Meanwhile, Monsieur Cardonnet, acting with all the energy and freedom of his cruel inspiration, wrote Gilberte a letter thus conceived:
"Mademoiselle,
"You must have found me very troublesome and far from polite yesterday. I write to ask your pardon and to confess to a little feint for which you will forgive me, I am sure, when you know my intentions.
"My son loves you, mademoiselle, I know, and I also know that you deign to reciprocate his sentiments. I am happy and proud that it is so, now that I know you. Does it not seem natural to you that, before forming a decision of the utmost importance, I desired to see with my own eyes, and in a certain measure to test the character of the young woman who has in her hands my son's heart and the future of my family?
"And so, mademoiselle, I write to-day to apologize at your feet, and to say to you that one so lovely and amiable as you can dispense with many things, even with fortune, when it is a question of entering a rich and honorable family.
"I ask your permission, therefore, to call upon you once more in order to lay before your father in due form my petition for your hand, in my son's behalf, as soon as my son shall have fully authorized me to do so. This last sentence demands an explanation, and that explanation should properly find a place in this letter.
"I make my consent to my son's happiness dependent upon a single condition, and that condition tends only to make his happiness more complete and to assure its continuance indefinitely. I demand that he abandon those eccentric opinions which would impair our good understanding and would endanger his fortune and consideration in the future. I am sure that you are too sensible and too intelligent to understand the socialistic, levelling doctrines, with the aid of which my dear Emile and his young friends expect to overturn the world in a short time; that the stock phrases of the brotherhood of mankind, equal participation in privileges and enjoyments, and many other technical terms of the young communistic school are absolutely unintelligible to you. I fancy that Emile has never bored you to death with his philosophical declamations, and I find it hard to believe that he could have obtained the happiness of winning your affection by that nonsense. I have no doubt that he will consent to abstain from it forever and to renounce his folly. At that price, provided that he gives me the promise, freely but solemnly, I will consent with all my heart to ratify the fortunate choice that he has made of a perfect creature like yourself. Be kind enough, mademoiselle, to convey to monsieur your father my deep regret at not seeing him, and to inform him of the contents of this letter.
"Pray accept the sentiments of esteem and of paternal affection with which I place my son's cause and my own in your hands."
"VICTOR CARDONNET."
While a servant in gold lace, mounted on a fine horse, carried this letter to Châteaubrun, Emile, over-burdened with anxious care, betook himself on foot to the park of Boisguilbault.
"Well," said the marquis, squeezing his hand hard, "I did not expect you until next Sunday. I thought that you forgot me yesterday, so this is a pleasant surprise. I thank you, Emile. The days are very long since you have been working so faithfully for your father. I can only approve your submission, although I ask myself with some little alarm if it will not take you farther along with him and his principles than you think. But what's the matter, Emile? You are pale, distressed. You haven't had a fall from your horse, have you?"
"I came on foot; but I have had a worse fall," replied Emile, "and I believe that I have come to die here. Listen to me, my friend. I have come to ask you either for the strength to die or the secret of life. An insane joy and a ghastly sorrow are fighting together in my poor heart, in my tortured brain. I have had, ever since I knew you, a secret which I could not, dared not tell you, but which I cannot keep to myself to-day. I do not know whether you will understand it, whether there is within you any chord that will sympathize with my suffering; but I know that you love me, that you are wise and enlightened, and that you adore justice. It is impossible that you should not give me salutary advice."
Thereupon, the young man confided to the old man his whole story, abstaining carefully from mentioning any name, place, or incident which could possibly lead him to suspect that he was referring to Gilberte and her family. He dreaded the effect of the marquis's personal prejudices, and, desiring that his judgment should not be influenced in any way, he so expressed himself as to allow him to think that the object of his love was an entire stranger in the neighborhood and probably lived at Poitiers or Paris. His reserve in not mentioning his mistress's name did not fail to strike Monsieur de Boisguilbault as being in the best of taste.
When Emile had finished he was greatly surprised not to find his grave confidant armed with the stoical courage which he had anticipated and dreaded. The marquis sighed, hung his head, then looked up at the sky: "The truth is eternal!" he said.—But in another moment he let his head fall again upon his breast, saying: "And yet I know what love is."
"You do, my friend?" said Emile; "then you understand me and I rely upon you to save me."
"No, Emile; it is impossible for me to keep you from draining the cup of bitterness. Whichever course you choose, you must drain it to the dregs, and the only question is, in which direction honor lies, for, as for happiness, do not reckon on it, you have lost it forever."
"Ah! I feel it already," said Emile, "and I have passed from a day of bright sunshine and intoxicating bliss into the shadow of death. But the profound and irreparable calamity that forces itself upon my mind, whatever sacrifice I may resolve upon, is this—that my heart has become as ice toward my father, and that, for several hours past, it has seemed to me that I no longer love him, that I no longer dread to wound him, that I no longer feel either respect or esteem for him. O my God, preserve me from this suffering beyond my strength! Hitherto, as you know, despite all the pain and terror he has caused me, I still cherished him and I put forth all the strength of my heart to believe in him. I felt in the very depths of my being that I was still his son and his friend, and to-day it seems to me that the bond of blood is broken forever, and that I am struggling against a strange master, who oppresses me, who weighs on my heart like an enemy, like a ghost! Ah! I remember a dream I had the first night I passed in this neighborhood. I dreamed that my father came and sat on me to suffocate me!—It was horrible; and now that ghastly vision is being realized; my father has placed his knees, his elbows, his feet on my breast; he is trying to tear out my conscience or my heart. He is poking about in my entrails to see what weak spot will give way to him. Oh! it is a devilish invention, a murderous project, which leads him astray. Is it possible that love of gold and worship of success can inspire such thoughts in a father's mind against his child? If you had seen the smile of triumph with which he displayed the sudden inspiration of his peculiar generosity! he was not a protector and adviser, but an adversary who has set a trap and seizes his foe with a fiendish laugh. 'Choose,' he seemed to say, 'and if you die, what does it matter? I shall have triumphed.'—O my God! it is horrible, horrible, to condemn and to hate one's father!"