Then, after a moment more of silence, he declared,
“Yes, I am desperately in love with this young
girl, and I am going to try everything, not to make
her love me, for that she probably never will—but
that she will let herself be loved. What will
come of it, I have not the least idea. I want
her and no one else. I will commit no disloyal
act, I give you my word for that. If she should
become my wife, it would be with my mother’s
full permission. I beg you now, my dear Baron,
to say nothing further about it; I am old enough to
regulate my life, as much as the divine guiding force
which you call ‘Destiny’ permits.”
He came up to the Baron, clasped his hand in a firm
grasp, and reaching for his hat, added, “I want
to get out in the air. Shall we go together?”
The Baron recognized the opposition of an unchangeable
will to his own, which no discussion could influence.
Life had resumed its regular course in the apartment
on the Boulevard Raspail, but an important relationship
was developing in Esperance’s life. Count
Albert Styvens came three times a week to pursue his
philosophic studies with Professor Darbois. This
arrangement had been contrived by the hypocrite, Adhemar
Meydieux. He did not mistake the Count’s
infatuation for his goddaughter. A marriage of
such wealth and aristocratic connections flattered
his foolish egoism, and he was sworn to attempt everything
that would bring about such a magnificent consummation.
A friend of the family, Doctor Bertaud, noticed alarming
symptoms in the girl, most prevalent between five
and seven o’clock each evening. He could
not ascertain the cause, but persuaded the philosopher
to take her to Doctor Potain, a celebrated heart specialist.
Madame Darbois took Esperance for an examination.
Francois was perfectly amazed by the deep culture
of the Count, who at first sight seemed of only average
intelligence. When the family gathered together
for dinner, he commented on his impressions to his
wife and daughter.
“This young man is a very remarkable personality,”
he said, “very difficult to penetrate, yet nevertheless
very sincere. I do not believe that the slightest
untruth has ever crossed his lips. I enjoy working
with him. Ah! that reminds me, I have invited
him to dine with us on Thursday. He is very anxious
to be presented to you, and Esperance already knows
him, so I thought you would find it agreeable.”
The young girl trembled. Her blood seemed to
stop in her veins. Her hand pressed against her
heart felt no movement there. Her father, noticing
the change in her, exclaimed, “Bertaud is quite
right, you are sometimes abnormally pale; do you feel
ill?”
“No, father, it is nothing; I felt dizzy for
a moment.”
“All the same we must hurry Bertaud with his
examination.”
Back in her own room the young girl began to weep.
“I shall never escape that man, never, never.”
