Books: Serge Panine, v4
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Georges Ohnet >> Serge Panine, v4
"Why do you cry out when I speak of your kissing Jeanne? Whatever is the
matter?"
Micheline grasped her mother's arm, and pointed to Serge and Jeanne, who
were in the little drawing-room, laughing and talking, surrounded by a
group of people, yet alone.
"Look at them!" she cried.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed the mother in agony. She read the truth
in her daughter's eyes.
"You know--"she began.
"That he is her lover," cried Micheline, interrupting her. "Don't you
see that I am dying through it?" she added, sobbing bitterly and falling
into her mother's arms.
The mistress carried her as if she had been a child into Cayrol's private
office, and shut the door. Then, kneeling beside the couch on which
Micheline was stretched, she gave vent to her grief. She begged her
daughter to speak to her, and warmed her hands with kisses; then, seeing
her still cold and motionless, she was frightened, and wanted to call for
help.
"No; be quiet!" murmured Micheline, recovering. "Let no one know.
I ought to have held my peace; but I have suffered so much I could not
help myself.
"My life is blasted, you see. Take me away; save me from this infamy!
Jeanne, my sister, and Serge. Oh! make me forget it! For pity's sake,
mamma, you who are so strong, you who have always done what you wished,
take from my heart all the pain that is there!"
Madame Desvarennes, overcome by such a load of grief, lost command of
herself, and, quite brokenhearted, began to cry and moan.
"O God! Micheline, my poor child! you were suffering so and did not tell
me. Oh! I knew you no longer trusted your old mother. And I stupidly
did not guess it! I said to myself, at least she knows nothing about it,
and sacrificed everything to keep the knowledge of their wrong-doing from
you. Don't cry any more, darling, you will break my heart. I, who would
have given up everything in the world to see you happy! Oh, I have loved
you too much! How I am punished!"
"It is I who am punished," said Micheline, sobbing, "for not obeying you.
Ah! children ought always to heed their mother. She divines the danger.
Is it not too horrible, mamma? I, who have sacrificed everything for
him, to think that he does not love me, and never will love me! What
will my life be without confidence, hope, or affection? I am too
unhappy. It would be better to die!"
"Die! you!" cried her mother, whose eyes, wet with tears, dried in a
moment, as if by an inward fire. "Die! Come, don't talk such nonsense!
Because a man treats you with scorn and betrays you? Are men worth dying
for? No, you shall live, my darling, with your old mother. You shall
have a deed of separation from your husband."
"And he will be free," exclaimed Micheline, angrily. "He will go on
loving her! Oh! I cannot bear that thought. Do you know, what I am
going to tell you seems awful. I love him so much, that I would rather
see him dead than unfaithful."
Madame Desvarennes was struck, and remained silent. Serge dead! That
idea had already occurred to her as a dream of deliverance. It came upon
her peremptorily, violently, irresistibly. She repelled it with an
effort.
"I can never think of him but as vile and odious," continued Micheline.
"Every day his sin will seem more dastardly and his hypocrisy more base.
There, a little while ago, he was smiling; and do you know why? Because
Cayrol is going away, and during his absence Serge will return here
tonight."
"Who told you?"
"I read it in his joyful looks. I love him. He cannot hide anything
from me. A traitor to me, and a traitor toward his friend, that is the
man whom--I am ashamed to own it--I love!"
"Compose yourself! Someone is coming," said Madame Desvarennes, and at
the same time the door opened and Jeanne appeared, followed by Marechal,
who was anxious at their disappearance.
"Is Micheline ill?" inquired Madame Cayrol, coming forward.
"No; it is nothing. Just a little fatigue," said Madame Desvarennes.
"Marechal, give my daughter your arm, and take her to her carriage. I
shall be down in a minute."
And holding Jeanne by the hand to prevent her following Micheline, she
added:
"Stay; I have something to say to you."
Jeanne looked surprised. Madame Desvarennes was silent for a moment.
She was thinking about Serge coming there that night. She had only to
say one word to Cayrol to prevent his going away. The life of this
wretch was entirely in her hands then! But Jeanne! Was she going to
ruin her? Had she the right thus to destroy one who had struggled and
had defended herself? Would it be just? Jeanne had been led on against
her will. She must question her. If the poor girl were suffering, if
she repented, she must spare her.
Madame Desvarennes, having thus made up her mind, turned toward Jeanne
who was waiting.
"It is a long time since I have seen you, my dear, and I find you happy
and smiling. It is the first time since your marriage that you have
seemed so happy."
Jeanne looked at the mistress without answering. In these words she
detected irony.
