“Oh, my father will certainly come,” said Victorin to his mother. “He promised me he would when we parted at the Chamber.”
Lisbeth, like a spider in the middle of its net, gloated over all these countenances. Having known Victorin and Hortense from their birth, their faces were to her like panes of glass, through which she could read their young souls. Now, from certain stolen looks directed by Victorin on his mother, she saw that some disaster was hanging over Adeline which Victorin hesitated to reveal. The famous young lawyer had some covert anxiety. His deep reverence for his mother was evident in the regret with which he gazed at her.
Hortense was evidently absorbed in her own woes; for a fortnight past, as Lisbeth knew, she had been suffering the first uneasiness which want of money brings to honest souls, and to young wives on whom life has hitherto smiled, and who conceal their alarms. Also Lisbeth had immediately guessed that her mother had given her no money. Adeline’s delicacy had brought her so low as to use the fallacious excuses that necessity suggests to borrowers.
Hortense’s absence of mind, with her brother’s and the Baroness’ deep dejection, made the dinner a melancholy meal, especially with the added chill of the Marshal’s utter deafness. Three persons gave a little life to the scene: Lisbeth, Celestine, and Wenceslas. Hortense’s affection had developed the artist’s natural liveliness as a Pole, the somewhat swaggering vivacity and noisy high spirits that characterize these Frenchmen of the North. His frame of mind and the expression of his face showed plainly that he believed in himself, and that poor Hortense, faithful to her mother’s training, kept all domestic difficulties to herself.
“You must be content, at any rate,” said Lisbeth to her young cousin, as they rose from table, “since your mother has helped you with her money.”
“Mamma!” replied Hortense in astonishment. “Oh, poor mamma! It is for me that she would like to make money. You do not know, Lisbeth, but I have a horrible suspicion that she works for it in secret.”
They were crossing the large, dark drawing-room where there were no candles, all following Mariette, who was carrying the lamp into Adeline’s bedroom. At this instant Victorin just touched Lisbeth and Hortense on the arm. The two women, understanding the hint, left Wenceslas, Celestine, the Marshal, and the Baroness to go on together, and remained standing in a window-bay.
“What is it, Victorin?” said Lisbeth. “Some disaster caused by your father, I dare wager.”
“Yes, alas!” replied Victorin. “A money-lender named Vauvinet has bills of my father’s to the amount of sixty thousand francs, and wants to prosecute. I tried to speak of the matter to my father at the Chamber, but he would not understand me; he almost avoided me. Had we better tell my mother?”
“No, no,” said Lisbeth, “she has too many troubles; it would be a death-blow; you must spare her. You have no idea how low she has fallen. But for your uncle, you would have found no dinner here this evening.”