"That is all!" exclaimed Herminie, whose deep despondency seemed to have given place to a sorrowful indignation. "That is all, you say, monsieur?
So it is nothing to have won my affection under false pretences--to have reduced me to the trying necessity of renouncing a love which was the hope and blessing of my life or of entering a family that will regard me with aversion and disdain! And you call this nothing, monsieur! Ah, your friend pretends to love me, and yet respects me so little as to believe that I will ever submit to the countless humiliations such a marriage is sure to bring upon me!"
"But, Mlle. Herminie--"
"Listen to me, M. Olivier. If, after our first meeting, which, by reason of its very strangeness, made a deep impression upon me,--if, I say, after our first meeting, Gerald had frankly confessed that he was the Duc de Senneterre, I should have resisted my growing affection with all my strength, and I should have triumphed over it, perhaps; but, in any case, I would never willingly have seen Gerald again. I will not be his mistress, and, as I said before, I am not the woman to submit to the humiliations that await me if I consent to become his wife."
"You are very much mistaken, Mlle. Herminie. Accept Gerald's offer, and you will have no humiliations to fear. Gerald is his own master. Since he lost his father several years ago, he has had unbounded influence over his mother. He will make her understand what this love is to him.
But if Madame de Senneterre seems disposed to sacrifice Gerald's happiness to financial greed, my friend is resolved, after all means of persuasion have been exhausted, of course, to dispense with his mother's consent, if need be."
"But I, monsieur, must have, cost what it may, not the affection,--for that does not come at will,--but the esteem of my husband's mother because I am worthy of her esteem. Never, do you understand me, never shall any one say that I was the cause of a rupture between Gerald and his mother, or that I took advantage of his love for me to force myself upon a noble and distinguished family; no, monsieur, no one shall ever say that of me, my pride will not permit it."
As she uttered these words Herminie was truly superb in her sadness and dignity.
Olivier had too keen a sense of honour himself not to share the young girl's scruples--the same scruples which Gerald, too, had feared, for both the young men knew Herminie's indomitable pride.
Nevertheless, Olivier, resolved to make a last effort, said:
"But consider well, Mlle. Herminie, I entreat you. Gerald does all that any man of honour can do in offering you his hand. What more do you desire?"
"What I desire, monsieur, as I have told you, is to be treated with the consideration which is due me, and which I have a right to expect from M. de Senneterre's family."
"But Gerald can be responsible only for himself, mademoiselle. Any attempt to exact more would--"
"Say no more, M. Olivier," said Herminie, interrupting him; "you know me, and you know that I have a firm will."
"I do, mademoiselle."
"Very well. I will never willingly see Gerald again while I live, unless Madame de Senneterre, his mother, comes here--"
"Here?" exclaimed Olivier, in astonishment.
"Yes, unless Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre comes here and tells me that she consents to my marriage with her son. Then, no one can ever say that I forced myself upon this noble family."
This demand--which seemed and which was, in fact, merely the natural outcome of an intense but laudable pride--Herminie uttered simply and naturally, because, filled with a justly high respect for herself, the young girl felt that she asked only what was her just due.
But at the first thought, this demand seemed to Olivier so exorbitant that, in his astonishment, he could not help saying:
"Madame de Senneterre--come here--to tell you that she consents to your marriage with her son,--why, what are you thinking of, Mlle. Herminie?
That exceeds the bounds of possibility!"
"And why, monsieur?" asked the young girl, with such ingenuous pride that Olivier, remembering how generous and noble Herminie's character and love were, replied, with no little embarrassment:
"You ask why Madame de Senneterre can not come here to tell you that she consents to your marriage with her son?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"But, mademoiselle, even ignoring the convenances of the fashionable world, the overtures you ask from a lady of Madame de Senneterre's age--"
But again interrupting Olivier, the girl said, with a bitter smile:
"If I belonged to the fashionable world of which you speak, monsieur,--if I had a mother and relatives, instead of being a poor orphan,--and M. de Senneterre desired my hand in marriage, would it not be according to the rules of propriety you spoke of just now that Madame de Senneterre should be the first to approach my mother or my relatives in her son's behalf?"
"Certainly, mademoiselle, but--"
"I have no mother, and I have no relatives," continued Herminie, sadly.
"To whom, then, if not to me, should Madame de Senneterre address herself in relation to my marriage?"
"One word, mademoiselle, Madame de Senneterre might do this if she approved of the marriage."
"And that is precisely why I ask it, M. Olivier."
"But Gerald's mother does not even know you, mademoiselle."
"If Madame de Senneterre has such a poor opinion of her son as to believe him capable of choosing a wife unworthy of him, she can make all needful inquiries in relation to me. Thank God, I have nothing to fear."
"That is true," said Olivier, who had exhausted all his arguments.
"So this is my last word, M. Olivier," continued Herminie. "If Madame de Senneterre is not opposed to my marriage with her son, she will prove it by making the kindly overtures I ask; if she does not, she will consider me unworthy to enter her family, and in that case I will never see M. de Senneterre again."
"Oh, Mlle. Herminie, if only out of compassion for Gerald--"
"Believe me, I am much more in need of pity than M. de Senneterre," said the girl, and, no longer able to restrain her tears, she buried her face in her hands. "I may die of grief, I do not know, but to the last I will at least be worthy of Gerald and of his love."
Olivier was in despair, but he could not help admiring this noble pride, though he deeply deplored the consequences so far as Gerald was concerned.
Suddenly a loud ring of the door-bell resounded through the room.
Herminie sprang up and hastily dried her tears; then, remembering Mlle.
de Beaumesnil's note, she said to Olivier:
"It must be Ernestine. Poor child, I had forgotten all about her. M.
Olivier, will you have the goodness to open the door for me?"
"One word more," said Olivier, in earnest, almost solemn tones; "you have no conception of the intensity of Gerald's love for you. You know I am not prone to exaggeration, yet I am afraid, do you hear me, positively afraid, when I think of the possible consequences of your refusal."
Herminie trembled at Olivier's ominous words. For a moment she seemed to be torn by conflicting doubts and fears; but she finally triumphed, though the poor girl, exhausted by this mental conflict, answered in tones that were barely audible:
"The thought of causing Gerald suffering is terrible to me, for I can judge of his love by my own. My own sorrow, too, enables me to judge what his must be. Nevertheless, I will never sacrifice my dignity, for that is Gerald's as much as mine."
"I entreat you, mademoiselle, do not--"
"You have heard my resolve, M. Olivier. I shall not say another word.
Have pity on me. Can you not see that this interview is killing me?"
Olivier, seeing that it was useless to expostulate further, bowed to Herminie in silence, and then walked towards the door; but he had scarcely opened it when he exclaimed:
"My uncle, and you, Mlle. Ernestine! Great Heavens! This pallor--and this blood on your forehead! What has happened?"
On hearing Olivier's words, Herminie rushed out of her room into the little hallway.