The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence Part 83

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE STRONGEST OF INCENTIVES.

Madame d'Infreville, recovering from the alarm she had felt for a moment, again turned to her friend, and said:

"Go on, Florence, I need not tell you with what curiosity, or rather with what intense interest, I am waiting."

"Ah, well then, my dear Valentine, one thing my husband cannot have told you, as he was not aware of the fact, is that I received a letter from Michel two days after your departure."

"And the object of this letter?"

"Knowing that you intended asking me to write a note to you conveying the impression that we had been spending a good deal of time together, Michel, hearing nothing from you, naturally became very uneasy, and, discovering you had left Paris in company with your mother, was anxious to ascertain where you had gone."

"Indeed. So my disappearance really disturbed him to that extent?" said Valentine, with mingled bitterness and incredulity.

"Yes, it did, and thinking I might be able to give him some information on the subject, he wrote asking permission to call on me, which, as he was my husband's cousin, seemed so natural that I consented."

"But your husband?"

"Oh, he, being ignorant that Michel was the object of the pa.s.sion which had been your ruin, made no objection."

"Yes; M. de Luceval was not aware of that fact until I told him."

"So Michel called, and I told him of the distressing scene that I had witnessed. His grief touched me, and we both resolved to make every possible effort to find you; a resolution which, on his part, at least, showed no little courage, for you can understand what all this prospective trouble and effort meant to a nature like his; nevertheless--"

"Well?"

"Nevertheless, he exclaimed, navely: 'Ah, whether I find her or not, this is the last love affair I ever intend to have!' A feeling which corresponded exactly with that which I once expressed to you in relation to the misery of having a lover, so I must say that I considered this resolve a mark of good sense on his part, though I encouraged him in his determination to find you if possible."

"And did he really make any efforts in that direction?"

"He did, with an energy that amazed me. He kept me fully advised of his progress, but, unfortunately, the precautions your husband had taken rendered all our efforts unavailing; besides, neither of us received any letter or message from you."

"Alas! Florence, no prisoner on a desert island was ever more completely isolated than I. Surrounded by M. d'Infreville's devoted henchmen, the sending of any letter was an impossibility."

"Well, at last we were compelled to abandon all hope of finding you."

"But while you two were thus occupied, you saw Michel quite often, doubtless."

"Necessarily."

"And what did you think of him?"

"If I said all the nice things I think of him, I should feel that I was sounding my own praises very loudly, for every day I became more and more amazed at the marvellous resemblance which existed between his character, ideas, and tastes and my own. Still, as I was never particularly modest so far as my own virtues and attractions are concerned, I frankly admit that I thought we were both charming."

"It was about this time that you became so firmly resolved to separate from your husband, was it not?"

"Fie, fie!" exclaimed Florence, shaking her finger at her friend. "No, madame, the real cause of such a determination on my part was something entirely different. Michel and I were both so faithful to our true characters, that in speaking of you, and consequently in speaking of all the tumults and commotions and worries and agitation which such liaisons always cause, we always said to each other in perfect good faith:

"'This is what love leads to, you see, monsieur. One knows no peace, but lives ever on the _qui vive_, with one eye and ear to the keyhole, so to speak.'

"'And there are bothersome duels with all their attendant scandals, madame.'

"'And all the tortures of jealousy, monsieur, and drives in rickety cabs in which one is jostled about until one's bones positively ache.'

"'Yes, all this trouble and fatigue, and for what, madame?'

"'You are right, monsieur. I, too, ask for what?'

"In short, if any one could have listened to our moral reflections on this subject, he would have been vastly amused. At last came the time when M. de Luceval attempted to force me to travel against my will, but he finally abandoned that idea."

"Yes, he told me the means you adopted to circ.u.mvent him. They were peculiar, but certainly very efficacious."

"What I most desired at that time was repose, both mental and physical, for though my husband had acted very brutally towards me in that scene about your letter, my poor Valentine,--so brutally, in fact, that I had threatened to leave him,--I changed my mind after reflecting on the subject, for I couldn't bear the idea of living alone, that is to say, of having to attend to the thousand and one things my husband or my agent had always attended to for me; so I confined my demands to the following: I was never to be asked to travel, though I intended to encourage my husband to do so as often as possible, so I wouldn't be continually worried by his restlessness."

