Victurnien wanted to be sure of his beautiful Diane; he would do nothing unless she should consent to their flight.So he went to the Duchess in the Rue Faubourg Saint-Honore, and found her in coquettish morning dress, which cost as much in thought as in money, a fit dress in which to begin to play the part of Angel at eleven o'clock in the morning.
Mme.de Maufrigneuse was somewhat pensive.Cares of a similar kind were gnawing her mind; but she took them gallantly.Of all the various feminine organizations classified by physiologists, there is one that has something indescribably terrible about it.Such women combine strength of soul and clear insight, with a faculty for prompt decision, and a recklessness, or rather resolution in a crisis which would shake a man's nerves.And these powers lie out of sight beneath an appearance of the most graceful helplessness.Such women only among womankind afford examples of a phenomenon which Buffon recognized in men alone, to wit, the union, or rather the disunion, of two different natures in one human being.Other women are wholly women; wholly tender, wholly devoted, wholly mothers, completely null and completely tiresome; nerves and brain and blood are all in harmony; but the Duchess, and others like her, are capable of rising to the highest heights of feelings, or of showing the most selfish insensibility.It is one of the glories of Moliere that he has given us a wonderful portrait of such a woman, from one point of view only, in that greatest of his full-length figures--Celimene; Celimene is the typical aristocratic woman, as Figaro, the second edition of Panurge, represents the people.
So, the Duchess, being overwhelmed with debt, laid it upon herself to give no more than a moment's thought to the avalanche of cares, and to take her resolution once and for all; Napoleon could take up or lay down the burden of his thoughts in precisely the same way.The Duchess possessed the faculty of standing aloof from herself; she could look on as a spectator at the crash when it came, instead of submitting to be buried beneath.This was certainly great, but repulsive in a woman.
When she awoke in the morning she collected her thoughts; and by the time she had begun to dress she had looked at the danger in its fullest extent and faced the possibilities of terrific downfall.She pondered.Should she take refuge in a foreign country? Or should she go to the King and declare her debts to him? Or again, should she fascinate a du Tillet or a Nucingen, and gamble on the stock exchange to pay her creditors? The city man would find the money; he would be intelligent enough to bring her nothing but the profits, without so much as mentioning the losses, a piece of delicacy which would gloss all over.The catastrophe, and these various ways of averting it, had all been reviewed quite coolly, calmly, and without trepidation.
As a naturalist takes up some king of butterflies and fastens him down on cotton-wool with a pin, so Mme.de Maufrigneuse had plucked love out of her heart while she pondered the necessity of the moment, and was quite ready to replace the beautiful passion on its immaculate setting so soon as her duchess' coronet was safe.SHE knew none of the hesitation which Cardinal Richelieu hid from all the world but Pere Joseph; none of the doubts that Napoleon kept at first entirely to himself."Either the one or the other," she told herself.
She was sitting by the fire, giving orders for her toilette for a drive in the Bois if the weather should be fine, when Victurnien came in.
The Comte d'Esgrignon, with all his stifled capacity, his so keen intellect, was in exactly the state which might have been looked for in the woman.His heart was beating violently, the perspiration broke out over him as he stood in his dandy's trappings; he was afraid as yet to lay a hand on the corner-stone which upheld the pyramid of his life with Diane.So much it cost him to know the truth.The cleverest men are fain to deceive themselves on one or two points if the truth once known is likely to humiliate them in their own eyes, and damage themselves with themselves.Victurnien forced his own irresolution into the field by committing himself.
"What is the matter with you?" Diane de Maufrigneuse had said at once, at the sight of her beloved Victurnien's face.
"Why, dear Diane, I am in such a perplexity; a man gone to the bottom and at his last gasp is happy in comparison.""Pshaw! it is nothing," said she; "you are a child.Let us see now;tell me about it."
"I am hopelessly in debt.I have come to the end of my tether.""Is that all?" said she, smiling at him."Money matters can always be arranged somehow or other; nothing is irretrievable except disasters in love."Victurnien's mind being set at rest by this swift comprehension of his position, he unrolled the bright-colored web of his life for the last two years and a half; but it was the seamy side of it which he displayed with something of genius, and still more of wit, to his Diane.He told his tale with the inspiration of the moment, which fails no one in great crises; he had sufficient artistic skill to set it off by a varnish of delicate scorn for men and things.It was an aristocrat who spoke.And the Duchess listened as she could listen.
One knee was raised, for she sat with her foot on a stool.She rested her elbow on her knee and leant her face on her hand so that her fingers closed daintily over her shapely chin.Her eyes never left his; but thoughts by myriads flitted under the blue surface, like gleams of stormy light between two clouds.Her forehead was calm, her mouth gravely intent--grave with love; her lips were knotted fast by Victurnien's lips.To have her listening thus was to believe that a divine love flowed from her heart.Wherefore, when the Count had proposed flight to this soul, so closely knit to his own, he could not help crying, "You are an angel!"The fair Maufrigneuse made silent answer; but she had not spoken as yet.
