"Well, mademoiselle, to speak frankly, you are not happy, and the persons with whom you live are not congenial to you. Is this not so?"
"Yes, M. Olivier. The only happiness I have known since my parents'
death dates from the hour of my entrance into Madame Herbaut's house."
"I do not wish to sadden you, mademoiselle," continued Olivier, kindly, even tenderly. "I am loath, too, to remind you how hard and precarious the life of a young girl who is dependent upon her own exertions is, and yet, mademoiselle, however courageous and industrious you may be, you cannot forget that you are an orphan, surrounded by selfish, hard-hearted persons, who would cruelly desert you, perhaps, if want or sickness should be your portion, or manifest a humiliating pity towards you which would be even more hard to bear than heartless desertion."
"You are perfectly right, monsieur. Privations, disdain, desertion, these are all I have to expect from the persons around me if I should become really destitute."
"You exposed to disdain and privations, never!" exclaimed Olivier. "No, you must not, you shall not, be treated thus," he continued. "I know that you can count upon Mlle. Herminie's devoted friendship; but poor and honest people like ourselves must not deceive ourselves. Mlle.
Herminie may need your aid herself some day. Besides, two devoted friends are better than one, so I would gladly offer myself as well, if I only knew that you had half as much confidence in me as I have true and faithful affection for you."
"Monsieur," said Ernestine, trembling, and casting down her eyes, "I do not know--I am not sure that I ought--"
"Listen one moment, mademoiselle. If I were still a common soldier, for to be a common soldier and a non-commissioned officer really amount to the same thing, I should not have spoken to you on this subject. I should have tried to forget, not my gratitude, but the sentiment that renders it doubly dear to me. Whether I should have succeeded or not, I cannot say. But now I am an officer, and that means a competence to me.
Will you allow me to offer this competence to you?"
"Such a future far exceeds my wildest hopes," replied Ernestine, only partially concealing the intense joy Olivier's words caused her.
"Ah, mademoiselle, if you should make me happy by an acceptance of this offer, far from feeling that I was released from a sacred obligation, I should realise that I had only contracted another,--for I should owe the happiness of my life to you, though this debt, at least, I should be certain to pay by my love and devotion. Yes, for why should I not say it, there can be no love deeper or more honourable than mine. There is no cause more holy and generous than that which lies so near my heart."
On hearing Olivier utter these words, in tones of intense earnestness and profound sincerity, Mlle. de Beaumesnil experienced a rapturous emotion hitherto unknown to her, and a vivid blush dyed her throat and brow as she cast a timid glance at Olivier's handsome, manly face, now radiant with love and hope.
So Ernestine had not been mistaken as to the meaning of Olivier's look when he heard, in her presence, of his promotion. The girl saw and felt that she was loved, ardently loved. The proofs of it were so unmistakable, the causes that had produced it were so noble, that she could not doubt its reality.
And to believe, understand, and appreciate all that is noble, tender, and charming in such a love, is that not equivalent to sharing it, above all when one has lived, like Mlle. de Beaumesnil, a prey to apprehensions which recent events had more than justified, and to a distrust which had threatened to destroy all her hopes of future happiness?
And what inexpressible joy it was for her to be able to say to herself:
"It is I, the poor, nameless, penniless orphan, that he loves, because I have proved myself to be sincere, brave, and generous. And I am so truly loved that he offers a life of comparative ease, and an honourable position to me, who seemed destined to a life of poverty, if not absolute want."
And Mlle. de Beaumesnil, agitated by a thousand new emotions, blushing and smiling at the same time, seized the hand of Herminie, by whom she was sitting, and, thus avoiding the necessity of any direct reply to Olivier's proposal, exclaimed:
"You were right, Herminie; I have, indeed, good reason to be proud of M.
Olivier's offer."
"And do you accept this offer, Ernestine?" asked Herminie, certain what her friend's reply would be.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil, with a graceful, almost childish movement, threw her arms around the neck of the duchess, kissed her tenderly, and said, almost in a whisper:
"Yes--I accept it."
But she still kept her face almost hidden on her friend's bosom, while Herminie, scarcely able to restrain her tears of sympathetic emotion, turned to the young officer, who was himself deeply moved by this charming scene, and said:
"Ernestine accepts, M. Olivier. I am delighted both on your account and hers, for from this time I feel that her happiness is certain."