"And so you could see Michel whenever you pleased, I suppose."

"Of course, and without the slightest bother or secrecy,--without any concealment, in short, for there was really nothing in our relations to conceal."

"But your determination to separate from your husband, at least so he told me, was ostensibly due to your loss of fortune. Was that the real cause?"

"Yes. You see, Valentine, I could not bear the idea of being henceforth in my husband's power,--of accepting wages from him, so to speak! No; I remembered too well the humiliation you, a penniless girl, had suffered from having married a rich man, and the mere thought of such a life was revolting alike to my delicacy and my natural indolence."

"Your indolence? What on earth do you mean, Florence? Did not a separation from your husband necessitate the renunciation of the wealth and luxury that would permit you to lead a life of ease?"

"But you forget, Valentine, that if I accepted M. de Luceval's wages,--if I remained in his employ, in other words,--I would be obliged to sacrifice my tastes to his, to plunge into the feverish maelstrom of society, in which he delighted,--to go to the Caucasus with him, in short, if the whim seized him, and I preferred death to a life like that."

"But your husband loved you so, why did you not endeavour to make him sacrifice his wishes and tastes to yours?"

"He loved me, oh, yes, he loved me as I love strawberries,--to eat them.

Besides, I knew him too well; he could no more change his character than I could change mine, and our life would have become a h.e.l.l. It was much better for us to part at once."

"Did you inform Michel of your determination?"

"Yes, and he approved unreservedly. It was about this time that we first formed some vague plans for the future,--plans which were always subordinate to you, however."

"To me?"

"Yes, certainly. Michel knew his duty, and would have done it, if we had succeeded in finding you. While he was making a final attempt in that direction, I, on my side, was endeavouring to secure the separation I desired. At the end of four months I was legally divorced from M. de Luceval, and he started on his travels. Then, and not until then, did I see Michel again, as I had requested him to cease his visits until I was free. Neither of us had anything from you, so, being forced to renounce all hope of seeing you again, we began to consider our plans for the future. I alluded a short time ago, my dear Valentine, to the prodigies indolence can achieve; I will tell you some of them.

"The point of departure that we took, or, rather, our declaration of principles was this," said Florence, with the most solemn but comical air imaginable: "'We have but one desire and object in life,--perfect rest and peace of mind and body,--all mental and physical effort being positively restricted to dreaming, reading, talking, and gazing at the heavens, the trees, the streams, the fields and mountains that G.o.d has made; to keeping cool in summer, and warm in winter. We are too devoutly idle to be ambitious, vain, or avaricious, to desire the burden of sumptuous living or the fatigue and excitement of a gay social life. The requisites for the life of indolence of which we dream are a small house that is warm in winter and cool in summer, a nice garden, and a few comfortable armchairs, hammocks, and couches, several pleasing views within our range of vision so we shall not be obliged to take the trouble to go in search of them, an equable climate, frugal fare,--neither of us are gourmands,--and a servant. It is also essential that the means to lead such a life may be a.s.sured beyond the shadow of a doubt, so we may never be troubled by any anxiety in regard to pecuniary matters.' How were these ambitions to be realised? Prodigies of courage and industry must be performed to bring about this much desired consummation. Listen and admire, my dear Valentine."

"I am listening, Florence, and I am beginning to admire, too, for it seems to me I divine everything now."

"Oh, do not do that, I beg of you; let me have the pleasure of surprising you. Well, to resume my story, Michel's old nurse was a Provencale, a native of Hyeres. She often spoke of the beauty of her native province, where one could live upon almost nothing, as she declared, often a.s.serting that ten or twelve thousand francs would purchase a pretty little cottage on the coast, with a fine orange grove.

One of Michel's friends had just gone to Hyeres for his health; we asked him to make some inquiries, and he confirmed all Michel's nurse had said. He even told us of such a property a few miles from Hyeres, which could be purchased for eleven thousand francs; but it was leased for three years, and the purchaser could not obtain possession until the expiration of that time. Having great confidence in this friend's judgment, we begged him to purchase the property, but now a serious difficulty presented itself. To purchase the house, and also an annuity of two thousand francs a year, an amount that would prove sufficient for our wants, we would need about sixty thousand francs."

"But how could you hope to obtain so large an amount?"