“Oh, as for that, I have made inquiries respecting the diligences and steamboats, and my calculations are made. You will take your place in the coupé to Châlons. You see, mother, I treat you handsomely for thirty-five francs.”
Albert then took a pen, and wrote:
Frs.
Coupé, thirty-five francs.............................. 35.
From Châlons to Lyons you will go on by the steamboat.. 6.
From Lyons to Avignon (still by steamboat)............. 16.
From Avignon to Marseilles, seven francs............... 7.
Expenses on the road, about fifty francs............... 50.
Total................................................. 114 frs.
“Let us put down 120,” added Albert, smiling. “You see I am generous, am I not, mother?”
“But you, my poor child?”
“I? do you not see that I reserve eighty francs for myself? A young man does not require luxuries; besides, I know what travelling is.”
“With a post-chaise and valet de chambre?”
“Any way, mother.”
“Well, be it so. But these 200 francs?”
“Here they are, and 200 more besides. See, I have sold my watch for 100 francs, and the guard and seals for 300. How fortunate that the ornaments were worth more than the watch. Still the same story of superfluities! Now I think we are rich, since instead of the 114 francs we require for the journey we find ourselves in possession of 250.”
“But we owe something in this house?”
“Thirty francs; but I pay that out of my 150 francs,—that is understood,—and as I require only eighty francs for my journey, you see I am overwhelmed with luxury. But that is not all. What do you say to this, mother?”
And Albert took out of a little pocket-book with golden clasps, a remnant of his old fancies, or perhaps a tender souvenir from one of the mysterious and veiled ladies who used to knock at his little door,—Albert took out of this pocket-book a note of 1,000 francs.
“What is this?” asked Mercédès.
“A thousand francs.”
“But whence have you obtained them?”
“Listen to me, mother, and do not yield too much to agitation.” And Albert, rising, kissed his mother on both cheeks, then stood looking at her. “You cannot imagine, mother, how beautiful I think you!” said the young man, impressed with a profound feeling of filial love. “You are, indeed, the most beautiful and most noble woman I ever saw!”
“Dear child!” said Mercédès, endeavoring in vain to restrain a tear which glistened in the corner of her eye. “Indeed, you only wanted misfortune to change my love for you to admiration. I am not unhappy while I possess my son!”
“Ah, just so,” said Albert; “here begins the trial. Do you know the decision we have come to, mother?”
“Have we come to any?”
“Yes; it is decided that you are to live at Marseilles, and that I am to leave for Africa, where I will earn for myself the right to use the name I now bear, instead of the one I have thrown aside.” Mercédès sighed. “Well, mother, I yesterday engaged myself as substitute in the Spahis,”25 added the young man, lowering his eyes with a certain feeling of shame, for even he was unconscious of the sublimity of his self-abasement. “I thought my body was my own, and that I might sell it. I yesterday took the place of another. I sold myself for more than I thought I was worth,” he added, attempting to smile; “I fetched 2,000 francs.”
“Then these 1,000 francs——” said Mercédès, shuddering.
“Are the half of the sum, mother; the other will be paid in a year.”
Mercédès raised her eyes to heaven with an expression it would be impossible to describe, and tears, which had hitherto been restrained, now yielded to her emotion, and ran down her cheeks.
“The price of his blood!” she murmured.
“Yes, if I am killed,” said Albert, laughing. “But I assure you, mother, I have a strong intention of defending my person, and I never felt half so strong an inclination to live as I do now.”
“Merciful Heavens!”
“Besides, mother, why should you make up your mind that I am to be killed? Has Lamoricière, that Ney of the South, been killed? Has Changarnier been killed? Has Bedeau been killed? Has Morrel, whom we know, been killed? Think of your joy, mother, when you see me return with an embroidered uniform! I declare, I expect to look magnificent in it, and chose that regiment only from vanity.”
Mercédès sighed while endeavoring to smile; the devoted mother felt that she ought not to allow the whole weight of the sacrifice to fall upon her son.
“Well, now you understand, mother!” continued Albert; “here are more than 4,000 francs settled on you; upon these you can live at least two years.”
“Do you think so?” said Mercédès.
These words were uttered in so mournful a tone that their real meaning did not escape Albert; he felt his heart beat, and taking his mother’s hand within his own he said, tenderly:
“Yes, you will live!”
“I shall live!—then you will not leave me, Albert?”
