankness of your eyes. On the day of our marriage I mentallyreproached myself for any unworthiness. Wretched fool that I was, Iwas happy beyond all power of expression, when you, madame, completedthe measure of your guilt by adding infidelity to it.""It is false," murmured the Countess. "You have been deceived."M. de Mussidan laughed a grim and terrible laugh.
"Not so," answered he; "I have every proof. This seems strange to you,does it? You have always looked upon me as one of those foolishhusbands that may be duped without suspicion on their parts. Youthought that you had placed a veil over my eyes, but I could seethrough it when you little suspected that I could do so. Why did I nottell you this before? Because I had not ceased to love you, and thisfatal love was stronger than all honor, pride, and even self-respect."He poured out this tirade with inconceivable rapidity, and theCountess listened to it in awe-struck silence. "I kept silence,"continued the Count, "because I knew that on the day I uttered thetruth you would be entirely lost to me. I might have killed you; I hadevery right to do so, but I could not live apart from you. You willnever know how near the shadow of death has been to you. When I havekissed you, I have fancied that your lips were soiled with the kissesof others, and I could hardly keep my hands from clutching your ivoryneck until life was extinct, and failed utterly to decide whether Iloved you or hated you the most.""Have mercy, Octave! have mercy!" pleaded the unhappy woman.
"You are surprised, I can see," answered he, with a dark smile; "yet Icould give you further food for wonder if I pleased, but I have saidenough now."A tremor passed over the frame of the Countess. Was her husbandacquainted with the existence of the letters? All hinged upon this. Hecould not have read them, or he would have spoken in very differentterms, had he known the mystery contained in them.
"Let me speak," began she.
"Not a word," replied her husband.
"On my honor--""All is ended; but I must not forget to tell you of one of my youthfulfollies. You may laugh at it, but that signifies nothing. I actuallybelieved that I could gain your affection. I said to myself that oneday you would be moved by my deep passion for you. I was a fool. As iflove or affection could ever penetrate the icy barriers that guardedyour heart.""You have no pity," wailed she.
He gazed upon her with eyes in which the pent-up anger of twenty yearsblazed and consumed slowly. "And you, what are you? I drained to thebottom the poisoned cup held out to a deceived husband by anunfaithful wife. Each day widened the breach between us, until at lastwe sank into this miserable existence which is wearing out my life. Ikept no watch on you; I was not made for a jailer. What I wanted wasyour soul and heart. To imprison the body was easy, but your soulwould still have been free to wander in imagination to the meeting-place where your lover expected you. I know not how I had the courageto remain by your side. It was not to save an honor that had alreadygone, but merely to keep up appearances; for as long as we werenominally together the tongue of scandal was forced to remain silent."Again the unhappy woman attempted to protest her innocence, and againthe Count paid no heed to her. "I wished too," resumed he, "to savesome portion of our property, for your insatiable extravaganceswallowed up all like a bottomless abyss. At last your trades-people,believing me to be ruined, refused you credit, and this saved me. Ihad my daughter to think of, and have gathered together a rich dowryfor her, and yet----" he hesitated, and ceased speaking for a moment.
"And yet," repeated Madame de Mussidan.
"I have never kissed her," he burst forth with a fresh and terribleexplosion of wrath, "without feeling a hideous doubt as to whether shewas really my child."This was more than the Countess could endure.
"Enough," she cried, "enough! I have been guilty, Octave; but not soguilty as you imagine.""Why do you venture to defend yourself?""Because it is my duty to guard Sabine.""You should have thought of this earlier," answered the Count with asneer. "You should have moulded her mind--have taught her what wasnoble and good, and have perused the unsullied pages of the book ofher young heart."In the deepest agitation the Countess answered,--"Ah, Octave, why did you not speak of this sooner, if you knew all;but I will now tell you everything."By an inconceivable error of judgment the Count corrected her speech.
"Spare us both," said he. "If I have broken through the silence that Ihave maintained for many a year, it is because I knew that no word youcould utter would touch my heart."Feeling that all hope had fled, Madame de Mussidan fell backward uponthe couch, while Sabine, unable to listen to any more terriblerevelations, had crept into her own chamber. The Count was about toleave the drawing-room, when a servant entered, bearing a letter on asilver salver. De Mussidan tore it open; it was from M. de Breulh-Faverlay, asking to be released from his engagement to Sabine deMussidan. This last stroke was almost too much for the Count's nerves,for in this act he saw the hand of the man who had come to him withsuch deadly threats, and terror filled his soul as he thought of thefar-stretching arm of him whose bondslave he found himself to be; butbefore he could collect his thoughts, his daughter's maid went intothe room crying with all her might, "Help, help; my poor mistress isdying!"