At last he said to Herminie:
"Some motive, which it is impossible for me to fathom, prevents you from telling me the truth, my dear child. This motive, whatever it may be, is certainly noble and generous; then, why conceal it from me, your mother's friend, a friend who feels that he is obeying your mother's last wishes in coming to you?"
"This conversation is as painful to me as it is to you, M. le marquis,"
Herminie replied, sadly, "for it brings to mind a person who treated me with the greatest kindness during the brief time I was called upon to minister to her as a musician, and in no other capacity, I give you my word. I think that this declaration should be sufficient, and that you should spare me further entreaties on this subject. I repeat that I am not the person you are seeking."
On hearing this assurance again repeated, some of M. de Maillefort's doubts returned; but unwilling to abandon all hope, he exclaimed:
"No, no, I cannot be mistaken. Never shall I forget Madame de Beaumesnil's anxiety, nor her prayers for--"
"Permit me to interrupt you, M. le marquis, and to say to you that, under the painful influence of a scene that must have been particularly trying to you, you doubtless mistook the nature of the interest Madame de Beaumesnil felt in the orphan of whom you speak. To defend Madame de Beaumesnil's memory against such a mistake, I have no other right than that of gratitude, but the respectful regard I and every one else felt for Madame la comtesse convinces me that this is an error on your part."
This manner of looking at the matter accorded too well with M. de Maillefort's own secret hopes for him to turn an entirely deaf ear to this argument. Still, remembering the terrible anguish of the countess when she commended the orphan to his protection, he said:
"This much is certain: no one would speak in such terms of a stranger."
"How do you know that, M. le marquis?" retorted Herminie, gaining ground inch by inch. "I have heard many instances cited of Madame de Beaumesnil's boundless generosity. Her affection for some persons she assisted was, I have heard, as great as that she manifested for the orphan she asked you to protect, and as this girl, you say, is as deserving as she is unfortunate, it seems to me a sufficient explanation of the great interest the countess took in her. Possibly, too, she felt her protection to be a duty. Possibly some friend had confided the girl to Madame de Beaumesnil's care, as that lady in turn confided her to yours."
"But in that case, why should she have laid such stress upon concealing the name of the donor from the person to whom I was to deliver this money?"
"Because Madame de Beaumesnil, in this case, perhaps, as in many others, wished to conceal her benevolence."
And Herminie having now entirely recovered her coolness and composure, presented these arguments with such readiness that the marquis at last began to think that he had been deceived, and that he had suspected Madame de Beaumesnil unjustly.
Then a new idea occurred to him, and he exclaimed:
"But even admitting that the merit and the misfortunes of this orphan are her only claim, do not these conditions seem especially applicable in your own case? Why should it not be you the countess meant?" he asked.
"I knew Madame de Beaumesnil too short a time for me to deserve any such mark of her bounty, M. le marquis; besides, as the countess did not designate me by name, how can I,--I appeal to your own delicacy of feeling,--how can I accept a large sum of money on the mere supposition that it may have been intended for me?"
"All that would be very true if you did not deserve the gift."
"And in what way have I deserved it, M. le marquis?"
"By your attentions to the countess, and the alleviation of suffering she secured through you. Why is it at all unlikely that she should have desired to compensate you as she did others?"
"I do not understand you, monsieur."
"The will of the countess contained several legacies. You seem to be the only person who was forgotten, in fact."
"I had no right to expect any bequest, M. le marquis. I was paid for my services."
"By Madame de Beaumesnil?"
"By Madame de Beaumesnil," answered Herminie, firmly.
"Yes, you said as much to Madame de la Rochaigue on so nobly returning--"
"Money that did not belong to me, M. le marquis, that is all."
"No!" exclaimed M. de Maillefort, his former convictions suddenly regaining the ascendency. "No, I was not mistaken,--instinct, reason, conviction, all tell me that you are--"
"M. le marquis," said Herminie, interrupting the hunchback, for she was anxious to put an end to this painful scene, "one word more, and only one. You were Madame de Beaumesnil's most valued friend, for on her death-bed she entrusted her daughter to your care. Would she not also have told you in that supreme moment if she had another child?"
"Great Heaven, no!" exclaimed the marquis, involuntarily. "The unhappy woman would have shrunk from the shame of such an avowal."
"Yes, I am sure of that," thought Herminie, bitterly. "And is it I who will make the disgraceful confession from which my poor mother shrank?"
The conversation was here interrupted by M. Bouffard's entrance. The emotion of the marquis and of the young girl was so great that they had not noticed the opening of the hall door.
The once ferocious landlord seemed to be in a very different mood.
Something must have appeased his wrath, for his coarse and brutal manner had vanished, and his rubicund visage was wreathed with a crafty smile.
"What do you want?" demanded the marquis, curtly. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to make my excuses to mademoiselle."
"Your excuses?" said the young girl, greatly surprised.
"Yes, mademoiselle, and I wish to make them before monsieur, as I reproached you for not paying me in his presence, so I now declare before him,--I swear it in the presence of God and man,--I swear that I have been paid all that mademoiselle owed me."
"You have been paid!" cried Herminie, in amazement; "and by whom, monsieur?"
"Oh, you know very well, mademoiselle," responded M. Bouffard, with the same coarse laugh. "You know very well! What a sly one you are!"
"I have no idea what you mean, monsieur," said Herminie, indignantly.
"Bah!" cried M. Bouffard, shrugging his shoulders, "I suppose you're not going to try to make me believe that handsome young men pay the rent for pretty blondes merely for the love of God!"
"Some one has paid my rent for me, monsieur?" demanded Herminie, blushing scarlet.
"Yes, some one has paid it, and in shining yellow gold," replied M.
Bouffard, drawing several gleaming coins from his pocket and tossing them up in the air. "Look at the yellow boys, ain't they pretty, eh?"
"And this gold, monsieur," said Herminie, unable to believe her own ears,--"this gold--who gave it to you?"
"Oh, don't try to play innocent, my dear. The person who paid me is a handsome fellow, tall, and dark complexioned, with a brown moustache.
That description would answer for his passport, if he wanted one."
The marquis had listened to M. Bouffard first with surprise, and then with utter dismay.
This young girl, in whom he had taken so deep an interest, had suddenly become hateful in his eyes; so coldly bowing to Herminie, he walked silently to the door, with an expression of bitter disappointment on his face.
"Ah," he thought, "still another lost illusion!"
"Remain, monsieur," cried the young girl, running after him, all of a tremble, and overcome with shame, "I entreat you--I implore you to remain!"