"Ah, yes, mademoiselle," cried Olivier, his face radiant with joy, "for from this moment I have the right to devote my life to Mlle. Ernestine."
"I believe in you, and in my future happiness, M. Olivier," said mademoiselle, shyly, raising her head until it rested on Herminie's shoulder. Then, with cheeks slightly flushed, and her beautiful eyes sparkling with purest joy, the girl timidly extended her little hand to the young man.
Olivier trembled, as he touched this hand which he dared not carry to his lips, but he pressed it tenderly with mingled love and deference.
Then, without trying to conceal the tears that filled his eyes, he said:
"By this dear hand so generously given, mademoiselle, I swear to you, and ask your friend to bear witness to my vow, I swear that my life shall be consecrated to your happiness."
CHAPTER XVII.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
After the vows thus plighted by Mlle. de Beaumesnil and Olivier Raymond in Herminie's presence, the three actors in the scene maintained an almost solemn silence for several minutes.
All three fully realised the gravity of the obligation assumed.
"How delightful it is to be rich," thought Olivier, "for I am rich in comparison with this dear child who has only her own labour to depend upon. What happiness it gives me to be able to assure her an existence superior even to her wildest dreams."
His features were radiant with the delight of this thought, as he broke the silence by saying to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:
"Until I became sure of your consent, mademoiselle, I did not care to broach the subject to your relative, though I have every reason to hope she will accede to my request. Do you not think so? As for my uncle, need I tell you that his joy will almost equal mine, when he knows that he can call you his daughter? If you think proper, mademoiselle, he had better be the one, perhaps, to go to your relative and make known my request."
This proposal threw Ernestine into a state of deep perplexity. Yielding to an outburst of irresistible confidence, that told her that every possible guarantee of safety and happiness would be found in Olivier, she had never once thought of the many difficulties that were sure to arise from the maintenance of the incognito which she dared not throw off at once, however.
But already somewhat familiar with the sudden dilemmas resulting from the position in which she had placed herself, Mlle. de Beaumesnil replied, after a moment's reflection:
"I am hardly able to say to-day whether it had better be M. Bernard or Herminie who goes to my relative to inform her of your intentions--and of my consent. I will think the matter over, and let you know my decision the next time I see you."
"Ernestine is right, M. Olivier," remarked Herminie; "from what I have heard of her relative's disposition, it would be advisable to act with prudence, as--as the consent of this parent is indispensable to Ernestine's marriage."
"I shall be guided entirely by Mlle. Ernestine and by you, Mlle.
Herminie, in this matter. Sure of Mlle. Ernestine's consent, I can wait with patience. If you knew with what happiness I think of the future--our future, I can say now! And my brave, kind uncle, how happy he will be surrounded by our care, for it will not be at all unpleasant to you to live with him, will it, Mlle. Ernestine? He is so good and kind, and it would make him so happy to have us with him!"
"Did you not tell me that he would call me his daughter, M. Olivier? I shall be very proud of that title and try to deserve it."
"Tell me, Mlle. Herminie," asked Olivier, addressing the duchess, "after such a reply, can there be a happier man in the world than I?"
"No, M. Olivier," replied the duchess, smothering a sigh as she thought how she, too, might have enjoyed the same felicity if Gerald's position had been as modest as Olivier's; "no, I do not believe there can be any greater happiness than yours, nor any that is more richly deserved."
"We shall not be high and mighty seigneurs, Mlle. Ernestine," said Olivier, smiling, "for a second lieutenant is no great things, but even a single epaulette honourably worn levels all conditions. Besides, I am young, and I shall soon have two epaulettes instead of one, some day I shall become a major, perhaps even a colonel."
"Beware of ambition, M. Olivier," said Ernestine, smiling in her turn.
"That is true. It seems to me that I am devoured with ambition now. It would give me such happiness to see you enjoy the consideration with which the wife of a colonel is surrounded! My poor uncle, too, how proud he would be to see me hold that rank. Then, think of it, Mlle.
Ernestine, we should be millionaires on a colonel's pay. And what pleasure it would give me to surround you with comforts and even luxuries enough to make you forget the hardships of your youth, and to at last see my poor uncle placed above the reach of want, for he is sometimes subjected to great privations!"
"Yes, in spite of your generous assistance, M. Olivier," said Ernestine, with deep emotion, "and in spite of the hard work you have been doing all through your furlough."