Books: Serge Panine, v4
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Georges Ohnet >> Serge Panine, v4
On arriving, Serge found a stableman washing a victoria. Herzog had
returned. The Prince quietly went up the steps, and had himself
announced.
The financier was sitting in his study by the window, looking through the
newspapers. When Serge entered he rose. The two men stood facing each
other for a moment. The Prince was the first to speak.
"How is it that you have kept me without news during your absence?"
asked he, harshly.
"Because," replied Herzog, calmly, "the only news I had was not good
news."
"At least I should have known it."
"Would the result of the operation have been different?"
"You have led me like a child in this affair," Serge continued, becoming
animated. "I did not know where I was going. You made me promises, how
have you kept them?"
"As I was able," quietly answered Herzog. "Play has its chances. One
seeks Austerlitz and finds Waterloo."
"But," cried the Prince, angrily, "the shares which you sold ought not to
have gone out of your hands."
"You believed that?" retorted the financier, ironically. "If they ought
not to have gone out of my hands it was hardly worth while putting them
into them."
"In short," said Panine, eager to find some responsible party on whom he
could pour out all the bitterness of his misfortune, "you took a mean
advantage of me."
"Good! I expected you to say that!" returned Herzog, smiling. "If the
business had succeeded, you would have accepted your share of the spoil
without any scruples, and would have felt ready to crown me. It has
failed; you are trying to get out of the responsibility, and are on the
point of treating me as if I were a swindler. Still, the affair would
not have been more honest in the first instance than in the second, but
success embellishes everything."
Serge looked hard at Herzog.
"What is there to prove," replied he, "that this speculation, which
brings ruin and loss to me, does not enrich you?"
"Ungrateful fellow!" observed the financier, ironically, "you suspect
me!"
"Of having robbed me!" cried Serge, in a rage. "Why not?"
Herzog, for a moment, lost his temper and turned red in the face. He
seized Panine violently by the arm, and said:
"Gently, Prince; whatever insults you heap upon me must be shared by you.
You are my partner."
"Scoundrel!" yelled Panine, exasperated at being held by Herzog.
"Personalities," said the financier, in a jesting tone. "Then I take my
leave!"
And loosing his hold of the Prince, he went toward the door.
Serge sprang after him, exclaiming:
"You shall not leave this room until you have given me the means of
rectifying this disaster."
"Then let us talk sensibly, as boon companions," said Herzog. "I know of
a marvellous move by which we can get out of the difficulty. Let us
boldly call a general meeting. I will explain the thing, and amaze
everybody. We shall get a vote of confidence for the past, with funds
for the future. We shall be as white as snow, and the game is played.
Are you in with me?"
"Enough," replied the Prince, intensely disgusted. "It does not suit me
to do a yet more shameful thing in order to get out of this trouble. It
is no use arguing further; we are lost."
"Only the weak allow themselves to be lost!" exclaimed the financier.
"The strong defend themselves. You may give in if you like; I won't.
Three times have I been ruined and three times have I risen again. My
head is good! I am down now. I shall rise again, and when I am well
off, and have a few millions to spare, I will settle old debts.
Everybody will be astonished because they won't expect it, and I shall be
more thought of than if I had paid up at the time."
"And if you are not allowed to go free?" asked Serge. "What if they
arrest you?"
"I shall be in Aix-la-Chapelle to-night," said Herzog. "From there I
shall treat with the shareholders of the Universal Credit. People judge
things better at a distance. Are you coming with me?"
"No," replied Serge, in a low voice.
"You are wrong. Fortune is capricious, and in six months we may be
richer than we ever have been. But as you have decided, let me give you
a piece of advice which will be worth the money you have lost. Confess
all to your wife; she can get you out of this difficulty."
The financier held out a hand to Serge which he did not take.
"Ah! pride!" murmured Herzog. "After all it is your right--It is you
who pay!"
Without answering a word the Prince went out.
At that same hour, Madame Desvarennes, tired by long waiting, was pacing
up and down her little drawing-room. A door opened and Marechal, the
long-looked for messenger, appeared. He had been to Cayrol's, but could
not see him. The banker, who had shut himself up in his private office
where he had worked all night, had given orders that no one should
interrupt him. And as Madame Desvarennes seemed to have a question on
her lips which she dared not utter, Marechal added that nothing unusual
seemed to have happened at the house.
