Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins. Эжен Сю

and when he raised it again, after a minute or two, he was as pale as death.

      Madame de Beaumesnil motioned the marquis to seat himself in an armchair near the bedside, saying as she did so, in a grave but affectionate voice:

      "I fear my moments even are numbered, M. de Maillefort, and I shall therefore endeavour to make this interview as brief as possible."

      The marquis silently took the seat designated by the countess, who added:

      "My note must have surprised you."

      "Yes, madame."

      "But kind and generous as ever, you hastened to comply with my request."

      The marquis bowed, and, in a voice full of emotion, the countess went on:

      "M. de Maillefort, you have loved me devotedly," she said.

      The hunchback started visibly, and gazed at the countess with mingled dismay and astonishment.

      "Do not be surprised that I should have discovered a secret that no one else has even suspected," continued the countess, "for love, true love, always betrays itself to the person loved."

      "So you knew," stammered the hunchback.

      "I knew all," replied the countess, extending her ice-cold hand to M. de Maillefort, who pressed it reverently, while tears which he could no longer repress streamed down his cheeks.

      "Yes, I knew all," continued the countess, "your noble, though carefully concealed, devotion, and the suffering so heroically endured."

      "You knew all?" repeated M. de Maillefort, hesitatingly; "you knew all, and yet your greeting was always kind and gracious when we chanced to meet. You knew all, and yet I never detected a mocking smile upon your lips or a gleam of disdainful pity in your eye."

      "M. de Maillefort," the countess answered, with touching dignity, "it is in the name of the love you have borne me, it is in the name of the affectionate esteem with which your character has always inspired me, that I now, at the hour of death, beg that you will allow me to entrust to your keeping the interests I hold most dear."

      "Forgive me, madame, forgive me," said the marquis, with even greater emotion, "for having even for an instant fancied that a heart like yours could scorn or ridicule an unconquerable but carefully concealed love. Speak on, madame, I believe I am worthy of the confidence you show in me."

      "M. de Maillefort, this night will be my last."

      "Madame!"

      "I am not deceiving myself. It is only by a strong effort of will and a powerful stimulant that I have managed to hold death at bay for several hours past. Listen, then, for, as I just told you, my moments are numbered."

      The hunchback dried his tears and listened with breathless attention.

      "You have heard of the frightful accident of which M. de Beaumesnil was the victim. By reason of his death – and mine – my daughter Ernestine will soon be an orphan in a strange land, with no one to care for her but a governess. Nor is this all. Ernestine is an angel of goodness and ingenuousness, but she is exceedingly timid. Tenderly guarded both by her father and myself, she is as ignorant of the world as only a sixteen-year-old girl who has been jealously watched over by her parents, and who naturally prefers quiet and simplicity, can be. On some accounts one might suppose that I need feel no anxiety in regard to her future, for she will be the richest heiress in France, but I cannot overcome my uneasiness when I think of the persons who will probably have charge of my daughter when I am gone, for it is M. and Madame de la Rochaiguë who, as her nearest relatives, will doubtless be selected as her guardians. This being the case, you can easily understand my apprehensions, I think."

      "It would, indeed, be desirable that your daughter should have more judicious guardians, but Mlle. de Beaumesnil is sixteen. Her minority will not last long; besides, the persons to whom you allude are erratic and ridiculous rather than dangerous."

      "I know that, still, Ernestine's hand will be so strongly coveted – I have already had convincing proofs of that" – added Madame de Beaumesnil, remembering her confessor's persistent efforts in M. de Macreuse's behalf, "the poor child will be the victim of such persecution that I shall not feel entirely reassured unless she has a faithful and devoted friend of superior character, willing and capable of guiding her in her choice. Will you be this faithful friend to my child, M. de Maillefort? Consent, I beseech you, and I shall leave the world satisfied that my daughter's lot in life will be as happy as it will be brilliant."

      "I will endeavour to be such a friend to your daughter, madame. Everything that I can do for her, I will do."

      "Ah, I can breath freely now, I no longer feel any anxiety in regard to Ernestine. I know what such a promise means from you, M. de Maillefort," exclaimed the countess, her face beaming with hope and serenity.

      But almost immediately a consciousness of increasing weakness, together with other unfavourable symptoms, convinced Madame de Beaumesnil that her end was fast approaching. Her countenance, which had beamed for a moment with the hope and serenity M. de Maillefort's promise had inspired, became troubled again, and in a hurried, almost entreating voice, she continued:

      "But this is not all, M. de Maillefort, I have a still greater favour to ask of you. Aided by your counsels, my daughter Ernestine will be as happy as she is rich. Her future is as bright and as well assured as any person's can be, but it is very different concerning the future of a poor but noble-hearted creature, whom – I – I wish that you – "

      Madame de Beaumesnil paused. Say more she dared not – could not.

      Though she had resolved to tell M. de Maillefort the secret of Herminie's birth, in the hope of ensuring her child the protection of this generous man, she shrank from the shame of such a confession, – a confession which would also have been a violation of the solemn oath she had taken years before, and faithfully kept.

      The marquis, seeing her hesitate, said, gently:

      "What is it, madame? Will you not be kind enough to tell me what other service I can render you? Do you not know that you can depend upon me as one of the most devoted of your friends?"

      "I know that! I know that!" gasped Madame de Beaumesnil, "but I dare not – I am afraid – "

      The marquis, deeply touched by her distress, endeavoured to make it easier for her to prefer her request by saying:

      "When you checked yourself just now, madame, you were speaking, I think, of the uncertain future of a poor but noble-hearted creature. Who is she? And in what way can I be of service to her?"

      Overcome with grief and increasing weakness, Madame de Beaumesnil buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears; then, after a brief silence, riveting her weeping eyes on the marquis, and endeavouring to appear more calm, she said, brokenly:

      "Yes, you might be of the greatest possible service to a poor girl – worthy in every respect – of your interest, for she, too, is an orphan – a most unfortunate orphan, – for she is both friendless and penniless, but, oh, so brave, and so proud! In short, she is an angel," cried the countess, with a vehemence at which M. de Maillefort marvelled greatly. "Yes," continued Madame de Beaumesnil, sobbing violently, "Yes, she is an angel of courage and of virtue, and it is for this angel that I ask the same fatherly interest I asked for my daughter Ernestine. Oh, M. de Maillefort, do not refuse my request, I beseech you!"

      The excitement and embarrassment Madame de Beaumesnil manifested in speaking of this orphan, together with the almost frenzied appeal in her behalf, excited the Marquis de Maillefort's profound astonishment.

      For a moment he was too amazed to speak; then, all of a sudden, he started violently, for a terrible suspicion darted through his mind. He recollected some of the scandalous (up to this time he had always styled them infamous) reports, which had been rife in former years, concerning Madame de Beaumesnil, and which he had avenged by challenging M. de Mornand that very day.

      Could it be that there had really been a foundation for these rumours? Was this orphan, in whom Madame de Beaumesnil seemed to take such a profound interest, bound to the countess by a secret tie? Was she, indeed, the child of her shame?

      But almost immediately