Then, returning to Herminie, M. Bouffard added:
"So we will begin day after to-morrow at two o'clock; that is Cornelia's hour."
"At two o'clock, then. I will be punctual, I promise you."
"And at ten francs a week?"
"Yes, monsieur, and even less, if you say so."
"Would you come for eight?"
"Yes," answered Herminie, smiling, in spite of herself.
"We'll say eight francs, then."
"Come, come, M. Bouffard, a wealthy real estate owner like you shouldn't stoop to any such haggling," the marquis interposed. "What! an elector,--perhaps even an officer in the National Guard,--for you seem to me quite equal to such a position--"
M. Bouffard straightened himself up proudly, and, making a military salute, responded:
"A second lieutenant in the first company of the second regiment of the first batallion, M. le marquis."
"All the more reason that you should uphold the dignity of your rank, dear M. Bouffard," replied M. de Maillefort.
"That is true, M. le marquis. I said ten francs, and ten francs it shall be. I always honour my signature. I will go and try to find that young coxcomb. He may be hanging around somewhere outside the house now. I'll ask Mother Moufflon, the portress, if she knows anything about him, and tell her to watch out for him. Your servant, M. le marquis. I'll see you again, day after to-morrow, mademoiselle."
Then, turning again, just as he reached the door, he said to Herminie:
"Mademoiselle, an idea has just occurred to me. You see I'd like to convince the marquis here that Bouffard is not such a bad fellow, after all."
"Let us hear the idea, M. Bouffard," said the hunchback.
"You see that little garden out there, M. le marquis?"
"Yes."
"It belongs to the large apartment on this floor. Ah, well, I intend to allow mademoiselle the use of this garden--until the other apartment is rented, at least."
"Do you really?" cried Herminie, overjoyed. "Oh, I thank you so much.
What pleasure it will give me to walk about in that pretty garden!"
But M. Bouffard had already fled, as if his natural modesty forbade his listening to the protestations of gratitude such a generous offer must inspire.
[Illustration: "'I Will Go and Try To Find That Young Coxcomb'"]
"One has no idea what it costs such people as that to be generous and obliging," remarked the hunchback, laughing.
Then becoming serious again, he said: "My dear child, what I have just seen and heard gives me such a clear understanding of the nobility of your heart and the firmness of your character, that I realise the futility of any renewed efforts in relation to the matter that brought me here. If I am mistaken, if you are not Madame de Beaumesnil's daughter, you will naturally persist in your denial; if, on the contrary, I have divined the truth, you will still persist in denying it, actuated, I am sure, by some secret but honourable motive. I shall insist no further. One word more: I have been deeply touched by the feeling that prompted you to defend Madame de Beaumesnil's memory against suspicions which may be entirely without foundation. If you were not so proud, I should tell you that your disinterestedness is all the more noble from the fact that your situation is so precarious; and, by the way, let me say right here that, though M. Bouffard has deprived me of the pleasure of being of service to you this time, I want you to promise me, my dear child, that in future you will apply only to me."
"And to whom else could I apply without humiliation, M. le marquis?"
"Thank you, my dear child, but no more, M. le marquis, I beg. In our recent grave conversation I had no time to protest against this ceremonious appellation; but now we are old friends, no more M. le marquis, I beseech you. That is agreed, is it not?" asked the hunchback, cordially offering his hand to the young girl, who pressed it gratefully as she exclaimed:
"Ah, monsieur, such kindness and such generous confidence more than consoles me for the humiliation I suffered in your presence."
"Dismiss that from your mind entirely, my dear child. The insult you received only proves that the insolent stranger is as foolish as he is coarse. It is doing him entirely too much honour to retain a lasting remembrance of his offence."
"You are right, monsieur," replied Herminie, though she still blushed deeply with wounded pride and indignation; "contempt, the most profound contempt is all that such an insult merits."
"Undoubtedly; but, unfortunately, your loneliness and unprotected condition are probably to a great extent accountable for this unwarranted presumption on the part of a stranger, my poor child, so, as you permit me to talk in all sincerity, why have you never thought of boarding with some respectable elderly woman, instead of living alone?"
"I have thought of doing that more than once, but it is difficult to find the right person--that is when one is as exigeante as I am," she added, smiling.
"You admit that you are very _exigeante_, then?" asked the marquis, also smiling.
"Really I cannot help it, it seems to me, monsieur; could I find such surroundings as these in the home of a person whose means are as modest as mine? Besides, I ought not to say it, perhaps, but I am so keenly sensitive to certain faults of education and manner that I should positively suffer at times. It is silly and ridiculous, I know, for lack of breeding does not lessen the virtue and kindness of most of the people of the class to which I belong, but to which my education has rendered me somewhat superior. Still it is intensely repugnant to me, and I consequently prefer to live alone, in spite of the many inconveniences of such an isolated position. Another objection is that I should be under an obligation to any person who would receive me into her family, and I fear that I might be made to feel this obligation too much."
"All this is very natural," said the hunchback, after a moment's reflection. "It would scarcely be possible for one of your proud nature to act or feel otherwise, and this pride, which I admire so much in you, has been, and I am sure always will be, your best safeguard. But this will not prevent me, with your permission, of course, from coming now and then to see if I can serve you in any way."
"Can you doubt the pleasure, the very great pleasure it will give me to see you?"
"I will not so wrong you as to doubt it, my dear child."
Seeing M. de Maillefort rise to take leave, Herminie felt strongly tempted to make some inquiry concerning Ernestine de Beaumesnil, whom he had probably seen ere this; but the young girl feared she might betray herself and arouse M. de Maillefort's suspicions by speaking of her sister.
"Farewell, my dear child," said the marquis, rising. "I came here in the hope of finding a daughter to love and protect, and I shall not return with an empty heart. And now again, farewell--and _au revoir_."
"And soon, I hope, M. le marquis," responded Herminie, with respectful deference.
"Nonsense!" said the hunchback, smiling. "There is no marquis here, but an old man who loves you,--yes, loves you with all his heart. Don't forget that."
"Oh, I shall never forget it, monsieur."
"Good, that promise atones for everything. Once more au revoir, my child."
And M. de Maillefort departed, still in doubt as to Herminie's identity, and no less in doubt in regard to the best means of carrying out Madame de Beaumesnil's last wishes.
The young girl, left alone, reflected long upon the incidents of the day, which, after all, had proved a happy one for her, for by refusing a gift which proved her mother's deep solicitude for her welfare, but which might compromise that mother's memory, the young girl had gained M. de Maillefort's warm friendship.
But the payment made to M. Bouffard by a stranger was a terrible blow to Herminie's pride.
"I must seem despicable, indeed, in the eyes of a person who dared to take such a liberty as that," the proud girl was saying to herself just as there came a timid ring at the door.
Herminie opened it to find herself confronted by M. Bouffard and a stranger.
This stranger was Gerald de Senneterre.