But as the mistress was thanking her secretary, the great gate swung on
its hinges, and a carriage rolled into the courtyard. Marechal flew to
the window, and uttered one word,
"Cayrol!"
Madame Desvarennes motioned to him to leave her, and the banker appeared
on the threshold.
At a glance the mistress saw the ravages which the terrible night he had
passed through had caused. Yesterday, the banker was rosy, firm, and
upright as an oak, now he was bent, and withered like an old man. His
hair had become gray about the temples, as if scorched by his burning
thoughts. He was only the shadow of himself.
Madame Desvarennes advanced toward him, and in one word asked a world of
questions.
"Well?" she said.
Cayrol, gloomy and fierce, raised his eyes to the mistress, and answered:
"Nothing!"
"Did he not come?"
"Yes, he came. But I had not the necessary energy to kill him. I
thought it was an easier matter to become a murderer. And you thought so
too, eh?"
"Cayrol!" cried Madame Desvarennes, shuddering, and troubled to find
that she had been so easily understood by him whom she had armed on her
behalf.
"The opportunity was a rare one, though," continued Cayrol, getting
excited. "Fancy; I found them together under my own roof. The law
allowed me, if not the actual right to kill them, at least an excuse if
I did so. Well, at the decisive moment, when I ought to have struck the
blow, my heart failed me. He lives, and Jeanne loves him."
There was a pause.
"What are you going to do?"
"Get rid of him in another way," answered Cayrol. "I had only two ways
of killing him. One was to catch him in my own house, the other to call
him out. My will failed me in the one case; my want of skill would fail
me in the other. I will not fight Serge. Not because I fear death, for
my life is blighted, and I don't value it; but if I were dead, Jeanne
would belong to him, and I could not bear the thought of that even in
death. I must separate them forever."
"And how?"
"By forcing him to disappear."
"And if he refuse?"
Cayrol shook his head menacingly, and exclaimed:
"I defy him! If he resist, I will bring him before the assizes!"
"You?" said Madame Desvarennes, going nearer to Cayrol.
"Yes, I!" answered the banker, with energy.
"Wretched man! And my daughter?" cried the mistress. "Think well what
you are saying! You would disgrace me and mine."
"Am I not dishonored myself?" asked Cayrol. "Your son-in-law is a
robber, who has defiled my home and robbed my safe."
"An honest man does not seek to revenge himself after the manner you
suggest," said the mistress, gravely.
"An honest man defends himself as he can. I am not a knight. I am only
a financier. Money is my weapon. The Prince has stolen from me. I will
have him sentenced as a thief."
Madame Desvarennes frowned.
"Make out your account. I will pay it."
"Will you also pay me for my lost happiness?" cried the banker,
exasperated. "Should I not rather have chosen to be ruined than be
betrayed as I am? You can never repair the wrong he has done me.
And then I am suffering so, I must have my revenge!"
"Ah! fool that you are," replied Madame Desvarennes. "The guilty will
not feel your blows, but the innocent. When my daughter and I are in
despair will you be less unhappy! Oh! Cayrol, take heed that you lose
not in dignity what you gain in revenge. The less one is respected by
others the more one must respect one's self. Contempt and silence
elevate the victim, while rage and hatred make him descend to the level
of those who have outraged him."
"Let people judge me as they please. I care only for myself! I am a
vulgar soul, and have a low mind--anything you like. But the idea that
that woman belongs to another drives me mad. I ought to hate her, but,
notwithstanding everything, I cannot live without her. If she will come
back to me I will forgive her. It is ignoble! I feel it, but it is too
strong for me. I adore her!"
Before that blind love Madame Desvarennes shuddered. She thought of
Micheline who loved Serge as Cayrol loved Jeanne.
"Suppose she chooses to go away with Serge," said the mistress to
herself. In a moment she saw the house abandoned, Micheline and Serge in
foreign lands, and she alone in the midst of her overthrown happiness,
dying of sadness and regrets. She made a last effort to move Cayrol.
"Come, must I appeal in vain? Can you forget that I was a sure and
devoted friend to you, and that you owe your fortune to me? You are a
good man and will not forget the past. You have been outraged and have
the right of seeking revenge, but think that in carrying it out you will
hurt two women who have never done you any harm. Be generous! Be just!
Spare us!"
Cayrol remained silent; his face did not relax. After a moment he said:
"You see how low I have fallen, by not yielding at once to your
supplications! Friendship, gratitude, generosity, all the good feelings
I had, have been consumed by this execrable love. There is nothing left
but love for her. For her, I forget everything. I degrade and debase
myself. And what is worse than all, is that I know all this and yet I
cannot help myself."