"You have found peace," continued Madame Desvarennes, looking steadfastly
at Jeanne with her piercing eyes. "You see, my dear, when you have a
clear conscience--for you have nothing to reproach yourself with?"
Jeanne saw in this sentence a question and not an affirmation. She
answered, boldly:
"Nothing!"
"You know that I love you, and would be most lenient," continued Madame
Desvarennes, sweetly, "and that you might safely confide in me!"
"I have nothing to fear, having nothing to tell," said Jeanne.
"Nothing?" repeated the mistress, with emphasis.
"Nothing," affirmed Jeanne.
Madame Desvarennes once more looked at her adopted daughter as if she
would read her very soul. She found her quite calm.
"Very well, then!" said she, hastily walking toward the door.
"Are you going already?" asked Jeanne, offering her brow to Madame
Desvarennes's lips.
"Yes, good-by!" said the latter, with an icy kiss.
Jeanne, without again turning round, went into the drawing-room. At the
same moment, Cayrol, in a travelling-coat, entered the office, followed
by Pierre.
"Here I am, quite ready," said the banker to Madame Desvarennes. "Have
you any new suggestion to make to me, or anything else to say?"
"Yes," replied Madame Desvarennes, in a stern voice which made Cayrol
start.
"Then make haste. I have only a moment to spare, and you know the train
waits for no one."
"You will not go!"
Cayrol, in amazement, answered:
"Do you mean it? Your interests are at stake yonder."
"Your honor is in danger here," cried the mistress, vehemently.
"My honor!" repeated Cayrol, starting back. "Madame, do you know what
you are saying?"
"Ay!" answered Madame Desvarennes. "And do you remember what I promised
you? I undertook to warn you, myself, if ever the day came when you
would be threatened."
"Well?" questioned Cayrol, turning quite livid.
"Well! I keep my promise. If you wish to know who your rival is, come
home to-night."
Some inaudible words rattled in Cayrol's throat.
"A rival! in my house! Can Jeanne be guilty? Do you know, if it is
true I will kill them both!"
"Deal with them as your conscience dictates," said Madame Desvarennes.
"I have acted according to mine."
Pierre, hitherto dumb with horror at the scene of which he had been a
witness, shook off his stupor, and going up to Madame Desvarennes, said:
"Madame, do you know that what you have just done is frightful!"
"How? That man will be acting within his rights the same as I am. They
are seeking to take away his wife, and they are killing my daughter, and
dishonoring me! We are defending ourselves! Woe to those who are guilty
of the crime!"
Cayrol had fallen, as if thunderstruck, on a chair, with haggard eyes;
his voice was gone, and he looked the image of despair. Madame
Desvarennes's words came back to him like the refrain of a hated song.
To himself he kept repeating, without being able to chase away the one
haunting thought: "Her lover, to-night, at your house!" He felt as if he
were going mad. He was afraid he should not have time to wreak his
vengeance. He made a terrible effort, and, moaning with grief, he arose.
"Take care!" said Pierre. "Here's your wife."
Cayrol eyed Jeanne, who was approaching. Burning tears came to his eyes.
He murmured:
"She, with a look so pure, and a face so calm! Is it possible?"
He nodded a farewell to Pierre and Madame Desvarennes, who were leaving,
and recovering himself, advanced to meet Jeanne.
"Are you off?" she inquired. "You know you have no time to lose!"
Cayrol shuddered. She seemed anxious to get rid of him.
"I have still a few minutes to spend with you," he said, with emotion.
"You see, Jeanne, I am sad at going away alone. It is the first time I
have left you. In a moment our guests will be gone--I beg of you, come
with me!"
Jeanne smiled. "But you see, dear, I am in evening dress."
"The night of our marriage I brought you away from Cernay like that.
Wrap yourself up in your furs, and come! Give me this proof of
affection. I deserve it. I am not a bad man--and I love you so!"
Jeanne frowned. This pressing vexed her.
"This is childish," she said. "You will return the day after tomorrow,
and I am tired. Have some pity for me."
"You refuse?" asked Cayrol, becoming gloomy and serious.
Jeanne touched his face slightly with her white hand.
"Come! Don't leave me in a temper! You won't miss me much, you will
sleep all the way. Good-by!"
Cayrol kissed her; in a choking voice, he said:
"Good-by!"
And he left her.
Jeanne's face brightened, as she stood listening for a moment and heard
the carriage which contained her husband rolling away. Uttering a sigh
of relief, she murmured:
"At last!"
