With the reader's permission,we must now jump over an interval of rather more than a year,and bring upon the stage a person who,though only of secondary importance,can no longer be left behind the scenes.
We have already said that the loves of Quennebert and Madame Rapally were regarded with a jealous eye by a distant cousin of the lady's late husband.The love of this rejected suitor,whose name was Trumeau,was no more sincere than the notary's,nor were his motives more honourable.Although his personal appearance was not such as to lead him to expect that his path would be strewn with conquests,he considered that his charms at least equalled those of his defunct relative;and it may be said that in thus estimating them he did not lay himself--open to the charge of overweening vanity.But however persistently he preened him self before the widow,she vouchsafed him not one glance.Her heart was filled with the love of his rival,and it is no easy thing to tear a rooted passion out of a widow's heart when that widow's age is forty-six,and she is silly enough to believe that the admiration she feels is equalled by the admiration she inspires,as the unfortunate Trumeau found to his cost.All his carefully prepared declarations of love,all his skilful insinuations against Quennebert,brought him nothing but scornful rebuffs.But Trumeau was nothing if not persevering,and he could not habituate himself to the idea of seeing the widow's fortune pass into other hands than his own,so that every baffled move only increased his determination to spoil his competitor's game.He was always on the watch for a chance to carry tales to the widow,and so absorbed did he become in this fruitless pursuit,that he grew yellower and more dried up from day to day,and to his jaundiced eye the man who was at first simply his rival became his mortal enemy and the object of his implacable hate,so that at length merely to get the better of him,to outwit him,would,after so long-continued and obstinate a struggle and so many defeats,have seemed to him too mild a vengeance,too incomplete a victory.
Quennebert was well aware of the zeal with which the indefatigable Trumeau sought to injure him.But he regarded the manoeuvres of his rival with supreme unconcern,for he knew that he could at any time sweep away the network of cunning machinations,underhand insinuations,and malicious hints,which was spread around him,by allowing the widow to confer on him the advantages she was so anxious to bestow.The goal,he knew,was within his reach,but the problem he had to solve was how to linger on the way thither,how to defer the triumphal moment,how to keep hope alive in the fair one's breast and yet delay its fruition.His affairs were in a bad way.Day by day full possession of the fortune thus dangled before his eyes,and fragments of which came to him occasionally by way of loan,was becoming more and more indispensable,and tantalising though it was,yet he dared not put out his hand to seize it.His creditors dunned him relentlessly:one final reprieve had been granted him,but that at an end,if he could not meet their demands,it was all up with his career and reputation.
One morning in the beginning of February 1660,Trumeau called to see his cousin.He had not been there for nearly a month,and Quennebert and the widow had begun to think that,hopeless of success,he had retired from the contest.But,far from that,his hatred had grown more intense than ever,and having come upon the traces of an event in the past life of his rival which if proved would be the ruin of that rival's hopes,he set himself to gather evidence.He now made his appearance with beaming looks,which expressed a joy too great for words.He held in one hand a small scroll tied with a ribbon.
He found the widow alone,sitting in a large easy-chair before the fire.She was reading for the twentieth time a letter which Quenriebert had written her the evening before.To judge by the happy and contented expression of the widow's face,it must have been couched in glowing terms.Trumeau guessed at once from whom the missive came,but the sight of it,instead of irritating him,called forth a smile.
"Ah!so it's you,cousin?"said the widow,folding the precious paper and slipping it into the bosom of her dress."How do you do?
It's a long time since I saw you,more than a fortnight,I think.
Have you been ill?"
"So you remarked my absence!That is very flattering,my dear cousin;you do not often spoil me by such attentions.No,I have not been ill,thank God,but I thought it better not to intrude upon you so often.A friendly call now and then such as to-day's is what you like,is it not?By the way,tell me about your handsome suitor,Maitre Quennebert;how is he getting along?""You look very knowing,Trumeau :have you heard of anything happening to him?""No,and I should be exceedingly sorry to hear that anything unpleasant had happened to him."Now you are not saying what you think,you know you can't bear him.""Well,to speak the truth,I have no great reason to like him.If it were not for him,I should perhaps have been happy to-day;my love might have moved your heart.However,I have become resigned to my loss,and since your choice has fallen on him,--and here he.
sighed,--"well,all I can say is,I hope you may never regret it.""Many thanks for your goodwill,cousin;I am delighted to find you in such a benevolent mood.You must not be vexed because I could not give you the kind of love you wanted;the heart,you know,is not amenable to reason.""There is only one thing I should like to ask.""What is it?"