"Miserable man!" murmured the mistress.
"Oh! most miserable," sobbed Cayrol, falling into an armchair.
Madame Desvarennes approached him, and quietly placed her hand on his
shoulder.
"Cayrol, you are weeping? Then, forgive."
The banker arose and, with lowering brow, said:
"No! my resolution is irrevocable. I wish to place a world between
Jeanne and Serge. If he has not gone away by tonight my complaint will
be lodged in the courts of justice."
Madame Desvarennes no longer persisted. She saw that the husband's heart
was permanently closed.
"It is well. I thank you for having warned me. You might have taken
action without doing so. Good-by, Cayrol. I leave your conscience to
judge between you and me."
The banker bowed, and murmured:
"Good-by!"
And with a heavy step, almost tottering, he went out.
The sun had risen, and lit up the trees in the garden. Nature seemed to
be making holiday. The flowers perfumed the air, and in the deep blue
sky swallows were flying to and fro. This earthly joy exasperated Madame
Desvarennes. She would have liked the world to be in mourning. She
closed the window hastily, and remained lost in her own reflections.
So everything was over! The great prosperity, the honor of the house,
everything was foundering in a moment. Even her daughter might escape
from her, and follow the infamous husband whom she adored in spite of his
faults--perhaps because of his very faults--and might drag on a weary
existence in a strange land, which would terminate in death.
For that sweet and delicate child could not live without material
comforts and mental ease, and her husband was doomed to go on from bad to
worse, and would drag her down with him! The mistress pictured her
daughter, that child whom she had brought up with the tenderest care,
dying on a pallet, and the husband, odious to the last, refusing her
admission to the room where Micheline was in agony.
A fearful feeling of anger overcame her. Her motherly love gained the
mastery, and in the silence of the room she roared out these words:
"That shall not be!"
The opening of the door recalled her to her senses, and she rose. It was
Marechal, greatly agitated. After Cayrol's arrival, not knowing what to
do, he had gone to the Universal Credit Company, and there, to his
astonishment, had found the offices closed. He had heard from the
porter, one of those superb personages dressed in blue and red cloth,
who were so important in the eyes of the shareholders, that the evening
before, owing to the complaint of a director, the police had entered the
offices, and taken the books away, and that the official seal had been
placed on the doors. Marechal, much alarmed, had hastened back to Madame
Desvarennes to apprise her of the fact. It was evidently necessary to
take immediate steps to meet this new complication. Was this indeed the
beginning of legal proceedings? And if so how would the Prince come out
of it?
Madame Desvarennes listened to Marechal, without uttering a word. Events
were hurrying on even quicker than she had dreaded. The fears of the
interested shareholders outran even the hatred of Cayrol. What would the
judges call Herzog's underhand dealings? Would it be embezzlement?
Or forgery? Would they come and arrest the Prince at her house?
The house of Desvarennes, which had never received a visit from a
sheriff's officer, was it to be disgraced now by the presence of the
police?
The mistress, in that fatal hour, became herself again. The strong-
minded woman of old reappeared. Marechal was more alarmed at this sudden
vigor than he had been at her late depression. When he saw Madame
Desvarennes going toward the door, he made an effort to detain her.
"Where are you going, Madame?" he inquired, with anxiety.
The mistress gave him a look that terrified him, and answered:
"I am going to square accounts with the Prince."
And, passing through the door leading to the little staircase, Madame
Desvarennes went up to her son-in-law's rooms.
CHAPTER XXII
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE
On leaving Herzog, Serge had turned his steps toward the Rue Saint-
Dominique. He had delayed the moment of going home as long as possible,
but the streets were beginning to be crowded. He might meet some people
of his acquaintance. He resolved to face what ever reception was
awaiting him on the way, he was planning what course he should adopt to
bring about a reconciliation with his redoubtable mother-in-law. He was
no longer proud, but felt quite broken down. Only Madame Desvarennes
could put him on his feet again; and, as cowardly in trouble as he had
been insolent in prosperity, he accepted beforehand all that she might
impose upon him; all, provided that she would cover him with her
protection.
He was frightened, not knowing how deep Herzog had led him in the mire.
His moral sense had disappeared, but he had a vague instinct of the
danger he had incurred. The financier's last words came to his mind:
"Confess all to your wife; she can get you out of this difficulty!" He
understood the meaning of them, and resolved to follow the advice.
