A Cardinal Sin. Эжен Сю

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CHAPTER IV.

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      The stranger was a man of forty-five years, or thereabouts, with worn but regular features, bearing deep traces of excessive dissipation and the most absolute profligacy. His physiognomy offered a strange mixture of deceit and impertinence; and these disagreeable traits were still more emphasized by a dark heavy moustache, which shone with a lustre equaled only by the false ebony of his artistically curled hair. His hands and feet were large; and, notwithstanding his visible pretentions, he at once betrayed the vulgar personage destined, not to imitate, but to parody veritable elegance. His dress was pompous, and in exceedingly bad taste; and even Mariette could not refrain from a smile at his affected military attitude and the ridiculously large red ribbon that adorned his button-hole.

      Madame Lacombe, who had once more returned to her gloomy and sardonic humor, was gazing at the stranger with as much astonishment as distrust, feeling an almost invincible aversion against this insolent and patronizing personage, who had unceremoniously taken a seat at some distance from the bed, and was nibbling at the gold head of his cane while pursuing the conversation with her.

      "Yes," repeated the visitor, "I am delighted to find you alone; as I was saying, I can explain myself more clearly."

      "Monsieur," said the invalid, in a crabbed tone, "you have asked me if my name was Lacombe and if I was Mariette Moreau's godmother. I have already told you yes. Now what do you want of me? Explain yourself."

      "To begin with, my good woman—" he began.

      "I am called Madame Lacombe!" interrupted the woman.

      "The devil! Well, then, Madame Lacombe," resumed the stranger with mock deference, "I shall first tell you who I am, and then proceed to explain what I want."

      "Go on."

      "I am called Commander de La Miraudière, an old military officer, as you see," pointing to the red ribbon on his coat, "ten campaigns and five wounds!"

      "That's nothing to me. And then?"

      "I have the most brilliant acquaintances in Paris: dukes, counts, marquises—"

      "What's that to me?"

      "I keep a carriage, and spend at least twenty thousand francs a year."

      "While my god-daughter and myself are starving on twenty sous per day—that is, when she can earn them!" exclaimed the invalid bitterly. "Such is the justice of the world!"

      "No! it is not justice!" protested the commander. "It is not just, and

       I am here to put an end to such injustice!"

      "If you are here to laugh at me," rejoined the woman, with an ominous scowl, "you had better go."

      "Laugh at you, madame!—I!—judge me by what I offer. Do you want a pretty room, in a fine house, a servant to wait on you, two delicious meals every day, coffee every morning, and fifty francs a month for your snuff or other little fancies? Eh! what do you say to that?"

      "I say—I say—that it's all a lie—or else there is something beneath it. When one offers so much to a poor, crippled old woman, it is not for the love of God, I am sure."

      "You are right, Mamma Lacombe; it's for the love of two beautiful eyes."

      "Whose eyes?"

      "Your god-daughter's eyes, Mamma Lacombe," returned Commander de La

       Miraudière cynically. "No use beating around the bush, you know."

      "You know Mariette, then?" she said, with a piercing glance at his dissipated face.

      "I often visit Madame Jourdan's establishment, for I am exceedingly fond of fine linen," he observed, casting a complaisant glance on the embroidered folds of his shirt. "I therefore found frequent occasion to admire you god-daughter; I think her beautiful and charming, and—"

      "And you want to buy her from me?"

      "Bravo! you are a woman of intelligence and good sense, Mamma Lacombe. You understand things without needless words. Now, this is my proposition: A fine, elegantly furnished apartment for Mariette, with whom you shall live, of course; five hundred francs per month for her expenses, exclusive of maid and cook; a suitable trousseau for the girl; and a purse of fifty louis to begin housekeeping, not counting costly gifts for good conduct. Besides this, there will be carriages, operas, balls, and a host of friends among ladies of my acquaintance. In a word, she will lead an enchanted existence—the existence of a duchess! What do you think of it?"

      "Why not?" murmured the woman, with a strange smile. "Poor wretches like us are only good to sell ourselves when we are young, or sell others when we are old."

      "Come now, Mamma Lacombe; to quiet your honest scruples, we shall say sixty francs per month for your pin money, and throw a superb shawl into the bargain. This will enable you to appear to advantage beside Mariette, whom you must watch with motherly solicitude, and never allow out of your sight, for I am jealous as a tiger, and don't like to be deceived."

      "Only this very morning," put in the sick woman, "I was saying to Mariette, 'You are a respectable girl, and barely earn twenty sous per day sewing on chemises worth three hundred francs apiece, for a kept woman.'"

      "Chemises worth three hundred francs apiece, ordered from Madame Jourdan? Let me see—ah! yes, I know. They must be for Amandine, the mistress of the Marquis de Saint-Herem, my most intimate friend—I recommended the establishment—a veritable fortune for Madame Jourdan, although that devil of a marquis seldom pays. But, on the other hand, all the furnishers and women he patronizes become the rage. Amandine was but an obscure little shop-girl six months ago, and now she is the most fashionable woman in Paris. And Mariette may have the same luck, you know. Fancy her wearing chemises worth three hundred francs apiece, instead of sewing them! Doesn't it make you feel like bursting with pride, Mamma Lacombe?"

      "Unless Mariette ended like a girl of my acquaintance, who also sold herself through misery."

      "What happened her?"

      "She was robbed."

      "Robbed?"

      "She was promised mountains of gold, too; but at the end of three months she was deserted and left without a single sou. Then she killed herself in despair."

      "The devil! what do you take me for?" cried the visitor, haughtily.

       "Do I look like a swindler; a Robert Macaire?"

      "I don't know what you are."

      "I, an old soldier! twenty campaigns and ten times wounded! The intimate companion and friend of all the lions of Paris! a man with his own carriage and who spends twenty thousand francs per annum! The devil! be frank with me! Do you require securities or advances? Very well, then; the house shall be furnished within a week and the lease signed in your own name to-morrow, with the payment of a whole year in advance; besides, if we come to terms, here are twenty-five to thirty louis to bind the bargain."

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