Chapter Chapter 67 · A Conjugal Scene

At the Place Louis XV. the three young people separated—that is to say,

Morrel went to the Boulevards, Château-Renaud to the Pont de la

Révolution, and Debray to the Quai. Most probably Morrel and

Château-Renaud returned to their “domestic hearths,” as they say in the

gallery of the Chamber in well-turned speeches, and in the theatre of

the Rue Richelieu in well-written pieces; but it was not the case with

Debray. When he reached the wicket of the Louvre, he turned to the

left, galloped across the Carrousel, passed through the Rue Saint-Roch,

and, issuing from the Rue de la Michodière, he arrived at M. Danglars’

door just at the same time that Villefort’s landau, after having

deposited him and his wife at the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, stopped to

leave the baroness at her own house.

Debray, with the air of a man familiar with the house, entered first

into the court, threw his bridle into the hands of a footman, and

returned to the door to receive Madame Danglars, to whom he offered his

arm, to conduct her to her apartments. The gate once closed, and Debray

and the baroness alone in the court, he asked:

“What was the matter with you, Hermine? and why were you so affected at

that story, or rather fable, which the count related?”

“Because I have been in such shocking spirits all the evening, my

friend,” said the baroness.

“No, Hermine,” replied Debray; “you cannot make me believe that; on the

contrary, you were in excellent spirits when you arrived at the

count’s. M. Danglars was disagreeable, certainly, but I know how much

you care for his ill-humor. Someone has vexed you; I will allow no one

to annoy you.”

“You are deceived, Lucien, I assure you,” replied Madame Danglars; “and

what I have told you is really the case, added to the ill-humor you

remarked, but which I did not think it worth while to allude to.”

It was evident that Madame Danglars was suffering from that nervous

irritability which women frequently cannot account for even to

themselves; or that, as Debray had guessed, she had experienced some

secret agitation that she would not acknowledge to anyone. Being a man

who knew that the former of these symptoms was one of the inherent

penalties of womanhood, he did not then press his inquiries, but waited

for a more appropriate opportunity when he should again interrogate

her, or receive an avowal _proprio motu_.

At the door of her apartment the baroness met Mademoiselle Cornélie,

her confidential maid.

“What is my daughter doing?” asked Madame Danglars.

“She practiced all the evening, and then went to bed,” replied

Mademoiselle Cornélie.

“Yet I think I hear her piano.”

“It is Mademoiselle Louise d’Armilly, who is playing while Mademoiselle

Danglars is in bed.”

“Well,” said Madame Danglars, “come and undress me.”

They entered the bedroom. Debray stretched himself upon a large couch,

and Madame Danglars passed into her dressing-room with Mademoiselle

Cornélie.

“My dear M. Lucien,” said Madame Danglars through the door, “you are

always complaining that Eugénie will not address a word to you.”

“Madame,” said Lucien, playing with a little dog, who, recognizing him

as a friend of the house, expected to be caressed, “I am not the only

one who makes similar complaints, I think I heard Morcerf say that he

could not extract a word from his betrothed.”

“True,” said Madame Danglars; “yet I think this will all pass off, and

that you will one day see her enter your study.”

“My study?”

“At least that of the minister.”

“Why so!”

“To ask for an engagement at the Opera. Really, I never saw such an

infatuation for music; it is quite ridiculous for a young lady of

fashion.”

Debray smiled. “Well,” said he, “let her come, with your consent and

that of the baron, and we will try and give her an engagement, though

we are very poor to pay such talent as hers.”

“Go, Cornélie,” said Madame Danglars, “I do not require you any

longer.”

Cornélie obeyed, and the next minute Madame Danglars left her room in a

charming loose dress, and came and sat down close to Debray. Then she

began thoughtfully to caress the little spaniel. Lucien looked at her

for a moment in silence.

“Come, Hermine,” he said, after a short time, “answer

candidly,—something vexes you—is it not so?”

30239m

“Nothing,” answered the baroness.

And yet, as she could scarcely breathe, she rose and went towards a

looking-glass. “I am frightful tonight,” she said. Debray rose,

smiling, and was about to contradict the baroness upon this latter

point, when the door opened suddenly. M. Danglars appeared; Debray

reseated himself. At the noise of the door Madame Danglars turned

round, and looked upon her husband with an astonishment she took no

trouble to conceal.

“Good-evening, madame,” said the banker; “good-evening, M. Debray.”