Micheline loved him. In appealing to her heart, deeply wounded as it
was, he would have in her an ally, and he had long known that Madame
Desvarennes could not oppose her daughter in anything.
He entered the house through the back garden gate, and regained his room
without making the slightest noise. He dreaded meeting Madame
Desvarennes before seeing Micheline. First he changed his attire; he had
walked about Paris in evening clothes. Looking in the glass he was
surprised at the alteration in his features. Was his beauty going too?
What would become of him if he failed to please. And, like an actor who
is about to play an important part, he paid great attention to the making
up of his face. He wished once more to captivate his wife, as his safety
depended on the impression he was about to make on her. At last,
satisfied with himself, he tried to look smiling, and went to his wife's
room.
Micheline was up.
At the sight of Serge she could not suppress an exclamation of surprise.
It was a long time since he had discontinued these familiar visits. The
presence of her beloved one in that room, which had seemed so empty when
he was not there, made her feel happy, and she went to him with a smile,
holding out her hand. Serge drew her gently toward him and kissed her
hair.
"Up, already, dear child," said he, affectionately.
"I have scarcely slept," answered Micheline. "I was so anxious. I sat
up for you part of the night. I had left you without saying good-night.
It was the first time it had occurred, and I wanted to beg your pardon.
But you came in very late."
"Micheline, it is I who am ungrateful," interrupted Panine, making the
young wife sit down beside him. "It is I who must ask you to be
indulgent."
"Serge! I beg of you!" said the young wife, taking both his hands.
"All is forgotten. I would not reproach you, I love you so much!"
Micheline's face beamed with joy, and tears filled her eyes.
"You are weeping," said Panine. "Ah! I feel the weight of my wrongs
toward you. I see how deserving you are of respect and affection.
I feel unworthy, and would kneel before you to say how I regret all the
anxieties I have caused you, and that my only desire in the future will
be to make you forget them."
"Oh! speak on! speak on!" cried Micheline, with delight. "What
happiness to hear you say such sweet words! Open your heart to me! You
know I would die to please you. If you have any anxieties or annoyances
confide in me. I can relieve them. Who could resist me when you are in
question?"
"I have none, Micheline," answered Serge, with the constrained manner of
a man who is feigning. "Nothing but the regret of not having lived more
for you."
"Is the future not in store for us?" said the young wife, looking
lovingly at him.
The Prince shook his head, saying:
"Who can answer for the future?"
Micheline came closer to her husband, not quite understanding what Serge
meant, but her mind was on the alert, and in an alarmed tone, she
resumed:
"What strange words you are uttering? Are we not both young? And, if
you like, is there not much happiness in store for us?"
And she clung to him. Serge turned away.
"Oh, stay," she murmured, again putting her arms round him. "You are so
truly mine at this moment!"
Panine saw that the opportunity for confessing all had come. He was able
to bring tears to his eyes, and went toward the window as if to hide his
emotion. Micheline followed him, and, in an eager tone, continued:
"Ah! I knew you were hiding something. You are unhappy or in pain;
threatened perhaps? Ah! if you love me, tell me the truth!"
"Well, yes! It is true, I am threatened. I am suffering and unhappy!
But don't expect a confession from me. I should blush to make it. But,
thank Heaven, if I cannot extricate myself from the difficulty in which
I am placed through my own folly and imprudence--there is yet another way
out of it."
"Serge! you would kill yourself!" cried Micheline, terrified at the
gesture Panine had made. "What would become of me then? But what is
there that is so hard to explain? And to whom should it be said?"
"To your mother," answered Serge, bowing his head.
"To my mother? Very well, I will go to her. Oh! don't fear anything.
I can defend you, and to strike you she will first have to attack me."
Serge put his arms round Micheline, and with a kiss, the hypocrite
inspired her whom he entrusted with his safety with indomitable courage.
"Wait for me here," added the young wife, and passing through the little
drawing-room she reached the smoking-room.
She halted there a moment, out of breath and almost choked with emotion.
The long expected day had arrived. Serge was coming back to her. She
went on, and as she reached the door of the stair leading to her mother's
rooms, she heard a light tap from without.
Greatly astonished, she opened the door, and suddenly drew back, uttering
an exclamation. A woman, thickly veiled, stood before her.
At the sight of Micheline the stranger seemed inclined to turn and fly.
