The Mysteries of Paris. Эжен Сю
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render you fully provided for your venturesome excursions. You are bold as a lion, with muscles like iron, and, though so slight in form, I should have no more chance with you than a dray-horse would against a racer, were they to compete with each other. No mistake about that."
"Then what are you afraid of?"
"Why, I maintain, my lord, that it is not the right thing for you to throw yourself in the way of all these blackguards. I do not say that because of the nuisance it is to a highly respectable individual of my acquaintance to blacken his face with charcoal, and make himself look like a devil. No, God knows, spite of my age, my figure, and my gravity, I would disguise myself as a rope-dancer, if, by so doing, I could serve you. But I still stick to what I say, and—"
"Oh! I know all you would say, my excellent old fellow, and that when once you have taken an idea into your thick skull, the very devil himself could no more drive it out of you than he could, by all his arts, remove the fidelity and devotion implanted in your brave and valiant heart."
"Come, come, my lord, now you begin to flatter me, I suspect you are up to some fresh mischief."
"Think no such thing, Murphy; give yourself no uneasiness, but leave all to me."
"My lord, I cannot be easy; there is some new folly in hand, and I am sure of it."
"My good friend, you mean well; but you are choosing a very ill hour for your lectures; forbear, I beg."
"And why, my lord, can you not listen to me now, as well as any other time?"
"Because you are interfering with one of my short-lived moments of pride and happiness. I am here, in this dear spot!"
"Where you have done so much good. I know it. Your 'model farm,' as you term it, built by you to instruct, to encourage, and to reward deserving labourers, has been of incalculable service to this part of the country. Ordinary men think but of improving their cattle; you, more wisely and benevolently, have directed your exertions for the bettering your fellow creatures. Nothing can be better; and when you placed Madame Georges at the head of the establishment, you acted with the utmost wisdom and provident good sense. What a woman she is! No, she is an angel!—so good, so firm, so noble, and upright! I am not easily moved, my lord, as you know; but often have I felt my eyes grow moist, as her many trials and misfortunes rise to my recollection. But about your new protégée, however, my lord; if you please, we will not say much on that subject. 'The least said is soonest mended,' as the old proverb has it."
"Why not, Murphy?"
"My lord, you will do what you think proper."
"I do what is just," said Rodolph, with an air of impatience.
"What is just, according to your own interpretation."
"What is just before God and my own conscience," replied Rodolph, in a severe tone.
"Well, my lord, this is a point on which we cannot agree, and therefore let us speak no more about it."
"I desire you will continue to talk about it!" cried Rodolph, imperiously.
"I have never been so circumstanced that your royal highness should have to bid me hold my tongue, and I hope I shall not now be ordered to speak when I should be silent," said Murphy, proudly.
"Mr. Murphy!" said Rodolph, with a tone of increased irritation.
"My lord!"
"You know, sir, how greatly I detest anything like concealment."
"Your royal highness will excuse me, but it suits me to have certain concealments," said Murphy, bluntly.
"If I descend to familiarity with you, sir, it is on condition that you, at least, act with entire frankness towards me."
It is impossible to describe the extreme hauteur which marked the countenance of Rodolph as he uttered these words.
"I am fifty years of age, I am a gentleman, and your royal highness should not address me in such a tone."
"Be silent!"
"My lord!"
"Be silent! I say."
"Your royal highness does wrong in compelling a man of honour and feeling to recall the services he has rendered to you," said the squire, in a calm tone.
"Have I not repaid those services in a thousand ways?"
It should be stated that Rodolph had not attached to these bitter words the humiliating sense which could place Murphy in the light of a mercenary; but such, unfortunately, was the esquire's interpretation of them. He became purple with shame, lifted his two clenched hands to his forehead with an expression of deep grief and indignation, and then, in a moment, as by a sudden revulsion of feeling, throwing his eyes on Rodolph, whose noble countenance was convulsed by the violence of extreme disdain, he said, in a faltering voice, and stifling a sigh of the tenderest pity, "My lord, be yourself; you surpass the bounds of reason."
These words impelled Rodolph to the very height of irritation; his glance had even a savage glare in it; his lips were blanched; and, advancing towards Murphy with a threatening aspect, he exclaimed, "Dare you?"
Murphy retreated, and said, in a quick tone, and as if in spite of himself, "My lord, my lord, remember the thirteenth of January!"
These words produced a magical effect on Rodolph. His countenance, contracted by anger, now expanded. He looked at Murphy steadfastly, bowed his head, and then, after a moment's silence, murmured, in faltering accents, "Ah, sir, you are now cruel, indeed. I had thought that my repentance—my deep remorse—and yet it is you—you—"
Rodolph could not finish; his voice was stifled; he sunk, subdued, on a stone bench, and concealed his countenance with both his hands.
"My lord," said Murphy, in deep distress, "my good lord, forgive me! Forgive your old and faithful Murphy. It was only when driven to an extremity, and fearing, alas! not for myself, but for you, the consequences of your passion, that I uttered those words. I said them in spite of myself, and with sorrow. My lord, I was wrong to be so sensitive. Mon Dieu! who can know your character, your feelings, if I do not—I, who have never left you from your childhood! Pray, oh, pray say that you forgive me for having called to your recollection that sad, sad day. Alas! what expiations have you not made—"
Rodolph raised his head; he was very pale, and said to his companion, in a gentle and saddened voice, "Enough, enough, my old friend; I thank you for having, by one word, checked my headlong passion. I make no apologies to you for the severe things I have said; you know well that 'it is a long way from the heart to the lips,' as the good people at home say. I was wrong; let us say no more on the subject."
"Alas! now we shall be out of spirits for a long time, as if I were not sufficiently unhappy! I only wished to see you roused from your low spirits, and yet I add to them by my foolish tenaciousness. Good Heaven! what's the use of being an honest man, and having gray hairs, if it does not enable us to endure reproaches which we do not deserve?"
"Be it so, be it so; we were both in the wrong, my good friend," said Rodolph, mildly; "let us forget it, and return to our former conversation. You approved entirely of my establishment of this farm, and the deep interest I have always felt in Madame Georges. You will allow, won't you, that she had merited it by her excellent qualities, her misfortunes, even if she did not belong to the family of Harville—a family to which my father had vowed eternal gratitude."
"I have always approved of the sentiments which your lordship has entertained for Madame Georges."
"But you are astonished at the interest I take in this poor girl, are you not?"
"Pray, pray, my lord, I was wrong; I was wrong."
"No, I can imagine that appearances have deceived you; but, as you know my life—all my life, and as you aid me always with as much fidelity as courage in my self-inflicted expiation, it is my duty, or, if you like the phrase better, my gratitude, to convince you that I am not acting from a frivolous impulse."
"Of that I am sure, my lord."