He tried to say this quietly, with as little bitterness as possible, but in the end his voice broke, and he ran quickly out of the room.
CHAPTER IV
THE DESPATCH
Micheline was happy once more. For a little while—oh! a very little while—this afternoon her idol had tottered on the pedestal upon which she had placed him. The brother whom she worshipped, admired, looked up to, with all the ardour and enthusiasm of her reserved nature, was perhaps not quite so perfect as her affection had painted him. He seemed almost as if he were proud and ungrateful, too proud to renew those delicious ties of childish friendship which she, Micheline, looked on as almost sacred.
But Bertrand did not know that it was in truth Jaume Deydier who, during those trying years at St. Cyr, had generously paid the debts which the young cadet had thoughtlessly contracted—dragged as he had been into a vortex of fashionable life where every one of his comrades was richer than he. Bertrand, driven to distraction by the pressure of monetary difficulties, had confessed to Micheline, and Micheline had quite naturally gone with the sad story to her bosom friend, Nicolette. She had wept, and Nicolette had wept, and the two girls fell into one another’s arms and then thought and planned how best Bertrand could be got out of his difficulties without reference to grandmama. And lo! and behold, Bertrand presently received five thousand francs from his dear sister Micheline. They were, she darkly hinted, the proceeds of certain rigid economies which she had effected in the management of her pin money. Bertrand accepted both money and explanation without much compunction, but unfortunately through his own indiscretion, grandmama got to hear of his debts and of the five thousand francs. It was, of course, impossible to deceive grandmama for long. Within half an hour the true secret of Bertrand’s benefactor was wrung out of the unwilling Micheline.
That a young Comte de Ventadour should make debts whilst he was at St. Cyr was a perfectly proper and natural state of things; avarice or thrift would have been a far greater crime in the eyes of the old Comtesse, than the borrowing of a few thousands from bourgeois tradesmen who could well afford it, without much knowledge as to how those thousands would be repaid. Therefore she never thought of blaming Bertrand. On the other hand, she was very severe with Micheline, not so much for having aroused Nicolette’s sympathy on behalf of Bertrand, as for continuing this friendship with the people at the mas, which she—grandmama—thought degrading. And there the matter ended.
Jaume Deydier was passing rich—was the old Comtesse’s argument—he and his forbears had enriched themselves at the expense of their feudal lords, grabbing their lands whenever opportunity arose. No doubt the present owner of those splendid estates which once had belonged to the Comtes de Ventadour, felt some compunction in knowing that the present scion of that ancient race was in financial difficulties, and no doubt, too, that his compunction led to a tardy liberality. It all was perfectly right and just. Margarita de Ventadour’s own arguments completely eased her conscience. But she did not enlighten Bertrand. The boy was hot-headed, he might do something foolish and humiliating. The money must be accepted as a matter of course: grandmama outwardly must know nothing about it. Nor Bertrand.
And so Bertrand was kept in the dark as to this and other matters which were far more important.
Even to-day he had been told nothing: he had only guessed. A word from Micheline about St. Cyr, one from his mother about the kind friend who had saved the old château from the hands of the creditors had set his young mind speculating, but that was all.
There was much of his grandmother’s temperament in Bertrand; much of that racial pride of family and arrogance of caste, which not even the horrors of the Revolution had wholly eradicated. But underlying that pride and arrogance there were in Bertrand de Ventadour some fine aspirations and impulses of manhood and chivalry, such as the one which caused him to declare his intention of visiting Jaume Deydier immediately.
Micheline was now quite happy: for a little while she had almost thought the beloved brother vain and ungrateful. Now her heart was already full of excuses for him. He was coming on the morrow with her to see Nicolette. It was perhaps a little late to-day. They had their dinner early at the mas, and it would not do to interrupt them all at their meal. But to-morrow she and Bertrand would go over in the morning, and spend a long, happy day in the dear old house, or in the garden under the shade of the wild vine just as they used to do in the past.