Marguerite was just nineteen when her father put her in charge of the household; and her brothers and sister, whom Madame Claes in her last moments exhorted to obey their elder sister, accepted her authority with docility.Her mourning attire heightened the dewy whiteness of her skin, just as the sadness of her expression threw into relief the gentleness and patience of her manner.From the first she gave proofs of feminine courage, of inalterable serenity, like that of angels appointed to shed peace on suffering hearts by a touch of their waving palms.But although she trained herself, through a premature perception of duty, to hide her personal grief, it was none the less bitter; her calm exterior was not in keeping with the deep trouble of her thoughts, and she was destined to undergo, too early in life, those terrible outbursts of feeling which no heart is wholly able to subdue: her father was to hold her incessantly under the pressure of natural youthful generosity on the one hand, and the dictates of imperious duty on the other.The cares which came upon her the very day of her mother's death threw her into a struggle with the interests of life at an age when young girls are thinking only of its pleasures.
Dreadful discipline of suffering, which is never lacking to angelic natures!
The love which rests on money or on vanity is the most persevering of passions.Pierquin resolved to win the heiress without delay.A few days after Madame Claes's death he took occasion to speak to Marguerite, and began operations with a cleverness which might have succeeded if love had not given her the power of clear insight and saved her from mistaking appearances that were all the more specious because Pierquin displayed his natural kindheartedness,--the kindliness of a notary who thinks himself loving while he protects a client's money.Relying on his rather distant relationship and his constant habit of managing the business and sharing the secrets of the Claes family, sure of the esteem and friendship of the father, greatly assisted by the careless inattention of that servant of science who took no thought for the marriage of his daughter, and not suspecting that Marguerite could prefer another,--Pierquin unguardedly enabled her to form a judgment on a suit in which there was no passion except that of self-interest, always odious to a young soul, and which he was not clever enough to conceal.It was he who on this occasion was naively above-board, it was she who dissimulated,--simply because he thought he was dealing with a defenceless girl, and wholly misconceived the privileges of weakness.
"My dear cousin," he said to Marguerite, with whom he was walking about the paths of the little garden, "you know my heart, you understand how truly I desire to respect the painful feelings which absorb you at this moment.I have too sensitive a nature for a lawyer;I live by my heart only, I am forced to spend my time on the interests of others when I would fain let myself enjoy the sweet emotions which make life happy.I suffer deeply in being obliged to talk to you of subjects so discordant with your state of mind, but it is necessary.Ihave thought much about you during the last few days.It is evident that through a fatal delusion the fortune of your brothers and sister and your own are in jeopardy.Do you wish to save your family from complete ruin?""What must I do?" she asked, half-frightened by his words.
"Marry," answered Pierquin.
"I shall not marry," she said.
"Yes, you will marry," replied the notary, "when you have soberly thought over the critical position in which you are placed.""How can my marriage save--"
"Ah! I knew you would consider it, my dear cousin," he exclaimed, interrupting her."Marriage will emancipate you.""Why should I be emancipated?" asked Marguerite.
"Because marriage will put you at once into possession of your property, my dear little cousin," said the lawyer in a tone of triumph."If you marry you take your share of your mother's property.
To give it to you, the whole property must be liquidated; to do that, it becomes necessary to sell the forest of Waignies.That done, the proceeds will be capitalized, and your father, as guardian, will be compelled to invest the fortune of his children in such a way that Chemistry can't get hold of it.""And if I do not marry, what will happen?" she asked.
"Well," said the notary, "your father will manage your estate as he pleases.If he returns to making gold, he will probably sell the timber of the forest of Waignies and leave his children as naked as the little Saint Johns.The forest is now worth about fourteen hundred thousand francs; but from one day to another you are not sure your father won't cut it down, and then your thirteen hundred acres are not worth three hundred thousand francs.Isn't it better to avoid this almost certain danger by at once compelling the division of property on your marriage? If the forest is sold now, while Chemistry has gone to sleep, your father will put the proceeds into the Grand-Livre.The Funds are at 59; those dear children will get nearly five thousand francs a year for every fifty thousand francs: and, inasmuch as the property of minors cannot be sold out, your brothers and sister will find their fortunes doubled in value by the time they come of age.
Whereas, in the other case,--faith, no one knows what may happen: your father has already impaired your mother's property; we shall find out the deficit when we come to make the inventory.If he is in debt to her estate, you will take a mortgage on his, and in that way something may be recovered--""For shame!" said Marguerite."It would be an outrage on my father.It is not so long since my mother uttered her last words that I have forgotten them.My father is incapable of robbing his children," she continued, giving way to tears of distress."You misunderstand him, Monsieur Pierquin.""But, my dear cousin, if your father gets back to chemistry--""We are ruined; is that what you mean?"
