Avarice - Anger: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"M. de Saint-Herem," hastily interposed the countess, "the duke must permit me to interfere with his negotiations, for I will take the house at the price you have mentioned. I give you my word, and I ask yours in return."

"Thank Heaven, madame, my star has not deserted me," said Florestan, cordially offering his hand to Madame Zomaloff. "The matter is settled."

"But, madame!" exclaimed M. de Riancourt, greatly surprised and not a little annoyed at this display of impulsiveness on the part of his future wife, — for he had hoped to secure a reduction in price from Saint-Herem, — "really, this is a very important matter, and you ought not to commit yourself in this way without consulting me."

"You have my word, M. de Saint-Herem," said Madame Zomaloff, again interrupting the duke. "This purchase of mine is a purely personal matter. If convenient to you, my agent will confer with yours to-morrow."

"Very well, madame," replied Saint-Herem. Then, turning to M. de Riancourt, he added, gaily, "You are not offended, I hope, monsieur. It is all your own fault, though. You should have played the grand seigneur, not haggled like a shopkeeper."

Just at that moment the orchestra, which had not been playing for nearly a quarter of an hour, gave the signal for the dancing to begin.

"Pardon me for leaving you, countess," remarked Saint-Herem, again turning to Madame Zomaloff, "but I have invited a young girl to dance this set with me, — a very pretty girl, the daughter of one of the head carpenters who built my house, or, rather, your house, madame. It is pleasant to take this thought, at least, away with me on leaving you."

And bowing respectfully to Madame Zomaloff, their host went in search of the charming young girl he had engaged as a partner, and the ball began.

"My dear Fedora," said the princess, who had watched her niece's long conversation with Saint-Herem with no little annoyance, "it is getting late, and we promised our friend that we would be at her house early."

"You must permit me to say that I think you have acted much too hastily in this matter," said the duke to his fiancée. "Saint-Herem has got to sell this house to pay his debts, and, with a little perseverance, we could have induced him to take at least fifty thousand francs less, particularly if you had insisted upon it. It is always so hard to refuse a pretty woman anything," added M. de Riancourt, with his most insinuating smile.

"What are you thinking of, my dear Fedora?" asked the princess, touching the young woman lightly on the arm, for her niece, who was standing with one elbow resting on a gilded console loaded with flowers, seemed to have relapsed into a profound reverie, and evidently had not heard a single word that her aunt and the duke had said to her. "Why don't you answer? What is the matter with you?"

"I hardly know. I feel very strangely," replied the countess, dreamily.

"You need air, probably, my dear countess," said M. de Riancourt. "I am not at all surprised. Though the apartments are very large, this plebeian crowd renders the atmosphere suffocating, and — "

"Are you ill, Fedora?" asked the princess, with increasing uneasiness.

"Not in the least. On the contrary, the emotion I experience is full of sweetness and charm, so, my dear aunt, I scarcely know how to express — "

"Possibly it is the powerful odour of these flowers that affects you so peculiarly," suggested M. de Riancourt.

"No, it is not that. I hesitate to tell you and my aunt; you will think it so strange and absurd."

"Explain, Fedora, I beg of you."

"I will, but you will be greatly surprised," responded the young widow with a half-confidential, half-coquettish air. Then, turning to M. de Riancourt, she said, in an undertone:

"It seems to me — "

"Well, my dear countess?"

"That — "

"Go on. I beg of you."

"That I am dying to marry M. de Saint-Herem."

"Madame!" exclaimed the astonished duke, turning crimson with anger. "Madame!"

"What is the matter, my dear duke?" asked the princess quickly.

"Madame la comtesse," said the duke, forcing a smile, "your jest is — is rather unseemly, to say the least, and — "

"Give me your arm, my dear duke," said Madame Zomaloff, with the most natural air imaginable, "for it is late. We ought to have been at the embassy some time ago. It is all your fault, too. How is it that you, who are punctuality personified, did not strike the hour of eleven long ago."

"Ah, madame, I am in no mood for laughing," exclaimed the duke, in his most sentimental tones. "How your cruel jest pained me just now! It almost broke my heart."

"I had no idea your heart was so vulnerable, my poor friend."

"Ah, madame, you are very unjust, when I would gladly give my life for you."

"Would you, really? Ah, well, I shall ask no such heroic sacrifice as that on your part, my dear duke."

A few minutes afterward, Madame Zomaloff, her aunt, and the duke left the Hôtel Saint-Ramon.

Almost at the same instant the stranger who looked so much like an aged mulatto left the palatial dwelling, bewildered by what he had just seen and heard. The clock in a neighbouring church was striking the hour as he descended the steps.

"Half-past eleven!" the old man murmured. "I have plenty of time to reach Chaillot before midnight. Ah, what other strange things am I about to hear?"

CHAPTER XX.

THE RETURN

The old man climbed the hill leading to the Rue de Chaillot, and soon reached the church of that poor and densely populated faubourg.

Contrary to custom at that hour, the church was lighted. Through the open door the brilliantly illuminated nave and altar could be plainly seen. Though the edifice was still empty, some solemn ceremony was evidently about to take place, for though midnight was close at hand, there were lights in many of the neighbouring houses, and several groups had assembled on the pavement in front of the church. Approaching one of these groups, the old man listened attentively, and heard the following conversation:

"They will be here soon, now."

"Yes, for it is almost midnight."

"It is a strange hour to be married, isn't it?"

"Yes, but when one gets a dowry, one needn't be too particular about the hour."

"Who is to be married at this hour, gentlemen?" inquired the old man.

"It is very evident that you don't live in this neighbourhood, my friend."

"No. I am a stranger here."

"If you were not, you would know that it was the night for those six marriages that have taken place here on the night of the twelfth of May, for the last four years. On the night of the twelfth of May, every year, six poor young girls are married in this church, and each girl receives a dowry of ten thousand francs."

"From whom?"

"From a worthy man who died five years ago. He left a handsome fund for this purpose, and his name is consequently wonderfully popular in Chaillot."

"And what is the name of the worthy man who dowered these young girls so generously?" inquired the stranger, with a slight tremor in his voice.