CHAPTER XX
THE CRISIS
Jeanne had just taken off her ball-dress to put on a dressing-gown of
Oriental cloth richly embroidered with silk flowers. Leaning her elbows
on the mantelpiece, and breathing heavily, she was waiting. Her maid
came in, bringing a second lamp. The additional light displayed the rich
warm hangings of ruby plush embroidered in dull gold. The bed seemed one
mass of lace.
"Has everybody gone?" asked Jeanne, pretending to yawn.
"Messieurs Le Brede and Du Tremblay, the last guests, are just putting on
their overcoats," answered the maid. "But Monsieur Pierre Delarue has
come back, and is asking whether Madame will speak with him for a
moment."
"Monsieur Delarue?" repeated Jeanne, with astonishment.
"He says he has something important to say to Madame."
"Where is he?" asked Jeanne.
"There, in the gallery. The lights were being put out in the drawing-
room."
"Well, show him in."
The maid went out. Jeanne, much puzzled, asked herself, what could have
brought Pierre back? It must certainly be something very important. She
had always felt somewhat awed in Pierre's presence. At that moment the
idea of being face to face with the young man was most distressing to
her.
A curtain was lifted and Pierre appeared. He remained silent and
confused at the entrance of the room, his courage had deserted him.
"Well," said Jeanne, with assumed stiffness, "whatever is the matter, my
friend?"
"The matter is, my dear Jeanne," began Pierre, "that--"
But the explanation did not seem so very easy to give, for he stopped and
could not go on.
"That?" repeated Madame Cayrol.
"I beg your pardon," resumed Pierre. "I am greatly embarrassed. In
coming here I obeyed a sudden impulse. I did not think of the manner in
which I should tell you what I have to say, and I see that I shall have
to run a great risk of offending you."
Jeanne assumed a haughty air.
"Well, but, my dear friend, if what you have to say is so difficult,
don't say it."
"Impossible!" retorted Pierre. "My silence would cause irreparable
mischief. In mercy, Jeanne, make my task easier! Meet me half way! You
have projects for to-night which are known. Danger threatens you. Take
care!"
Jeanne shuddered. But controlling herself, she answered, laughing
nervously:
"What rubbish are you talking about? I am at home, surrounded by my
servants, and I have nothing to fear. I beg of you to believe me."
"You deny it!" exclaimed Pierre. "I expected as much. But you are only
taking useless trouble. Come, Jeanne, I am the friend of your childhood;
you have no reason to fear aught from me. I am only trying to be of use
to you. You must know that, by my coming here, I know all. Jeanne,
listen to me!"
"Are you mad?" interrupted the young woman, proudly, "or are you taking
part in some absurd joke?"
"I am in my right mind, unfortunately for you!" said Pierre, roughly,
seeing that Jeanne refused to believe him. "And there is no joke in the
matter. Everything is true, serious and terrible! Since you compel me
to say things which may be unpalatable, they must out. Prince Panine is
in your house, or he soon will be. Your husband, whom you think far
away, is within call, perhaps, and will come and take you unawares. Is
not that a serious matter?"
A frown overspread her face, and in an ungovernable rage she stepped
forward, determined not to give in, and exclaimed:
"Go away! or I shall call for assistance!"
"Don't call, it would look bad!" resumed Pierre, calmly. "On the
contrary, let the servants get out of the way, and get the Prince to go
if he be here, or if he has not yet arrived, prevent his coming in. So
long as I remain here you will dissimulate your fear and will not take
any precautions. I will leave you, then. Adieu, Jeanne! Believe that I
wished to render you a service, and be sure that when I have crossed the
threshold of this door I shall have forgotten everything that I may have
said."
Pierre bowed, and, lifting the heavy curtain which hid the door leading
to the gallery, went out.
He had hardly gone when the opposite door opened, and Serge entered the
room. The young woman rushed into his arms and whispered into his ear,
with trembling lips:
"Serge, we are lost!"
"I was there," answered Panine. "I heard all."
"What shall we do?" cried Jeanne, terrified.
"Go away at once. To remain here a moment longer is an imprudence."
"And I, if I remain, what shall I say to Cayrol when he comes?"
"Your husband!" said Serge, bitterly. "He loves you, he will forgive
you."
"I know; but then we two shall be separated for ever. Is that what you
desire?"
"And what can I do?" cried Serge, in despair. "Everything around me is
giving way! Fortune, which has been my one aim in life, is escaping from
me. The family which I have scorned is forsaking me. The friendship
which I have betrayed overwhelms me. There is nothing left to me."
"And my love, my devotion?" exclaimed Jeanne, passionately. "Do you
think that I will leave you? We must go away. I asked you long ago.
