Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"I'll be d – d if I will. I am at liberty to do as I please, I think, monsieur."

"No, Gerald, you are not at liberty to do anything that is dishonest or dishonourable."

"Do you know that what you are saying – " began the young duke, pale with anger; but seeing the expression of sorrowful astonishment on Olivier's features, Gerald became ashamed of his outburst, and, extending his hand to his friend, he said, in an almost beseeching voice:

"Forgive me, Olivier, forgive me! To think that almost at the very moment that you are undertaking the gravest and most delicate mission for me, I should so far forget myself – "

"Come, come, you needn't go to making excuses," said Olivier, preventing his friend from continuing by affectionately pressing his hand.

"You must have compassion on me, Olivier," said Gerald, despondently. "I really believe I must be mad."

The conversation was here interrupted by the sudden arrival of Madame Barbançon, who rushed into the arbour, crying:

"Oh, M. Olivier, M. Olivier!"

"What is the matter, Madame Barbançon?"

"The commander!"

"Well?"

"He has gone out!"

"What, suffering as he is to-day!" exclaimed Olivier, anxiously. "It was very imprudent. Didn't you try to prevent him from going, Mother Barbançon?"

"Alas! M. Olivier, I really believe the commander is not in his right mind."

"What?"

"I was out, and it was the porter who admitted M. Gerald in my absence. When I returned a few minutes ago, M. Bernard was laughing and singing, and I really believe even dancing, in spite of his weakness, and at last he flung his arms around me, shouting like a maniac, 'Victory, Mother Barbançon, victory!'"

Gerald, in spite of his own troubles, could not repress a faint smile. It seemed as if he understood the cause of the old officer's delight, but when Olivier, who was really much disturbed, asked, "Do you know anything about this, Gerald?" the young duke replied, with the most natural air in the world:

"Nothing whatever, upon my word! It seems to me more than probable, though, that the commander must have heard some good news, and there would be certainly nothing alarming about that."

"Good news!" repeated Olivier, much surprised, and trying in vain to imagine what it could be.

"Well, this much is certain," interposed Madame Barbançon, "after the commander had shouted 'Victory!' almost at the top of his voice, he asked: 'Is Olivier in the garden?' 'Yes, with M. Gerald,' I replied. 'Then get me my hat and cane quick, Mother Barbançon,' said he, 'and let me get off as soon as I can.' 'What! you are going out, weak as you are?' I exclaimed. 'You are very foolish to think of such a thing, monsieur.' But the commander wouldn't listen, and clapped his hat on his head and started as if he intended to come out here and speak to you; then he stopped short, and after reflecting a moment retraced his steps and went out at the front door, singing that miserable old song he sings only when he is in high glee about something, – which doesn't often happen with the poor, dear man!"

"I don't know what to make of it," said Olivier, "and I can't help feeling a little uneasy. My uncle has seemed so feeble since his last attack, that a half hour in the garden yesterday exhausted him completely."

"Oh, don't be alarmed, my friend, joy never kills."

"I think I had better go down the street a little way, M. Olivier," said Madame Barbançon. "He has an idea that exercise outside will do him more good than his walks in the garden, and perhaps I shall find him down there. But what on earth could he have meant by his 'Victory, Mother Barbançon, victory!' He must have heard something new in favour of his Bû-û-onaparte."

And the worthy woman hastened off.

"Don't be uneasy, Olivier," said Gerald, kindly. "The worst that can happen is that the commander may tire himself a little."

The clock in the neighbouring steeple struck nine, and Olivier, remembering the mission he had promised to fulfil, said:

"Well, it is nine o'clock. I am going."

"My dear Olivier," said Gerald, "you forget your own anxieties in your solicitude for my interests; and I, in my selfishness, haven't said so much as a word to you about your sweetheart."

"What sweetheart?"

"Why, the young girl you met at Madame Herbaut's Sunday."

"I would that your love affair were as tranquil as mine, Gerald; that is, if you can dignify with that name the interest one naturally feels in a young girl who is neither happy nor at all pretty, but who has a sweet face, an excellent disposition, and great originality of character."

"But you are thinking of this poor girl a great deal of the time, it seems to me."

"That is true, though I really don't know why. If I find out I will tell you. But never mind me. You have just displayed a vast amount of heroism in forgetting your own passion long enough to interest yourself in what you are pleased to call my love affair," said Olivier, smiling. "This generosity on your part is sure to be rewarded, so courage, my friend! Keep up a good heart and wait for me here."

Herminie, for her part, was thinking of Olivier's approaching visit with a vague uneasiness that cast a slight cloud over her usually radiant face.

"What can M. Olivier want?" thought the duchess. "This is the first time he has ever asked to call on me, and he wishes to see me on a very important matter, he says in his note. This important matter cannot concern him. What if it should concern Gerald, who is his most intimate friend? But I saw Gerald only yesterday, and I shall see him again to-day, for it is to-morrow that he is to tell his mother of our love. I can't imagine why the idea of this approaching interview worries me so. But that reminds me, I must inform the portress that I am at home to M. Olivier."

As she spoke, she pulled a bell that communicated with the room of Madame Moufflon, the portress, who promptly responded to the summons.

"Madame Moufflon, some one will call to see me this morning, and you are to admit the visitor," said Herminie.

"If it is a lady, of course. I understand."

"But it is not a lady who will call this morning," replied Herminie, with some embarrassment.

"It is not a lady? Then it must be that little hunchback I have orders to admit at any time, I suppose."

"No, Madame Moufflon, it is not M. de Maillefort, but a young man."

"A young man?" exclaimed the portress, "a young man? Well, this is the first time – "

"The young man will tell you his name. It is Olivier."

"Olivier? That is not hard to remember. I'll just think of olives; I adore them! Olivier, olives, olive oil – it is very nearly the very same thing. I sha'n't forget it. But, by the way, speaking – not of young men, for this old serpent isn't young – I saw that old scoundrel hanging around the house again last evening."

"Again?" exclaimed Herminie, with a look of scorn and disgust at the thought of Ravil.

For this cynic, since his first meeting with Herminie, had made numerous attempts to see the young girl, but the portress proving above bribery, he had written several times to Herminie, who had treated his letters with the disdain they deserved.

"Yes, mademoiselle, I saw the old snake hanging around again yesterday," continued the portress, "and when I planted myself in the doorway to watch him, he sneered at me as he passed, but I just said to myself: 'Sneer away, you old viper. You'll laugh on the other side of your mouth one of these days.'"

"I cannot help encountering this man on the street sometimes," said Herminie, "for he seems to be always trying to put himself in my way; but I needn't tell you, Madame Moufflon, that he must never be admitted to the house on any pretext whatever."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that, mademoiselle, he knows pretty well who he has to deal with by this time."

"But I forgot to mention that a young lady will probably call this morning, too, Madame Moufflon."