Part 49 (1/2)
”Did not leave me for one minute while my life was in danger. And yet I was a mere stranger to him. He is to travel with me, he will go wherever I go.”
”I am very glad to know that you will have some devoted friend with you.”
”Here, my friend, take this memorandum book.”
”What shall I do with it?”
”It contains the portrait of the woman whom I used to call my wife. I must not keep it any longer. Later, if you choose, you may give the book to--to her son.”
”Her son? But, Blemont, he is your son too. Are you not going to see him before you go away?”
”No, the sight of him is too painful to me. I have told you all that I thought,--all my torments. I shall never see that child again.”
”My dear Blemont, are you not wrong? Is that child responsible for his mother's wrongdoing?”
”It is possible that I am unjust; why did she give me a right to be? I entrust you to look after everything that concerns him, and to put him at school when he reaches the proper age. I will give you a letter to my notary, instructing him to supply you with money whenever you need it.
Forgive me, my friend, for all the trouble I cause you.”
”Do not speak of trouble. But consider that that child----”
”Not another word about him, I beg you. I propose to try to banish from my memory those persons whom I am forced to banish from my heart. By the way, you must cease to call me Blemont, too; from this moment I lay aside that name and a.s.sume the name of Dalbreuse. So that is the name under which you must write to me, Ernest; for I trust that you will write to me, my friend.”
”Yes, to be sure; but I trust that you will not stay away from us a century. There will come a time, my dear Henri, when you will be able to live in Paris and to meet the--the person whom you avoid now, without its producing too serious an effect upon you.”
”I hope so. Meanwhile, I shall go away; I propose to visit Switzerland, the Alps, the Pyrenees, Italy--no, I shall not go to Italy. But I shall stop wherever I find that I enjoy myself. I shall try to paint some lovely views, some attractive landscapes.”
”Above all things, paint some portraits of beautiful women; they will distract you better than anything else. But when are you going? You must wait until you are perfectly well.”
”I flatter myself that in a week I shall not feel my wound; meantime, you will see me often; I am to be allowed to go out to-morrow, and I will go to your house.”
Ernest took his leave and I made arrangements for my journey. Ernest would let my apartment all furnished during my absence, and I left him in full charge of everything. I had but one wish, that was to be far away from Paris; but first I absolutely must see and embrace my daughter.
At last I was able to leave my room. I purchased two horses, for I proposed to travel by short stages as long as it amused me. Then I went to see my mother; I trembled lest she should have learned that I was no longer living with my wife. She did know it, in fact; some kind friends had not failed to inform her that I had separated from Eugenie; but she thought that it was nothing more than a quarrel which had caused the rupture. She proposed her mediation to reconcile us, for she also believed that it was I who was in the wrong; and she preached me a sermon.
I thanked my mother and told her of my approaching departure, which I said was due to important business. She hoped that at my return everything would be forgotten between my wife and myself; I encouraged her in that hope and bade her adieu. I was very certain that she would not go to see my wife, for that would disturb her habits.
I gave to Ernest and his companion all the time that remained before my departure. They were sorry to lose me, and yet they were glad that I was going; it was the same with myself. I urged them to send me news of my daughter; in leaving her I was separating from a part of myself, but if I remained I should not see her any more. I made them swear that when they wrote to me they would never mention Madame Blemont. Finally, one night I embraced Ernest and Marguerite and their children affectionately; I was to start early next morning.
Pettermann had long been ready. He told me that he was an excellent rider. We had a good horse each, and at six o'clock we left Paris. My comrade was very glad to be on the road; he hummed a refrain from the _Mariage de Figaro_, which he had not done since my illness.
I started in the direction of Montmorency, for Aubonne is in that neighborhood, and I proposed to go there to see my daughter. During the past few days I had made inquiries concerning Madame Blemont at her house on Rue d'Antin. In Paris, by the use of money, one may learn whatever one desires. The result of my inquiries was that Madame Blemont was now at Paris, and that her daughter was not with her. So that Henriette was in the country without her mother; I could not hope to find a more favorable moment to see my daughter.
We rode through Montmorency and arrived at Aubonne. Pettermann rode behind without once asking where we were going, and his discretion gratified me. When we came in sight of the first houses of Aubonne, I said to him:
”I have business here, Pettermann; I have to see someone who is very dear to me.”
”Whatever you please, monsieur; it looks to be a pleasant place.”
”First of all, you must inquire where Madame Rennebaut lives; she is an old lady who owns a house in this neighborhood.”
”Madame Rennebaut? All right; I will ask the first baker that I see.