Probably the baroness thought this unexpected visit signified a desire

to make up for the sharp words he had uttered during the day. Assuming

a dignified air, she turned round to Debray, without answering her

husband.

“Read me something, M. Debray,” she said. Debray, who was slightly

disturbed at this visit, recovered himself when he saw the calmness of

the baroness, and took up a book marked by a mother-of-pearl knife

inlaid with gold.

“Excuse me,” said the banker, “but you will tire yourself, baroness, by

such late hours, and M. Debray lives some distance from here.”

Debray was petrified, not only to hear Danglars speak so calmly and

politely, but because it was apparent that beneath outward politeness

there really lurked a determined spirit of opposition to anything his

wife might wish to do. The baroness was also surprised, and showed her

astonishment by a look which would doubtless have had some effect upon

her husband if he had not been intently occupied with the paper, where

he was looking to see the closing stock quotations. The result was,

that the proud look entirely failed of its purpose.

“M. Lucien,” said the baroness, “I assure you I have no desire to

sleep, and that I have a thousand things to tell you this evening,

which you must listen to, even though you slept while hearing me.”

“I am at your service, madame,” replied Lucien coldly.

“My dear M. Debray,” said the banker, “do not kill yourself tonight

listening to the follies of Madame Danglars, for you can hear them as

well tomorrow; but I claim tonight and will devote it, if you will

allow me, to talk over some serious matters with my wife.”

This time the blow was so well aimed, and hit so directly, that Lucien

and the baroness were staggered, and they interrogated each other with

their eyes, as if to seek help against this aggression, but the

irresistible will of the master of the house prevailed, and the husband

was victorious.

“Do not think I wish to turn you out, my dear Debray,” continued

Danglars; “oh, no, not at all. An unexpected occurrence forces me to

ask my wife to have a little conversation with me; it is so rarely I

make such a request, I am sure you cannot grudge it to me.”

Debray muttered something, bowed and went out, knocking himself against

the edge of the door, like Nathan in _Athalie_.

“It is extraordinary,” he said, when the door was closed behind him,

“how easily these husbands, whom we ridicule, gain an advantage over

us.”

30241m

Lucien having left, Danglars took his place on the sofa, closed the

open book, and placing himself in a dreadfully dictatorial attitude, he

began playing with the dog; but the animal, not liking him as well as

Debray, and attempting to bite him, Danglars seized him by the skin of

his neck and threw him upon a couch on the other side of the room. The

animal uttered a cry during the transit, but, arrived at its

destination, it crouched behind the cushions, and stupefied at such

unusual treatment remained silent and motionless.

“Do you know, sir,” asked the baroness, “that you are improving?

Generally you are only rude, but tonight you are brutal.”

“It is because I am in a worse humor than usual,” replied Danglars.

Hermine looked at the banker with supreme disdain. These glances

frequently exasperated the pride of Danglars, but this evening he took

no notice of them.

“And what have I to do with your ill-humor?” said the baroness,

irritated at the impassibility of her husband; “do these things concern

me? Keep your ill-humor at home in your money boxes, or, since you have

clerks whom you pay, vent it upon them.”

“Not so,” replied Danglars; “your advice is wrong, so I shall not

follow it. My money boxes are my Pactolus, as, I think, M. Demoustier

says, and I will not retard its course, or disturb its calm. My clerks

are honest men, who earn my fortune, whom I pay much below their

deserts, if I may value them according to what they bring in; therefore

I shall not get into a passion with them; those with whom I will be in

a passion are those who eat my dinners, mount my horses, and exhaust my

fortune.”

“And pray who are the persons who exhaust your fortune? Explain

yourself more clearly, I beg, sir.”

“Oh, make yourself easy!—I am not speaking riddles, and you will soon

know what I mean. The people who exhaust my fortune are those who draw

out 700,000 francs in the course of an hour.”

“I do not understand you, sir,” said the baroness, trying to disguise

the agitation of her voice and the flush of her face.

“You understand me perfectly, on the contrary,” said Danglars: “but, if

you will persist, I will tell you that I have just lost 700,000 francs

upon the Spanish loan.”

“And pray,” asked the baroness, “am I responsible for this loss?”

“Why not?”

“Is it my fault you have lost 700,000 francs?”

“Certainly it is not mine.”

“Once for all, sir,” replied the baroness sharply, “I tell you I will

not hear cash named; it is a style of language I never heard in the

house of my parents or in that of my first husband.”

