The Clique of Gold | Page 8

of satisfaction, he said,--
"That was not so badly done. An expert in the post-office would not

suspect it. I may risk it."
And, thus re-assured, he rapidly mounted up to the fifth story; but there
Mrs. Chevassat suddenly barred his way, coming down stairs in a
manner which showed clearly that she had lain in wait for him.
"Well, my dear sir," she said with her sweetest manner: "so you have
become Miss Henrietta's banker?"
"Yes; do you object to it?"
"Oh, not at all! It is none of my business, only"--
She stopped, smiling wickedly, and then added,--
"Only she is a prodigiously pretty girl; and I was just saying to myself,
'Upon my word, M. Ravinet's taste is not bad.'"
The merchant was on the point of giving her a pretty sharp, indignant
reply; but he controlled himself, because he knew how important it was
to mislead the woman; and, forcing himself to smile, he said,--
"You know I count upon your being discreet."
When he got up, he found that he ought, at least, to give credit to
Mamma Chevassat and the two ladies from the first floor, for having
employed their time well, and for having skilfully made use of the
articles he had contributed. The room, a short time ago cold and bare,
had an air of comfort about it now, which was delightful. On the bureau
stood a lamp with a shade to prevent the light from hurting the patient's
eyes; a bright fire blazed on the hearth; several old curtains had been
hung before the window, one before the other, to replace for the time
the missing panes; and on the table stood a teakettle, a china cup, and
two small medicine-bottles.
Evidently the doctor had been here during Ravinet's absence. He had
bled the poor girl, prescribed some medicines, and left again, with the
assurance that nothing more was needed but perfect quiet.
In fact, there was no trace left of the sufferings and the terrible danger
from which the patient had so marvellously escaped, except the deep
pallor of her face. Stretched out at full-length on her comfortable bed
with its thick mattresses and snow-white sheets, her head propped up
high on a couple of pillows, she was breathing freely, as was easily
seen by the steady, regular rising and falling of her bosom under the
cover.
But life and consciousness had also brought back to her a sense of the
horror of her position, and of her capacity for suffering.

Her brow resting on her arm, which was almost concealed by masses of
golden hair, immovable, and her eyes fixed steadily upon infinite space,
as if trying to pierce the darkness of the future, she would have looked
like a statue of sorrow rather than of resignation, but for the big tears
which were slowly dropping down her cheeks.
Her exquisite beauty looked almost ethereal under the circumstances;
and Papa Ravinet, when he saw her, remained fixed by admiration,
standing upon the threshold of the open door. But it occurred to him at
once that he might be looked upon as a spy, and that his feelings would
be sure to be misinterpreted. He coughed, therefore, to give warning,
and then stepped in.
At the noise he made, Henrietta roused herself. When she saw the old
merchant, she said in a faint, feeble voice,--
"Ah! it is you, sir. These kind ladies have told me all. You have saved
my life." Then, shaking her head, she added,--
"You have rendered me a sad service, sir."
She uttered these words so simply, but in a tone of such harrowing grief,
that Papa Ravinet was overcome.
"Unhappy child!" he exclaimed, "you do not think of trying it over
again?"
She made no answer. It was as good as if she had said, Yes.
"Why, you must be mad!" said the old man, excited almost beyond
control. "Only twenty years old, and give up life! That has never been
done before. You are suffering now; but you can hardly imagine what
compensation Providence may have in store for you hereafter"--
She interrupted him by a gesture, and said,--
"There was no future for me, sir, when I sought refuge in death."
"But"--
"Oh, don't try to convince me, sir! What I did, I had to do. I felt how
life was leaving me, and I only wished to shorten the agony. I had not
eaten any thing for three days when I lit that charcoal. Even to get the
charcoal, I had to risk a falsehood, and cheat the woman who let me
have it in credit. And yet God knows I was not wanting in courage. I
would have done the coarsest, hardest work cheerfully, joyously. But
how did I know how to