And her attitude was so determined, and her voice so firm, that the old gentleman was quite overwhelmed for a moment.
"But, if I am not willing," he said.
"You will consent, dear papa, you will certainly not force your little granddaughter, who loves you so dearly, to the painful necessity of disobeying you for the first time in her life.""Because, for the first time in her life I am not doing what my granddaughter wants me to do?""Dear papa, let me tell you."
"Rather listen to me, poor child, and let me show you to what dangers, to what misfortunes, you expose yourself. To go and spend a night at this prison would be risking, understand me well, your honor,--that tender, delicate honor which is tarnished by a breath, which involves the happiness and the peace of your whole life.""But Jacques's honor and life are at stake.""Poor imprudent girl! How do you know but he would be the very first to blame you cruelly for such a step?""He?"
"Men are made so: the most perfect devotion irritates them at times.""Be it so. I would rather endure Jacques's unjust reproaches than the idea of not having done my duty."M. de Chandore began to despair.
"And if I were to beg you, Dionysia, instead of commanding. If your old grandfather were to beseech you on his knees to abandon your fatal project.""You would cause me fearful pain, dear papa: but it would be all in vain; for I must resist your prayers, as I must resist your orders.""Inexorable!" cried the old gentleman. "She is immovable!" And suddenly changing his tone, he cried,--"But, after all, I am master here."
"Dear papa, pray!"
"And since nothing can move you, I will speak to Mechinet, I will let Blangin know my will."Dionysia, turning as pale as death, but with burning eyes, drew back a step, and said,--"If you do that, grandpapa, if you destroy my last hope"--"Well?"
"I swear to you by the sacred memory of my mother, I will be in a convent to-morrow, and you will never see me again in your life, not even if I should die, which would certainly soon"--M. de Chandore, raising his hands to heaven, and with an accent of genuine despair, exclaimed,--"Ah, my God! Are these our children? And is this what is in store for us old people? We have spent a lifetime in watching over them; we have submissively gratified all their fancies; they have been our greatest anxiety, and our sweetest hope; we have given them our life day by day, and we would not hesitate to give them our life's blood drop by drop; they are every thing to us, and we imagine they love us--poor fools that we are! One fine day, a man goes by, a careless, thoughtless man, with a bright eye and a ready tongue, and it is all over. Our child is no longer our own; our child no longer knows us.
Go, old man, and die in your corner."
Overwhelmed by his grief, the old man staggered and sank into a chair, as an old oak, cut by the woodman's axe, trembles and falls.
"Ah, this is fearful!" murmured Dionysia. "What you say, grandpapa, is too fearful. How can you doubt me?"She had knelt down. She was weeping; and her hot tears fell upon the old gentleman's hands. He started up as he felt them on his icy-cold hand; and, making one more effort, he said,--"Poor, poor child! And suppose Jacques is guilty, and, when he sees you, confesses his crime, what then?"Dionysia shook her head.
"That is impossible," she said; "and still, even if it were so, Iought to be punished as much as he is; for I know, if he had asked me, I should have acted in concert with him.""She is mad!" exclaimed M. de Chandore, falling back into his chair.
"She is mad!"
But he was overcome; and the next day, at five in the afternoon, his heart torn by unspeakable grief, he went down the steep street with his daughter on his arm. Dionysia had chosen her simplest and plainest dress; and the little bag she carried on her arm contained not sixteen but twenty thousand francs. As a matter of course, it had been necessary to take the marchioness into their confidence; but neither she, nor the Misses Lavarande, nor M. Folgat, had raised an objection.
Down to the prison, grandfather and grandchild had not exchanged a word; but, when they reached it, Dionysia said,--"I see Mrs. Blangin at the door: let us be careful."They came nearer. Mrs. Blangin saluted them.
"Come, it is time," said the young girl. "Till to-morrow, dear papa!
Go home quickly, and be not troubled about me."Then joining the keeper's wife, she disappeared inside the prison.
