My words at once showed him that I had something more to communicate than mere ordinary topics of ineffectual consolation, which fall upon the dull ear, but never reach the heart; and he soon became more eager to hear than I was to tell. Turning round quickly, he paused, and gazed at me as if he would have searched my very soul, to gather at once what I was about to relate; and then exclaimed, "Speak! speak! speak, young man!" in a tone and with a manner that almost made me fear the effect which Suzette's confession might have upon his reason.
I pointed, however, to the sentinels close by, who were gazing with some sort of wonder at his vehemence; and recovering command over himself, he walked on with me, with his eyes bent upon the ground, while I proceeded in a low and calm voice, in order that the tidings I had to give might be fully understood, without irritating his imagination by all the adjuncts of emphasis and gesture.
"You remember, my lord," I said, "that I told you, when we were together in Paris, on the day of the massacre at the Hôtel de Ville, that I had been saved and well treated by Suzette, who is now the wife of Gaspard de Belleville. I told you, too, that he behaves to her in the most brutal manner; but I have not found an opportunity of telling you, till this moment, that she related to me the whole scheme by which she and her base husband contrived to deceive you and render you miserable. From a feeling, partly of remorse, partly, I believe, of hatred to her present tyrant, and partly in consequence of a vow which she made to her confessor, she charged me to detail the whole to you, word for word, and she gave me this billet, in order to make you yield full credit to the whole I have to tell. I have preserved that billet through everything," I added, putting it into his hands, "though I do not think you would have doubted my word even had I not possessed it."
Monsieur de Villardin took it eagerly out of my hand, and read it over with a straining eye; but instantly turning to me, he exclaimed, "It tells me nothing--speak on! speak on! I would believe you of course without that--speak on!"
He had become deadly pale, however; and I paused, apprehensive of more painful consequences if I proceeded, saying, "Had I not better wait, my lord, till you are more calm? The subject is too painful to you. Had I not better wait?"
"Perhaps you had," replied Monsieur de Villardin, who felt how much he was shaken; "perhaps you had. I will soon recover from this, my dear boy; and when I can lend my rational senses to the consideration of what you have to tell me, instead of my passions, which are now engaged, I will tell you--perhaps to-night. Now give me your arm:" and with a slow step he turned back to his tent, where, shutting himself up in the inner division, he remained for some time alone.
At night, however, after returning from some other occupation, I found him much more calm; for the constant struggles he had long been obliged to maintain against his own feelings had given him the power of quelling their most turbulent efforts, after a short space given to reflection.
"Now, De Juvigny," he said, almost as I entered the tent, "now I am capable of listening to your tidings, whatever they may be; so speak on--I can hear you like a rational being now."
As I saw that he was really prepared, I proceeded more boldly, and related to him, word for word, as far as my memory served me, the account which had been given to me by Suzette. This I was permitted to do uninterrupted, for, with his head leaning upon his arm, and his hand shading his eyes, he listened, without question or comment of any kind whatsoever, till I had finished all that I had to say. Even for some minutes afterwards he remained still buried in deep thought, though the words, "Fiends!--incarnate fiends!" which once or twice broke from his lips, showed that his mind was busy with the tale of deceit and villany which I had just related.
"You have, indeed," he said at length, "given me consolation; or, perhaps, as I had better call it, you have afforded to me the means of palliating, to my own mind, the errors that I have committed. I had but one palliation before--the consciousness," and he lowered his voice as he spoke, "the consciousness of having acted under mental aberration. It was consolatory to me to know that I had been a madman; and now," he continued, with a bitter smile, "it is still more consolatory to me to know that I was a fool--a gross and egregious fool! What must be the state of a man's heart when such convictions can be such a relief!"