You resisted; the moment has now come. Be easy! Madame Desvarennes will
pay and save your name. In exchange you will give her back her daughter.
You don't care about her, because you love me. I am your real wife; she
who ought to share your life. Well, I take back my rights. I pay for
them with my honor. I break all ties which could hold me back. I am
yours, Serge! Our sin and misfortune will bind us more closely than any
laws could."
"Think, that with me you will have to endure poverty, and, perhaps,
misery," said the Prince, moved by the young woman's infatuation.
"My love will make you forget everything!"
"You will not feel regret or remorse?"
"Never, so long as you love me."
"Come, then," said the Prince, taking Jeanne in his arms. "And if life
is too hard--"
"Well," added Jeanne, finishing the sentence with sparkling eyes, "we
will seek refuge together in death! Come!"
Serge bolted the door, through which Pierre had passed, and which alone
communicated with the other apartments. Then, taking his mistress by the
hand, he went with her into the dressing-room. Jeanne threw a dark cloak
round her shoulders, put a hat on her head, and without taking either
money, jewels, lace, or, in fact, anything that she had received from
Cayrol, they went down the little back stairs.
It was very dark. Jeanne did not take a light, as she did not care to
attract attention, so they had to feel every step of the way as quietly
as possible, striving not to make the least noise, holding their breath,
and with beating hearts. When they reached the bottom of the stairs,
Jeanne stretched out her hand, and sought the handle of the door which
opened into the courtyard. She turned it, but the door would not open.
She pushed, but it did not give way. Jeanne uttered a low groan. Serge
shook it vigorously, but it would not open.
"It has been fastened on the outside," he whispered.
"Fastened?" murmured Jeanne, seized with fear. "Fastened, and by whom?"
Serge did not answer. The idea that Cayrol had done it came to his mind
at once. The husband lying in wait, had seen him enter, and to prevent
his escaping from his vengeance had cut off all means of retreating.
Silently, they went upstairs again, into the room through the dressing-
room. Jeanne took off her bonnet and cloak, and sank into an armchair.
"I must get away!" said Serge, with suppressed rage; and he walked
toward the door of the gallery.
"No! don't open that," cried Jeanne, excitedly.
And with a frightened look, she added:
"What if he were behind the door?"
At the same moment, as if Jeanne's voice had indeed evoked Cayrol, a
heavy step was heard approaching along the gallery, a hand tried to open
the bolted door. Serge and Jeanne remained motionless, waiting.
"Jeanne!" called the voice of Cayrol from the outside, sounding
mournfully in the silence, "Jeanne, open!"
And with his fist he knocked imperatively on the woodwork.
"I know you are there! Open, I say!" he cried, with increasing rage.
"If you don't open the door, I'll--"
"Go! I beseech you!" whispered Jeanne, in Panine's ear. "Go downstairs
again, and break open the door. You won't find any one there now."
"Perhaps he has stationed some one there," answered Serge. "Besides, I
won't leave you here alone exposed to his violence."
"You are not alone. I can hear you talking!" said Cayrol, beside
himself. "I shall break open this door!"
The husband made a tremendous effort. Under the pressure of his heavy
weight the lock gave way. With a bound he was in the middle of the room.
Jeanne threw herself before him; she no longer trembled. Cayrol took
another step and fixed his glaring eyes on the man whom he sought,
uttering a fearful oath.
"Serge!" cried he. "I might have guessed it. It is not only money of
which you are robbing me, you villain!"
Panine turned horribly pale, and advanced toward Cayrol, despite Jeanne,
who was clinging to him.
"Don't insult me; it is superfluous," said he. "My life belongs to you;
you can take it. I shall be at your service whenever you please."
Cayrol burst into a fearful laugh.
"Ah! a duel! Come! Am I a gentleman? I am a plebeian! a rustic! a
cowherd! you know that! I have you now! I am going to smash you!"
He looked round the room as if seeking a weapon, and caught sight of the
heavy fire-dogs. He caught up one with a cry of triumph, and,
brandishing it like a club, rushed at Serge.
More rapid than he, Jeanne threw herself before her lover. She stretched
out her arms, and with a sharp voice, and the look of a she-wolf
defending her cubs,
"Keep behind me," said she to Serge; "he loves me and will not dare to
strike!"
Cayrol had stopped. At these words he uttered a loud cry: "wretched
woman! You first, then!"
Raising his weapon, he was about to strike, when his eyes met Jeanne's.
