"What! even my very thoughts, my belief in the future?" cried Emile in dismay. "O father! you are trying to dishonor me in my own eyes!"
"Do you draw back? Ah! you are not even in love, my poor Emile! But let us stop here. This is enough excitement for your poor head. Take time to reflect. I don't wish you to reply until I question you again. Consult the intensity of your passion, and go and consult your mistress. Go to Châteaubrun, go there every day, every hour in the day; you won't meet Galuchet there again. Inform Gilberte and her parents of the result of this conference. Tell them everything. Tell them that I give my consent to your marriage a year hence on condition that you take now the oath that I demand. Your mistress must know this just as it is; I insist upon it; and if you don't tell her, I will take it upon myself to do it; for I know the way to Châteaubrun now!"
"I understand, father," said Emile, deeply wounded and distressed; "you wish her to hate me if I abandon her, or to despise me if I obtain her at the price of my degradation and apostasy. I thank you for the alternative you offer me, and I admire the inventive genius of your paternal affection."
"Not another word, Emile," replied Monsieur Cardonnet, coldly. "I see that the socialistic craze still exists, and that love will have some difficulty in overcoming it. I trust that Gilberte de Châteaubrun will perform that miracle, so that you may not have to reproach me for refusing to consent to your happiness."
XXVII
SORROWS AND JOYS OF LOVE
Emile locked himself in his room and passed two hours there, a prey to the most violent agitation. The thought of possessing Gilberte without a struggle, without resistance, without the terrible distress of breaking his father's heart, which he had hitherto anticipated with dismay and horror, intoxicated him completely. But suddenly the thought of degrading himself in his own eyes by an unholy oath plunged him into bitter despair; and between these alternatives of joy and anguish he could make up his mind to nothing. Should he dare to go and throw himself at Gilberte's feet and confess everything to her? He could count upon her courage and grandeur of soul. But should he fulfill the duties imposed upon him by his love, if, instead of concealing from her the terrible sacrifice that he might make without a word, he should compel her to bear half of his remorse and his suffering? Had he not said to her a hundred times at Crozant, that, for her and to obtain her hand, he would submit to anything and would recoil at nothing? But he had not then foreseen that his father's infernal genius would appeal to the very force of his love to corrupt and ruin his soul, and he found that he had received an unforeseen blow which had disarmed and bewildered him. Twenty times he was on the point of returning to Monsieur Cardonnet, to ask him to give him his word that he would do nothing, that he would conceal from the family at Châteaubrun the intentions he had revealed to him, until he himself had made up his mind what to do. But an invincible pride held him back. After the contempt his father had manifested for him, by assuming that he was weak enough to apostatize in that way, should he exhibit his irresolution to him and lay bare the depths of his heart, rent by passion as it was?
But who would be the most unjustly punished victim, Gilberte or he, in case honor should carry the day over love? He was blameworthy toward her, for he had destroyed her repose by a fatal passion and had led her on to share his illusions. What had poor Gilberte, the sweet, noble-hearted child, done that she should be snatched from her pure and tranquil existence, and sacrificed at once to the law of inflexible duty? Was it not too late to take cognizance of the reef against which he had steered her? Must he not rather allow himself to be dashed to pieces upon it to save her, and had his conscience the right to recoil from the supreme sacrifice, when it was irrevocably pledged to Gilberte?
And then, if Gilberte should refuse to accept so tremendous a sacrifice, would Emile be any less dishonored in her parents' eyes? Would Monsieur Antoine, who loved and practised equality by instinct, at the dictates of his heart, and also as a necessity of his position, understand how Emile, young as he was, could have made it a religious duty, how an idea could prevail over a sentiment—a pledged oath? And what would Janille think of the slightest hesitation on his part, Janille who, in her humble position, cherished such strange aristocratic prejudices, and took advantage, in her relations with her masters, of the privileges, without giving a thought to the universal right, of equality? She would take him for a miserable fool, or rather she would think that he seized upon that pretext to break his word, and she would banish him from Châteaubrun with anger. Who could say that she would not in time work upon Gilberte's mind so successfully that Gilberte would share her scorn and indignation?
Feeling that he lacked strength to face so cruel a test, Emile tried to write to Gilberte. He began and destroyed twenty letters, and at last, being utterly unable to solve the problem of his situation, he resolved to go and open his heart to his old friend Monsieur de Boisguilbault, and ask his advice.