The Mystery of Orcival - Émile Gaboriau (books for 6 year olds to read themselves txt) 📗

If you agree, we’ll send the horses to be sold tomorrow, and they’ll fetch a good price; your own saddle-horse shall be brought here.”

These details annoyed Bertha. She thought her husband exaggerated his services, carrying them even to servility.

“Really,” thought she, “he was born to be a steward.”

“Do you know what else I did?” pursued Sauvresy. “Thinking that perhaps you were in want of a wardrobe, I had three or four trunks filled with your clothes, sent them out by rail, and one of the servants has just gone after them.”

Hector, too, began to find Sauvresy’s services excessive, and thought he treated him too much like a child who could foresee nothing. The idea of having it said before a woman that he was in want of clothes irritated him. He forgot that he had found it a very simple thing in the morning to ask his friend for some linen.

Just then a noise was heard in the vestibule. Doubtless the trunks had come. Bertha went out to give the necessary orders.

“Quick!” cried Sauvresy. “Now that we are alone, here are your trinkets. I had some trouble in getting them. They are suspicious at the pawnbroker’s. I think they began to suspect that I was one of a band of thieves.”

“You didn’t mention my name, did you?”

“That would have been useless. My notary was with me, fortunately. One never knows how useful one’s notary may be. Don’t you think society is unjust toward notaries?”

Trémorel thought his friend talked very lightly about a serious matter, and this flippancy vexed him.

“To finish up, I paid a visit to Miss Jenny. She has been abed since last evening, and her chambermaid told me she had not ceased sobbing bitterly ever since your departure.”

“Had she seen no one?”

“Nobody at all. She really thought you dead, and when I told her you were here with me, alive and well, I thought she would go mad for joy. Do you know, Hector, she’s really pretty.”

“Yes⁠—not bad.”

“And a very good little body, I imagine. She told me some very touching things. I would wager, my friend, that she don’t care so much for your money as she does for yourself.”

Hector smiled superciliously.

“In short, she was anxious to follow me, to see and speak to you. I had to swear with terrible oaths that she should see you tomorrow, before she would let me go; not at Paris, as you said you would never go there, but at Corbeil.”

“Ah, as for that⁠—”

“She will be at the station tomorrow at twelve. We will go down together, and I will take the train for Paris. You can get into the Corbeil train, and breakfast with Miss Jenny at the hotel of the Belle Image.”

Hector began to offer an objection. Sauvresy stopped him with a gesture.

“Not a word,” said he. “Here is my wife.”

XV

On going to bed, that night, the count was less enchanted than ever with the devotion of his friend Sauvresy. There is not a diamond on which a spot cannot be found with a microscope.

“Here he is,” thought he, “abusing his privileges as the saver of my life. Can’t a man do you a service, without continually making you feel it? It seems as though because he prevented me from blowing my brains out, I had somehow become something that belongs to him! He came very near upbraiding me for Jenny’s extravagance. Where will he stop?”

The next day at breakfast he feigned indisposition so as not to eat, and suggested to Sauvresy that he would lose the train.

Bertha, as on the evening before, crouched at the window to see them go away. Her troubles during the past eight-and-forty hours had been so great that she hardly recognized herself. She scarcely dared to reflect or to descend to the depths of her heart. What mysterious power did this man possess, to so violently affect her life? She wished that he would go, never to return, while at the same time she avowed to herself that in going he would carry with him all her thoughts. She struggled under the charm, not knowing whether she ought to rejoice or grieve at the inexpressible emotions which agitated her, being irritated to submit to an influence stronger than her own will.

She decided that today she would go down to the drawing-room. He would not fail⁠—were it only for politeness⁠—to go in there; and then, she thought, by seeing him nearer, talking with him, knowing him better, his influence over her would vanish. Doubtless he would return, and so she watched for him, ready to go down as soon as she saw him approaching. She waited with feverish shudderings, anxiously believing that this first tête-à-tête in her husband’s absence would be decisive. Time passed; it was more than two hours since he had gone out with Sauvresy, and he had not reappeared. Where could he be?

At this moment, Hector was awaiting Jenny at the Corbeil station. The train arrived, and Jenny soon appeared. Her grief, joy, emotion had not made her forget her toilet, and never had she been so rollickingly elegant and pretty. She wore a green dress with a train, a velvet mantle, and the jauntiest little hat in the world. As soon as she saw Hector standing near the door, she uttered a cry, pushed the people aside, and rushed into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. She spoke quite loud, with wild gestures, so that everyone could hear what she said.

“You didn’t kill yourself, after all,” said she. “Oh, how I have suffered; but what happiness I feel today!”

Trémorel struggled with her as he could, trying to calm her enthusiastic exclamations, softly repelling her, charmed and irritated at once, and exasperated at all these eyes rudely fixed on him. For none of the passengers had gone out. They were all there, staring and gazing. Hector and Jenny were surrounded by a circle of curious folks.

“Come along,” said Hector, his patience