The young woman was smiling, happy to die for her lover. Her pale face
beamed from out her black hair with weird beauty. Cayrol trembled. That
look which he had loved, would he never see it again? That rosy mouth,
whose smile he cherished, would it be hushed in death? A thousand
thoughts of happy days came to his mind. His arm fell. A bitter flood
rushed from his heart to his eyes; the iron dropped heavily from his hand
on to the floor, and the poor man, overcome, sobbing, and ashamed of his
weakness, fell senseless on a couch.
Jeanne did not utter a word. By a sign she showed Serge the door, which
was open, and with a swollen heart she leaned on the mantelpiece, waiting
for the unfortunate man, from whom she had received such a deep and sad
proof of love, to come back to life.
Serge had disappeared.
CHAPTER XXI
"WHEN ROGUES FALL OUT"
The night seemed long to Madame Desvarennes. Agitated and feverish, she
listened through the silence, expecting every moment to hear some fearful
news. In fancy she saw Cayrol entering his wife's room like a madman,
unawares. She seemed to hear a cry of rage, answered by a sigh of
terror; then a double shot resounded, the room filled with smoke, and,
struck down in their guilty love, Serge and Jeanne rolled in death,
interlaced in each other's arms, like Paolo and Francesca de Rimini,
those sad lovers of whom Dante tells us.
Hour after hour passed; not a sound disturbed the mansion. The Prince
had not come in. Madame Desvarennes, unable to lie in bed, arose, and
now and again, to pass the time, stole on tiptoe to her daughter's room.
Micheline, thoroughly exhausted with fatigue and emotion, had fallen
asleep on her pillow, which was wet with tears.
Bending over her, by the light of the lamp, the mistress gazed at
Micheline's pale face, and a sigh rose to her lips.
"She is still young," she thought; "she may begin life afresh. The
remembrance of these sad days will be wiped out, and I shall see her
revive and smile again. That wretch was nearly the death of her."
And the image of Serge and Jeanne stretched beside each other in the room
full of smoke came before her eyes again. She shook her head to chase
the importunate vision away, and noiselessly regained her own apartment.
The day dawned pale and bleak. Madame Desvarennes opened her window and
cooled her burning brow in the fresh morning air. The birds were awake,
and were singing on the trees in the garden.
Little by little, the distant sound of wheels rolling by was heard. The
city was awakening from its sleep.
Madame Desvarennes rang and asked for Marechal. The secretary appeared
instantly. He, too, had shared the anxieties and fears of the mistress,
and had risen early. Madame Desvarennes greeted him with a grateful
smile. She felt that she was really loved by this good fellow, who
understood her so thoroughly. She begged him to go to Cayrol's, and gain
some information, without giving him further details, and she waited,
walking up and down the room to calm the fever of her mind.
On leaving the house in the Rue Taitbout, Serge felt bewildered, not
daring to go home, and unable to decide on any plan; yet feeling that it
was necessary to fix on something without delay, he reached the club.
The walk did him good, and restored his physical equilibrium. He was
thankful to be alive after such a narrow escape. He went upstairs with a
comparatively light step, and tossed his overcoat to a very sleepy
footman who had risen to receive him. He went into the card-room.
Baccarat was just finishing. It was three o'clock in the morning. The
appearance of the Prince lent the game a little fresh animation. Serge
plunged into it as if it were a battle. Luck was on his side. In a
short time he cleared the bank: a thousand louis. One by one the players
retired. Panine, left alone, threw himself on a couch and slept for a
few hours, but it was not a refreshing sleep. On the contrary, it made
him feel more tired.
The day servants disturbed him when they came in to sweep the rooms and
open the windows. He went into the lavatory, and there bathed his face.
When his ablutions were over he wrote a note to Jeanne, saying that he
had reflected, and could not possibly let her go away with him. He
implored her to do all in her power to forget him. He gave this letter
to one of the messengers, and told him to give it into the hands of
Madame Cayrol's maid, and to none other.
The care of a woman and the worry of another household seemed unbearable
to him. Besides, what could he do with Jeanne? The presence of his
mistress would prevent his being able to go back to Micheline. And now
he felt that his only hope of safety was in Micheline's love for him.
But first of all he must go and see if Herzog had returned, and ascertain
the real facts of the position in regard to the Universal Credit Company.
Herzog occupied a little house on the Boulevard Haussmann, which he had
hired furnished from some Americans. The loud luxury of the Yankees had
not frightened him. On the contrary, he held that the gay colors of the
furniture and the glitter of the gilded cornices were bound to have a
fascination for prospective shareholders. Suzanne had reserved a little
corner for herself, modestly hung with muslin and furnished with simple
taste, which was a great contrast to the loud appearance of the other
part of the house.