“Oh, I can well believe that, for neither of them was worth a penny.”

“The better reason for my not being conversant with the slang of the

bank, which is here dinning in my ears from morning to night; that

noise of jingling crowns, which are constantly being counted and

re-counted, is odious to me. I only know one thing I dislike more,

which is the sound of your voice.”

“Really?” said Danglars. “Well, this surprises me, for I thought you

took the liveliest interest in all my affairs!”

30243m

“I? What could put such an idea into your head?”

“Yourself.”

“Ah?—what next?”

“Most assuredly.”

“I should like to know upon what occasion?”

“Oh, _mon Dieu!_ that is very easily done. Last February you were the

first who told me of the Haitian funds. You had dreamed that a ship had

entered the harbor at Le Havre, that this ship brought news that a

payment we had looked upon as lost was going to be made. I know how

clear-sighted your dreams are; I therefore purchased immediately as

many shares as I could of the Haitian debt, and I gained 400,000 francs

by it, of which 100,000 have been honestly paid to you. You spent it as

you pleased; that was your business. In March there was a question

about a grant to a railway. Three companies presented themselves, each

offering equal securities. You told me that your instinct,—and although

you pretend to know nothing about speculations, I think on the

contrary, that your comprehension is very clear upon certain

affairs,—well, you told me that your instinct led you to believe the

grant would be given to the company called the Southern. I bought two

thirds of the shares of that company; as you had foreseen, the shares

trebled in value, and I picked up a million, from which 250,000 francs

were paid to you for pin-money. How have you spent this 250,000

francs?—it is no business of mine.”

“When are you coming to the point?” cried the baroness, shivering with

anger and impatience.

“Patience, madame, I am coming to it.”

“That’s fortunate.”

“In April you went to dine at the minister’s. You heard a private

conversation respecting Spanish affairs—on the expulsion of Don Carlos.

I bought some Spanish shares. The expulsion took place and I pocketed

600,000 francs the day Charles V. repassed the Bidassoa. Of these

600,000 francs you took 50,000 crowns. They were yours, you disposed of

them according to your fancy, and I asked no questions; but it is not

the less true that you have this year received 500,000 livres.”

“Well, sir, and what then?”

“Ah, yes, it was just after this that you spoiled everything.”

“Really, your manner of speaking——”

“It expresses my meaning, and that is all I want. Well, three days

after that you talked politics with M. Debray, and you fancied from his

words that Don Carlos had returned to Spain. Well, I sold my shares,

the news got out, and I no longer sold—I gave them away, next day I

find the news was false, and by this false report I have lost 700,000

francs.”

“Well?”

“Well, since I gave you a fourth of my gains, I think you owe me a

fourth of my losses; the fourth of 700,000 francs is 175,000 francs.”

“What you say is absurd, and I cannot see why M. Debray’s name is mixed

up in this affair.”

“Because if you do not possess the 175,000 francs I reclaim, you must

have lent them to your friends, and M. Debray is one of your friends.”

30245m

“For shame!” exclaimed the baroness.

“Oh, let us have no gestures, no screams, no modern drama, or you will

oblige me to tell you that I see Debray leave here, pocketing the whole

of the 500,000 livres you have handed over to him this year, while he

smiles to himself, saying that he has found what the most skilful

players have never discovered—that is, a roulette where he wins without

playing, and is no loser when he loses.”

The baroness became enraged.

“Wretch!” she cried, “will you dare to tell me you did not know what

you now reproach me with?”

“I do not say that I did know it, and I do not say that I did not know

it. I merely tell you to look into my conduct during the last four

years that we have ceased to be husband and wife, and see whether it

has not always been consistent. Some time after our rupture, you wished

to study music, under the celebrated baritone who made such a

successful appearance at the Théâtre Italien; at the same time I felt

inclined to learn dancing of the _danseuse_ who acquired such a

reputation in London. This cost me, on your account and mine, 100,000

francs. I said nothing, for we must have peace in the house; and

100,000 francs for a lady and gentleman to be properly instructed in

music and dancing are not too much. Well, you soon become tired of

singing, and you take a fancy to study diplomacy with the minister’s

secretary. You understand, it signifies nothing to me so long as you

pay for your lessons out of your own cash box. But today I find you are

drawing on mine, and that your apprenticeship may cost me 700,000

francs per month. Stop there, madame, for this cannot last. Either the

diplomatist must give his lessons gratis, and I will tolerate him, or

he must never set his foot again in my house;—do you understand,

madame?”

