Cousin Betty. Honore de Balzac

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      “My dear, we are bound for life and death, you and I,” said Mademoiselle Fischer. “Yes, if you have any love affairs, to me they are sacred. Your vices will be virtues in my eyes. – For I shall need your vices!”

      “Then did you live with him?” asked Valerie.

      “No; I meant to be a mother to him.”

      “I give it up. I cannot understand,” said Valerie. “In that case you are neither betrayed nor cheated, and you ought to be very happy to see him so well married; he is now fairly afloat. And, at any rate, your day is over. Our artist goes to Madame Hulot’s every evening as soon as you go out to dinner.”

      “Adeline!” muttered Lisbeth. “Oh, Adeline, you shall pay for this! I will make you uglier than I am.”

      “You are as pale as death!” exclaimed Valerie. “There is something wrong? – Oh, what a fool I am! The mother and daughter must have suspected that you would raise some obstacles in the way of this affair since they have kept it from you,” said Madame Marneffe. “But if you did not live with the young man, my dear, all this is a greater puzzle to me than my husband’s feelings – ”

      “Ah, you don’t know,” said Lisbeth; “you have no idea of all their tricks. It is the last blow that kills. And how many such blows have I had to bruise my soul! You don’t know that from the time when I could first feel, I have been victimized for Adeline. I was beaten, and she was petted; I was dressed like a scullion, and she had clothes like a lady’s; I dug in the garden and cleaned the vegetables, and she – she never lifted a finger for anything but to make up some finery! – She married the Baron, she came to shine at the Emperor’s Court, while I stayed in our village till 1809, waiting for four years for a suitable match; they brought me away, to be sure, but only to make me a work-woman, and to offer me clerks or captains like coalheavers for a husband! I have had their leavings for twenty-six years! – And now like the story in the Old Testament, the poor relation has one ewe-lamb which is all her joy, and the rich man who has flocks covets the ewe-lamb and steals it – without warning, without asking. Adeline has meanly robbed me of my happiness! – Adeline! Adeline! I will see you in the mire, and sunk lower than myself! – And Hortense – I loved her, and she has cheated me. The Baron. – No, it is impossible. Tell me again what is really true of all this.”

      “Be calm, my dear child.”

      “Valerie, my darling, I will be calm,” said the strange creature, sitting down again. “One thing only can restore me to reason; give me proofs.”

      “Your Cousin Hortense has the Samson group – here is a lithograph from it published in a review. She paid for it out of her pocket-money, and it is the Baron who, to benefit his future son-in-law, is pushing him, getting everything for him.”

      “Water! – water!” said Lisbeth, after glancing at the print, below which she read, “A group belonging to Mademoiselle Hulot d’Ervy.” “Water! my head is burning, I am going mad!”

      Madame Marneffe fetched some water. Lisbeth took off her cap, unfastened her black hair, and plunged her head into the basin her new friend held for her. She dipped her forehead into it several times, and checked the incipient inflammation. After this douche she completely recovered her self-command.

      “Not a word,” said she to Madame Marneffe as she wiped her face – “not a word of all this. – You see, I am quite calm; everything is forgotten. I am thinking of something very different.”

      “She will be in Charenton to-morrow, that is very certain,” thought Madame Marneffe, looking at the old maid.

      “What is to be done?” Lisbeth went on. “You see, my angel, there is nothing for it but to hold my tongue, bow my head, and drift to the grave, as all water runs to the river. What could I try to do? I should like to grind them all – Adeline, her daughter, and the Baron – all to dust! But what can a poor relation do against a rich family? It would be the story of the earthen pot and the iron pot.”

      “Yes; you are right,” said Valerie. “You can only pull as much hay as you can to your side of the manger. That is all the upshot of life in Paris.”

      “Besides,” said Lisbeth, “I shall soon die, I can tell you, if I lose that boy to whom I fancied I could always be a mother, and with whom I counted on living all my days – ”

      There were tears in her eyes, and she paused. Such emotion in this woman made of sulphur and flame, made Valerie shudder.

      “Well, at any rate, I have found you,” said Lisbeth, taking Valerie’s hand, “that is some consolation in this dreadful trouble. – We shall be true friends; and why should we ever part? I shall never cross your track. No one will ever be in love with me! – Those who would have married me, would only have done it to secure my Cousin Hulot’s interest. With energy enough to scale Paradise, to have to devote it to procuring bread and water, a few rags, and a garret! – That is martyrdom, my dear, and I have withered under it.”

      She broke off suddenly, and shot a black flash into Madame Marneffe’s blue eyes, a glance that pierced the pretty woman’s soul, as the point of a dagger might have pierced her heart.

      “And what is the use of talking?” she exclaimed in reproof to herself. “I never said so much before, believe me! The tables will be turned yet!” she added after a pause. “As you so wisely say, let us sharpen our teeth, and pull down all the hay we can get.”

      “You are very wise,” said Madame Marneffe, who had been frightened by this scene, and had no remembrance of having uttered this maxim. “I am sure you are right, my dear child. Life is not so long after all, and we must make the best of it, and make use of others to contribute to our enjoyment. Even I have learned that, young as I am. I was brought up a spoilt child, my father married ambitiously, and almost forgot me, after making me his idol and bringing me up like a queen’s daughter! My poor mother, who filled my head with splendid visions, died of grief at seeing me married to an office clerk with twelve hundred francs a year, at nine-and-thirty an aged and hardened libertine, as corrupt as the hulks, looking on me, as others looked on you, as a means of fortune! – Well, in that wretched man, I have found the best of husbands. He prefers the squalid sluts he picks up at the street corners, and leaves me free. Though he keeps all his salary to himself, he never asks me where I get money to live on – ”