Chapter 45 Chapter 15 Is this a conspiracy?

"This is serious," thought Julien... "and it's too obvious," he added after a moment's thought, "this beautiful lady can talk to me in the library, thank God she has perfect Liberty; the Marquis never comes to the library for fear that I will show him the accounts. Why! M. de La Mole and the Count Nobel, the only people who come here are almost absent all day; when will they return? , is also easy to see, and the sublime Mathilde, who is not too noble even if it is a king who proposes to her, wants me to do a terrible insolence! "Obviously, they wanted to ruin me, or at least mock me. First they wanted to ruin me with my letters, which thankfully were written carefully; that's good! They need a broad daylight operation now. These beautiful The little gentlemen thought I was stupid or crazy. Go to hell! Climb a ladder twenty-five feet to the second floor under the brightest big moon! They have plenty of time to see me, even if the people in the neighboring mansions That's fine too. I'll look good on the ladder!" Julien went upstairs to his room, whistling and packing his boxes.He has made up his mind to leave without replying to the letter.

This wise decision did not bring him peace of mind, however. "If Mathilde is real!" he said suddenly to himself, closing the box, "then I would have played the part of a complete coward in her eyes. And I, I have no noble birth, I There must be great qualities, which are cash, not fancy assumptions; proven by resounding deeds...” He thought about it for a quarter of an hour. "What's the use of denying?" he said at last. "I'll be a coward in her eyes. I've lost the best woman in society, it was said at the Duc de Rais's ball, and lost Great joy to see that the Marquis de Croixenois was sacrificed for my sake. He is the son of a duke and will be a duke himself. A lovely young man with all the qualities that I lack : wit, noble birth, wealth...

"This regret will torture me for the rest of my life, not because of her, there are plenty of mistresses! There is only one honor! ... So said old Don Diegger, and now, it is obvious that I retreated from the first danger I encountered, because the duel with M. de Boissy was only a joke.This time is completely different.I might be the target of a servant, but that was the smallest danger, and my reputation might be ruined. "This is a serious matter, my boy," he added cheerfully, in his Gascon accent, "it is a matter of honor. A poor wretch whom fate has cast down to such a low position as myself, must never I won't find an opportunity like this again; I'll have good luck later, but it will always be worse..."

He pondered for a long time, walked up and down in a hurry, and stopped suddenly from time to time.In his bedroom a fine marble bust of Cardinal de Richelieu attracted his attention unconsciously.The bust seemed to be looking sternly at him, reproaching him for want of that boldness which is so natural in the French character. "In your time, great man, would I have hesitated?" "At worst," he thought at last, "it's dangerous and troublesome for a girl to assume it's all a trap. They know I'm not one to keep my mouth shut. Tell me not to. , you have to kill me. That was okay in 1574, in the time of Boniface de La Mole, but now, no one dares. These people are different these days. De La Mole Miss Ill is so envied! To-morrow her disgrace will be heard in four hundred drawing-rooms, and with what delight!

"The servants chatter in private about my apparent favoritism, I know, I've heard . . . "Her letter, on the other hand! . . . They probably thought I'd take the letter with me. They caught me in her bedroom and shot the letter away. I might have to deal with two, three, four , who knows? But where do they go to find such people? Where in Paris can they hire strict-mouthed people? The law scares them... Of course! It must be the Kailuses, Croizers The Noirs and the Lutzes will do it themselves. This moment, and the foolishness I show among them, must have fascinated them. Beware the fate of Abelard, Monsieur Secretary!

"Well! Wait and see! Gentlemen, I'll have you painted, and I'll hit you in the face like Caesar's soldiers did at Fasallo... As for the letter, I'll put it in a safe place." Julien made a copy of each of the last two letters, and included them in a volume of the beautiful collection of Voltaire in the library, and delivered the originals himself to the post office. When he came back, he said to himself in amazement and horror: "What madness I'm going into!" For a quarter of an hour he didn't think seriously about the course of action he was going to take that night.

"But if I refuse, I will despise myself in the future! This will become the object of repeated doubts in my life, and such doubts are the greatest of misfortunes. Didn't I already experience it with Amanda's lover?" If it's a definite crime, I believe I'll forgive myself more easily; once confessed, I forget about it. "Why! I am going to compete with a man who bears one of the noblest names in all France, and I myself will gladly show myself inferior! In fact, it would be cowardly not to go. That word is everything," cried Julien, standing up. Get up... "Besides, she is so beautiful!"

"If it wasn't treachery, what madness she's done for me! . . . If it's a fool, of course, gentlemen, it's up to me to take the joke seriously, and I'll take it seriously of. "But if they had bound my arms when I went in, they might have put some clever trap in there! "It looks like a duel," he said to himself, laughing. "My fencing master said that where there is an attack, there is a break, but good God wants an end, so let one of the two forget to parry." .Besides, I've got something to pay them back." He took two pistols from his pockets, and although the powder was still effective, he changed them.

Still waiting for several hours, Julien wrote to Fouquet in order to find something to do: "My friend, you may only open the enclosed letter in the event of an accident, when you hear that something strange has happened to me. At that time, remove the proper name from the manuscript I send you, copy eight A copy was sent to newspapers in Marseilles, Bordeaux, Lyon, Brussels, etc. Ten days later, the manuscript was printed out, and a copy was sent to Mr. The streets of Rière." This short memoir of self-defense, written in the form of a story, Fouquet can only be read in the event of an accident. Julien tried not to involve Mademoiselle de La Mole, but he still described him very accurately. situation.

Julien had hardly sealed the parcel when the bell rang for supper; his heart began to beat violently.His imagination was still in the story he had just written, full of tragic foreboding.He saw himself being grabbed by servants, tied up, gagged, and led into the basement.A servant looked at him, and if the honor of the noble family demanded a sad end to the matter, it could easily be done with that poison which leaves no trace; The body was carried back to his room. Like the author of a tragic story, Julien was moved by the story he made up, and he actually felt frightened when he entered the restaurant.He had seen all the servants in gorgeous livery.He studies their looks. "Which ones have been chosen for tonight's mission?" he thought. "In this family, Henry III's court is always on the mind, and it is often mentioned that if they feel offended, they will act more decisively than other people of the same status." He looked at Miss de La Mole , trying to read her family's intentions from her eyes; she was pale and completely medieval.He had never found her bearing so sublime, she was indeed beautiful and majestic.He was almost in love with her, "pale with a premonition of death," he said to himself (her pallor announced her great plans).

After supper he pretended to go for a walk into the garden, but in vain did he wait for a long time without Miss de La Mole appearing.Talking to her at this time may relieve the burden on his heart. Why not admit it?He is afraid.Because of his determination to act, he indulged in this feeling without scruples. "What does it matter what I feel at the moment, as long as I can find the necessary courage to act," he said to himself. He checked the terrain and the weight of the ladder. "I am destined to use this tool!" he said to himself, laughing. "Here is like in Verrières. What a difference! Then," he sighed, "I need not doubt the People. And how different the dangers are!" "If I had been beaten to death in M. de Rênal's garden, I would not be ashamed at all. It is easy to say that my death is unknown. No hateful story is invented here, in Germany. Chauna, de Caylus, de Seys, etc., everywhere. I have become a devil in the eyes of posterity." "In two or three years," he said with a laugh, not letting himself laugh.But the thought discouraged him. "Who can defend me? Even if Fouquet prints out the pamphlet I left behind, it would only add another kind of shame. What! I was taken in by a family, and I was treated with kindness and attention, but In return, I print pamphlets denouncing what's going on there, and discrediting women! Ah! No way, we'd rather be kept in the dark!"