“I was at last left alone with the superior, whom I longed to question, but she gave me no time to do so, for with extreme volubility she began to tell me of my surprising good fortune, which was an unanswerable and conclusive proof of the kindness and protection of Providence. ‘The count,’ she said, ‘was to become my guardian. He would certainly give me a dowry; and by and by, if I were grateful to him for his goodness, he would adopt me, a poor, fatherless and motherless girl, and I should bear the great name of Durtal de Chalusse, and inherit an immense fortune.’ In conclusion, she said that there was no limit to the count’s generosity, that he had consented to reimburse the asylum the money that had been spent on me, that he had offered to dower, I do not know how many poor girls, and that he had promised to build a chapel for the use of the establishment. This was all true, incredible as it might seem. That very morning, M. de Chalusse had called at the asylum, declared that he was old and childless, a bachelor without any near relatives, and that he wished to adopt a poor orphan. They had given him a list of all the children in the institution, and he had chosen me. ‘A mere chance, my dear Marguerite,’ repeated the superior. ‘A mere chance—or rather a true miracle.’ It did, indeed, seem a miracle, but I was more surprised than elated. I longed to be alone, so as to deliberate and reflect, for I knew that I was free to accept or decline this dazzling offer.
“I timidly asked permission to return to my employers to inform them of what had happened and consult with them; but my request was refused. The superior told me that I must deliberate and decide alone; and that when once my decision was taken, there could be no change. So I remained at the asylum, and dined at the superior’s table; and during the night I occupied the room of a sister who was absent. What surprised me most of all was the deference with which I was treated. The sisters all seemed to consider me a person of great importance. And yet I hesitated.
“My indecision may seem absurd and hypocritical; but it was really sincere. My present situation was certainly by no means an enviable one. But the worst was over; my term as an apprentice had nearly expired, and my future seemed assured. My future! What could it be with the Count de Chalusse? It was painted in such brilliant colors that it frightened me. Why had the count chosen me in preference to any of the other girls? Was it really chance which had decided him in his choice? On reflecting, the miracle seemed to me to have been prepared in advance, and I fancied that it must conceal some mystery. More than this, the thought of yielding myself up to a stranger terrified me. Forty-eight hours had been granted me to consider my decision, and till the very last instant I remained in doubt. Who knows? Perhaps it would have been better for me if I had returned to my humble life. At all events, I should have been spared a great deal of sorrow and humiliation. But I lacked the courage; and when the time expired, I consented to the new arrangement.
“Should I live a thousand years I shall never forget the day I left the foundling asylum to become the Count de Chalusse’s ward. It was a Saturday, and I had given my answer to the superior on the evening before. The next morning I received a visit from my former employers, who, having been informed of the great change in my prospects, had come to bid me good-bye. The cancelling of my apprenticeship had at first caused some trouble, but eventually the count’s gold silenced their objections. Still, they were sorry to part with me, as I plainly saw. Their eyes were moist with tears. They were sorry to lose the poor little servant who had served them so faithfully. At the same time, however, I noticed evident constraint in their manner. They no longer said ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ to me; they no longer spoke roughly; but they said ‘you,’ and addressed me as ‘mademoiselle.’ Poor people! they awkwardly apologized for having ventured to accept my services, declaring in the same breath that they should never be able to replace me at the same price. Madame Greloux, moreover, declared that she should never forgive herself for not having sharply reproved her brother for his abominable conduct. He was a good-for-nothing fellow, she said, as was proved by the fact that he had dared to raise his eyes to me. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was sincerely loved; and I was so deeply touched that if my decision had not been written and signed, I should certainly have returned to live with these worthy people. But it was too late. A sister came to tell me that the superior wished to see me. I bade Father and Mother Greloux farewell and went downstairs.
“In the superior’s room, a lady and two shop-girls, laden with boxes and parcels, were waiting for me. It was a dressmaker who had come with some clothes suited to my new station in life. I was told that she had been sent by the Count de Chalusse. This great nobleman thought of everything; and, although he had thirty servants to do his bidding, he never disdained to occupy himself with the pettiest details. So, for the first time, I was arrayed in rustling silk and clinging cashmere. My toilette was no trifling affair. All the good sisters clustered round me, and tried to beautify me with the same care and patience as they would have displayed in adorning the Virgin’s statue for a fete-day. A secret instinct warned me that they were overdoing the matter, and that they were making me look ridiculous; but I did not mind. I allowed them to please themselves I could still feel Madame Greloux’s tears on my hand, and the scene seemed to me as lugubrious as the last toilette of a prisoner under sentence of death. When they had completed their task, I heard a buzz of admiration round me. If the sisters were worthy of belief, they had never seen such a wonderful transformation. Those who were in the class-rooms or the sewing-room, were summoned to view and admire me, and some of the elder children were also admitted. Perhaps I was intended as an example for the latter, for I heard the lady superior say to them, ‘You see, my dear children, the result of good behavior. Be diligent and dutiful, like our dear Marguerite, and God will reward you as He has rewarded her.’ And, meantime, miserable in my finery, I waited—waited for M. de Chalusse, who was coming to take me away.
