She shook her head, and in a firmer voice, replied: “I have no prejudices; but for some time past already, my future has been decided, irrevocably decided.”
He seemed thunderstruck, and his manner apparently indicated that the possibility of a repulse had never entered his mind. His eyes wandered restlessly from Mademoiselle Marguerite to the countenance of the old magistrate, who remained as impassive as a sphinx, and at last they lighted on a newspaper which was lying on the floor at the young girl’s feet. “Do not deprive me of all hope,” he murmured.
She made no answer, and understanding her silence, he was about to retire when the door suddenly opened and a servant announced: “Monsieur de Fondege.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite touched the magistrate on the shoulder to attract his attention. “This gentleman is M. de Chalusse’s friend whom I sent for this morning.”
At the same moment a man who looked some sixty years of age entered the room. He was very tall, and as straight as the letter I, being arrayed in a long blue frock-coat, while his neck, which was as red and as wrinkled as that of a turkey-cock, was encased in a very high and stiff satin cravat. On seeing his ruddy face, his closely cropped hair, his little eyes twinkling under his bushy eyebrows, and his formidable mustaches a la Victor Emmanuel, you would have immediately exclaimed: “That man is an old soldier!”
A great mistake! M. de Fondege had never been in the service, and it was only in mockery of his somewhat bellicose manners and appearance that some twenty years previously his friends had dubbed him “the General.” However, the appellation had clung to him. The nickname had been changed to a title, and now M. de Fondege was known as “the General” everywhere. He was invited and announced as “the General.” Many people believed that he had really been one, and perhaps he fancied so himself, for he had long been in the habit of inscribing “General A. de Fondege” on his visiting cards. The nickname had had a decisive influence on his life. He had endeavored to show himself worthy of it, and the manners he had at first assumed, eventually became natural ones. He seemed to be the conventional old soldier—irascible and jovial at the same time; brusk and kind; at once frank, sensible and brutal; as simple as a child, and yet as true as steel. He swore the most tremendous oaths in a deep bass voice, and whenever he talked his arms revolved like the sails of a windmill. However, Madame de Fondege, who was a very angular lady, with a sharp nose and very thin lips, assured people that her husband was not so terrible as he appeared. He was not considered very shrewd, and he pretended to have an intense dislike for business matters. No one knew anything precise about his fortune, but he had a great many friends who invited him to dinner, and they all declared that he was in very comfortable circumstances.
On entering the study this worthy man did not pay the slightest attention to the Marquis de Valorsay, although they were intimate friends. He walked straight up to Mademoiselle Marguerite, caught her in his long arms, and pressed her to his heart, brushing her face with his huge mustaches as he pretended to kiss her. “Courage, my dear,” he growled; “courage. Don’t give way. Follow my example. Look at me!” So saying he stepped back, and it was really amusing to see the extraordinary effort he made to combine a soldier’s stoicism with a friend’s sorrow. “You must wonder at my delay, my dear,” he resumed, “but it was not my fault. I was at Madame de Rochecote’s when I was informed that your messenger was at home waiting for me. I returned, and heard the frightful news. It was a thunderbolt. A friend of thirty years’ standing! A thousand thunderclaps! I acted as his second when he fought his first duel. Poor Chalusse! A man as sturdy as an oak, and who ought to have outlived us all. But it is always so; the best soldiers always file by first at dress-parade.”
The Marquis de Valorsay had beaten a retreat, the magistrate was hidden in a dark corner, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was accustomed to the General’s manner, remained silent, being well aware that there was no chance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor. “Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man,” continued M. de Fondege. “He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provisions must have shown you.”
“His provisions?”
“Yes, most certainly. Surely you don’t mean to try and conceal anything from one who knows all. Ah! you will be one of the greatest catches in Europe, and you will have plenty of suitors.”