“Oh, this is too much,” cried Hermine, choking, “you are worse than

despicable.”

“But,” continued Danglars, “I find you did not even pause there——”

“Insults!”

“You are right; let us leave these facts alone, and reason coolly. I

have never interfered in your affairs excepting for your good; treat me

in the same way. You say you have nothing to do with my cash box. Be it

so. Do as you like with your own, but do not fill or empty mine.

Besides, how do I know that this was not a political trick, that the

minister enraged at seeing me in the opposition, and jealous of the

popular sympathy I excite, has not concerted with M. Debray to ruin

me?”

“A probable thing!”

“Why not? Who ever heard of such an occurrence as this?—a false

telegraphic despatch—it is almost impossible for wrong signals to be

made as they were in the last two telegrams. It was done on purpose for

me—I am sure of it.”

“Sir,” said the baroness humbly, “are you not aware that the man

employed there was dismissed, that they talked of going to law with

him, that orders were issued to arrest him and that this order would

have been put into execution if he had not escaped by flight, which

proves that he was either mad or guilty? It was a mistake.”

“Yes, which made fools laugh, which caused the minister to have a

sleepless night, which has caused the minister’s secretaries to blacken

several sheets of paper, but which has cost me 700,000 francs.”

“But, sir,” said Hermine suddenly, “if all this is, as you say, caused

by M. Debray, why, instead of going direct to him, do you come and tell

me of it? Why, to accuse the man, do you address the woman?”

“Do I know M. Debray?—do I wish to know him?—do I wish to know that he

gives advice?—do I wish to follow it?—do I speculate? No; you do all

this, not I.”

“Still it seems to me, that as you profit by it——”

Danglars shrugged his shoulders. “Foolish creature,” he exclaimed.

“Women fancy they have talent because they have managed two or three

intrigues without being the talk of Paris! But know that if you had

even hidden your irregularities from your husband, who has but the

commencement of the art—for generally husbands _will_ not see—you would

then have been but a faint imitation of most of your friends among the

women of the world. But it has not been so with me,—I see, and always

have seen, during the last sixteen years. You may, perhaps, have hidden

a thought; but not a step, not an action, not a fault, has escaped me,

while you flattered yourself upon your address, and firmly believed you

had deceived me. What has been the result?—that, thanks to my pretended

ignorance, there is none of your friends, from M. de Villefort to M.

Debray, who has not trembled before me. There is not one who has not

treated me as the master of the house,—the only title I desire with

respect to you; there is not one, in fact, who would have dared to

speak of me as I have spoken of them this day. I will allow you to make

me hateful, but I will prevent your rendering me ridiculous, and, above

all, I forbid you to ruin me.”

The baroness had been tolerably composed until the name of Villefort

had been pronounced; but then she became pale, and, rising, as if

touched by a spring, she stretched out her hands as though conjuring an

apparition; she then took two or three steps towards her husband, as

though to tear the secret from him, of which he was ignorant, or which

he withheld from some odious calculation,—odious, as all his

calculations were.

“M. de Villefort!—What do you mean?”

“I mean that M. de Nargonne, your first husband, being neither a

philosopher nor a banker, or perhaps being both, and seeing there was

nothing to be got out of a king’s attorney, died of grief or anger at

finding, after an absence of nine months, that you had been _enceinte_

six. I am brutal,—I not only allow it, but boast of it; it is one of

the reasons of my success in commercial business. Why did he kill

himself instead of you? Because he had no cash to save. My life belongs

to my cash. M. Debray has made me lose 700,000 francs; let him bear his

share of the loss, and we will go on as before; if not, let him become

bankrupt for the 250,000 livres, and do as all bankrupts do—disappear.

He is a charming fellow, I allow, when his news is correct; but when it

is not, there are fifty others in the world who would do better than

he.”

Madame Danglars was rooted to the spot; she made a violent effort to

reply to this last attack, but she fell upon a chair thinking of

Villefort, of the dinner scene, of the strange series of misfortunes

which had taken place in her house during the last few days, and

changed the usual calm of her establishment to a scene of scandalous

debate.

Danglars did not even look at her, though she did her best to faint. He

shut the bedroom door after him, without adding another word, and

returned to his apartments; and when Madame Danglars recovered from her

half-fainting condition, she could almost believe that she had had a

disagreeable dream.