“At the appointed hour he appeared, with the same air of haughty reserve, that had so awed me on the occasion of our first meeting. He scarcely deigned to look at me, and although I watched him with poignant anxiety, I could read neither blame nor approval on his face. ‘You see that your wishes have been scrupulously obeyed, Monsieur le Comte,’ said the superior. ‘I thank you,’ he replied; ‘and I shall prove the extent of my gratitude to the poor children under your charge.’ Then, turning to me: ‘Marguerite,’ he said, ‘take leave of—your mothers, and tell them that you will never forget their kindness.’”
The girl paused, for her emotion had rendered her words almost unintelligible. But, with an effort, she speedily conquered her weakness.
“It was only then,” she continued, “that I realized how much I loved these poor nuns, whom I had sometimes almost cursed. I felt now how close the ties were, that bound me to this hospitable roof, and to these unfortunate children, my companions in misery and loneliness. It seemed to me as if my heart were breaking; and the superior, who was generally so impassible, appeared scarcely less moved than myself. At last, M. de Chalusse took me by the hand and led me away. In the street there was a carriage waiting for us, not such a beautiful one as that which had been sent to fetch me from my workshop, but a much larger one, with trunks and boxes piled on its roof. It was drawn by four gray horses. I felt more dead than alive, as I entered the carriage and took the seat which the count pointed out. He sat down opposite to me. All the sisters had assembled at the door of the asylum, and even the superior wept without making any attempt to hide her tears. ‘Farewell!’ they all cried; ‘farewell, farewell, dear child! Don’t forget your old friends. We shall pray for your happiness.’ Alas! God could not have heard their prayers. At a sign from M. de Chalusse, a footman closed the door, the postilions cracked their whips, and the heavy vehicle rolled away.
“The die was cast. Henceforth, an impassable gulf was to separate me from this asylum, whither I had been carried in my infancy half dead, and wrapped in swaddling clothes, from which every mark that could possibly lead to identification had been carefully cut away. Whatever my future might prove, I felt that my past was gone forever. But I was too greatly agitated even to think; and crouching in a corner of the carriage, I watched M. de Chalusse with the poignant anxiety a slave displays as he studies his new master. Ah! monsieur, what a wondrous change! A mask seemed to have fallen from the count’s face; his lips quivered, a tender light beamed in his eyes, and he drew me to him, exclaiming: ‘Oh, Marguerite! my beloved Marguerite! At last—at last!’ He sobbed—this old man, whom I had thought as cold and as insensible as marble; he crushed me in his close embrace, he almost smothered me with kisses. And I was frightfully agitated by the strange, indefinable feeling, kindled in my heart; but I no longer trembled with fear. An inward voice whispered that this was but the renewal of a former tie—one which had somehow been mysteriously broken. However, as I remembered the superior’s assertion that it was a miracle in my favor—a wonderful interposition of Providence, I had courage enough to ask: ‘So it was not chance that guided you in your choice?’
“My question seemed to take him by surprise. ‘Poor Marguerite!’ he murmured, ‘dearly beloved child! for years I have been laboring to bring about this chance!’ Instantly all the romantic stories I had heard in the asylum recurred to my mind. And Heaven knows there are plenty of these stories transmitted by the sisters from generation to generation, till they have become a sort of Golden Legend for poor foundlings. That sad formula, ‘Father and mother unknown,’ which figures on certificates of birth, acts as a dangerous stimulant for unhealthy imaginations, and leaves an open door for the most extravagant hopes. And thus influenced, I fixed my eyes on the face of the Count de Chalusse, striving to discover some resemblance in his features to my own. But he did not seem to notice my intent gaze, and following his train of thought, he muttered: ‘Chance! It was necessary that they should think so, and they did think so. And yet the cleverest detectives in Paris, from old Tabaret to Fortunat, both masters in the art of following up a clue, had exhausted their resources in helping me in my despairing search.’ The agony of suspense I was enduring had become intolerable; and unable to restrain myself longer, I exclaimed, with a wildly throbbing heart: ‘Then, you are my father, Monsieur le Comte?’ He pressed his hand to my lips with such violence that he hurt me, and then, in a voice quivering with excitement, he replied: ‘Imprudent girl! What can you mean? Forget that unfortunate idea. Never utter the name of father—you hear me—never! I forbid it!’ He had become extremely pale, and he looked anxiously around him, as if he feared that some one had overheard me—as if he had forgotten that we were alone in a carriage which was dashing onward at full speed!