Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"Then why do you not employ this means, and at once?"

"I have hazarded a few words, thrown out a few hints, but I have ventured nothing decisive."

"And why not?"

"You see I am not positive that – that you will like it. You might have scruples – and yet the most honest and highly respected men, even kings themselves – "

"Kings themselves? May I be hanged if I have the slightest idea what you are driving at."

"But men are sometimes so absurdly sensitive on the subject."

"Sensitive?"

"Still, one is not responsible for it. Can one fight against nature?"

"Against nature? Really, Ravil, you must be losing your wits. What do you mean by all this?"

"You are fortunate, too, inasmuch as appearances are in your favour. You are stout, you have rather a shrill voice, and scarcely any beard – "

"And what of that?"

"You don't understand me?"

"No."

"And he calls himself a politician?"

"What the devil do you mean by prating about my shrill voice, my sparse beard, and my political astuteness?"

"Mornand, you make me doubt your sagacity. Think, what did you say to me only day before yesterday concerning the marriage of the young Queen of Spain?"

"Day before yesterday?"

"Yes, that state secret, you know."

"Hush, hush!"

"Oh, you needn't be afraid, – I shall be as silent as the grave. Do you recollect now?"

"Yes, I told you that if we could only marry a French prince to the sister of the Queen of Spain, it would be one of the most brilliant of diplomatic triumphs to give the aforesaid queen, for a husband, a prince who offered sufficient guarantees – through his antecedents – that the queen would never have any children. The throne would then pass eventually into the possession of her sister's children, that is to say, into the possession of French princes. A magnificent combination," added the future minister, enthusiastically. "It would be a continuation of the policy of the Great Monarch!"

"Well, the illustration is apt. Profit by it," retorted Ravil, shrugging his shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"Answer me this: Who are Mlle. de Beaumesnil's only remaining relatives?"

"M. de la Rochaiguë, his sister, and, after them, M. de la Rochaiguë's daughter, who is married and resides in the provinces."

"Exactly; so if Mlle. de Beaumesnil should die without issue – ?"

"It is the Rochaiguë family that would inherit the fortune. That is as plain as daylight. But what the devil are you driving at?"

"Wait; now suppose that the Rochaiguë family can persuade Mlle. de Beaumesnil to marry a man who can furnish those same guarantees, – those same reassuring antecedents you spoke of as desirable in the Queen of Spain's husband? Would not the Rochaiguës find it greatly to their interest to bring about a marriage that would ensure them the possession of their young relative's wealth at some future day?"

"I understand, Ravil," said M. de Mornand, thoughtfully, and as if deeply impressed by the grandeur of the scheme.

"Tell me, then, are you willing that I should pose you before the eyes of the Rochaiguës as a man (except for royal lineage) perfectly adapted to be the husband of a Queen of Spain who has a French prince for a brother-in-law? It will ensure you the support of the baron's wife and sister, remember."

After a prolonged silence, the Comte de Mornand said, with a both diplomatic and majestic air:

"De Ravil, – I give you carte blanche."

CHAPTER XX

ATTENTIONS TO THE HEIRESS

Near the close of the day in which Ernestine de Beaumesnil had unconsciously been the object of so much avaricious envy, and of so many more or less perfidious machinations, the young girl was alone in one of her sumptuous apartments, awaiting the dinner hour.

The richest heiress in France was far from being beautiful or even pretty. Her high forehead, prominent cheekbones, and rather long chin imparted considerable irregularity to her features, but this was soon forgotten in the charm of the young girl's face and expression; for the forehead, fair as alabaster, and surrounded with a wealth of rich chestnut hair, surmounted blue eyes of infinite sweetness, while rich scarlet lips, pearl white teeth, and a smile that was both ingenuous and melancholy seemed to implore forgiveness for the imperfections of the face.

Ernestine de Beaumesnil, who was now only sixteen, had grown very rapidly, so, although her tall figure was perfectly straight and symmetrical, the young girl, who had but just regained her health, still held herself slightly bent, an attitude which made the graceful lines of her remarkably beautiful throat all the more noticeable.

In short, antiquated and common as the comparison is, the expression, a lily bending upon its stem, described Ernestine de Beaumesnil's appearance exactly.

Poor orphan, crushed by the sorrow which her mother's death had caused her!

Poor child, overwhelmed by the, to her, crushing weight of her colossal wealth!

Strange contrast, indeed! It was pity, an even tender pity which the face and eyes and attitude of this heiress of almost royal wealth seemed to invoke!

The plain black dress which Ernestine wore enhanced the remarkable brilliancy of her complexion; but as she sat there with her hands folded upon her knees, and her head bowed upon her breast, the young orphan looked very sad and thoughtful.

It was half past five when the girl's governess stole softly into the room and said:

"Will mademoiselle see Mlle. de la Rochaiguë?"

"Certainly, my good Laîné," replied the girl, startled out of her reverie. "Why doesn't Mlle. de la Rochaiguë come in?"

The governess went out and returned almost immediately, followed by Mlle. Helena de la Rochaiguë, who made two profound and very ceremonious bows, which the poor child instantly returned, surprised and pained to see a woman of Mlle. Helena's age approach her with such obsequiousness.

"I thank Mlle. de Beaumesnil for having kindly granted me a moment's conversation," said Mlle. Helena, in a formal but extremely deferential tone, making another low bow, which Ernestine returned as before, after which she said, with evident embarrassment:

"I, too, have a favour to ask of you, Mlle. Helena."

"Of me? How glad I am!" exclaimed M. Macreuse's protectress, quickly.

"I beg you will have the goodness to call me Ernestine instead of Mlle. de Beaumesnil. If you knew how it overawes me, mademoiselle."