But overcome with jealousy, the young wife seized her by the arm, dragged
off her veil, and recognizing her, exclaimed:
"Jeanne!"
Madame Cayrol approached Micheline, and beseechingly stretched out her
hands:
"Micheline! don't think--I come--"
"Hold your tongue!" cried Micheline. "Don't tell me any lies! I know
all! You are my husband's mistress!"
Crushed by such a stroke, Jeanne hid her face in her hands and moaned:
"O God!"
"You must really be bold," continued Micheline, in a furious tone, "to
seek him here, in my house, almost in my arms!"
Jeanne drew herself up, blushing with shame and grief.
"Ah! don't think," she said, "that love brings me here."
"What is it then?" asked Micheline, contemptuously.
"The knowledge of inevitable and pressing danger which threatens Serge."
"A danger! Of what kind?"
"Compromised by Herzog, he is at the mercy of my husband, who has sworn
to ruin him."
"Your husband!"
"Yes, he is his rival. If you could ruin me, would you not do it?" said
Jeanne.
"You!" retorted Micheline, passionately. "Do you think I am going to
worry about you? Serge is my first thought. You say you came to warn
him. What must be done?"
"Without a moment's delay he must go away!"
A strange suspicion crossed Micheline's mind. She approached Jeanne, and
looking earnestly at her, said:
"He must go away without delay, eh? And it is you, braving everything,
without a thought of the trouble you leave behind you, who come to warn
him? Ah! you mean to go with him?"
Jeanne hesitated a moment. Then, boldly and impudently, defying and
almost threatening the legitimate wife:
"Well, yes, I wish to! Enough of dissimulation! I love him!" she
exclaimed.
Micheline, transfigured by passion, strong, and ready for a struggle,
threw herself in Jeanne's way, with arms outstretched, as if to prevent
her going to Serge.
"Well!" she said; "try to take him from me!"
"Take him from you!" answered Jeanne, laughing like a mad woman. "To
whom does he most belong? To the woman who was as ignorant of his love
as she was of his danger; who could do nothing toward his happiness, and
can do nothing for his safety? Or to the mistress who has sacrificed her
honor to please him and risks her safety to save him?"
"Ah! wretch!" cried Micheline, "to invoke your infamy as a right!"
"Which of us has taken him from the other?" continued Jeanne, forgetting
respect, modesty, everything. "Do you know that he loved me before he
married you? Do you know that he abandoned me for you--for your money,
I should say? Now, do you wish to weigh what I have suffered with what
you suffer? Shall we make out a balance-sheet of our tears? Then, you
will be able to tell which of us he has loved more, and to whom he really
belongs."
Micheline had listened to this furious address almost in a state of
stupor, and replied, vehemently:
"What matter who triumphs if his ruin is certain. Selfish creatures that
we are, instead of disputing about his love, let us unite in saving him!
You say he must go away! But flight is surely an admission of guilt--
humiliation and obscurity in a strange land. And that is what you
advise, because you hope to share that miserable existence with him. You
are urging him on to dishonor. His fate is in the hands of a man who
adores you, who would sacrifice everything for you, as I would for Serge,
and yet you have not thrown yourself at his feet! You have not offered
your life as the price of your lover's! And you say that you love him!"
"Ah!" stammered Jeanne, distracted. "You wish me to save him for you!"
"Is that the cry of your heart?" said Micheline, with crushing disdain.
"Well, see what I am ready to do. If, to remove your jealous fears, it
is necessary to sacrifice myself, I swear to you that if Serge be saved,
he shall be perfectly free, and I will never see him again!"
Micheline, chaste and calm, with hands raised to Heaven, seemed to grow
taller and nobler. Jeanne, trembling and overpowered, looked at her
rival with a painful effort, and murmured, softly:
"Would you do that?"
"I would do more!" said the lawful wife, bending before the mistress.
"I ought to hate you, and I kneel at your feet and beseech you to listen
to me. Do what I ask you and I will forgive you and bless you. Do not
hesitate! Follow me! Let us throw ourselves at the feet of him whom you
have outraged. His generosity cannot be less than ours, and to us, who
sacrifice our love, he will not be able to refuse to sacrifice his
vengeance."
This greatness and goodness awaked feelings in Jeanne's heart which she
thought dead. She was silent for a moment and then her breast heaved
with convulsive sobs, and she fell helpless into the arms which
Micheline, full of pity, held out to her.