She rose, left the Colonel, and went down to speak privately to her maid, whom she sent off to Paris, impressing on her that she was herself to deliver to Delbecq the letter just written, and to bring it back to the writer as soon as he had read it. Then the Countess went out to sit on a bench sufficiently in sight for the Colonel to join her as soon as he might choose. The Colonel, who was looking for her, hastened up and sat down by her.
"Rosine," said he, "what is the matter with you?"
She did not answer.
It was one of those glorious, calm evenings in the month of June, whose secret harmonies infuse such sweetness into the sunset. The air was clear, the stillness perfect, so that far away in the park they could hear the voices of some children, which added a kind of melody to the sublimity of the scene.
"You do not answer me?" the Colonel said to his wife.
"My husband----" said the Countess, who broke off, started a little, and with a blush stopped to ask him, "What am I to say when I speak of M. Ferraud?"
"Call him your husband, my poor child," replied the Colonel, in a kind voice. "Is he not the father of your children?"
"Well, then," she said, "if he should ask what I came here for, if he finds out that I came here, alone, with a stranger, what am I to say to him? Listen, monsieur," she went on, assuming a dignified attitude, "decide my fate, I am resigned to anything--"
"My dear," said the Colonel, taking possession of his wife's hands, "I have made up my mind to sacrifice myself entirely for your happiness--"
"That is impossible!" she exclaimed, with a sudden spasmodic movement.
"Remember that you would have to renounce your identity, and in an authenticated form."
"What?" said the Colonel. "Is not my word enough for you?"
The word "authenticated" fell on the old man's heart, and roused involuntary distrust. He looked at his wife in a way that made her color, she cast down her eyes, and he feared that he might find himself compelled to despise her. The Countess was afraid lest she had scared the shy modesty, the stern honesty, of a man whose generous temper and primitive virtues were known to her. Though these feelings had brought the clouds to her brow, they immediately recovered their harmony. This was the way of it. A child's cry was heard in the distance.
"Jules, leave your sister in peace," the Countess called out.
"What, are your children here?" said Chabert.
"Yes, but I told them not to trouble you."
The old soldier understood the delicacy, the womanly tact of so gracious a precaution, and took the Countess' hand to kiss it.
"But let them come," said he.
The little girl ran up to complain of her brother.
"Mamma!"
"Mamma!"
"It was Jules--"
"It was her--"
Their little hands were held out to their mother, and the two childish voices mingled; it was an unexpected and charming picture.
"Poor little things!" cried the Countess, no longer restraining her tears, "I shall have to leave them. To whom will the law assign them?
A mother's heart cannot be divided; I want them, I want them."
"Are you ****** mamma cry?" said Jules, looking fiercely at the Colonel.
"Silence, Jules!" said the mother in a decided tone.
The two children stood speechless, examining their mother and the stranger with a curiosity which it is impossible to express in words.
"Oh yes!" she cried. "If I am separated from the Count, only leave me my children, and I will submit to anything . . ."
This was the decisive speech which gained all that she had hoped from it.
"Yes," exclaimed the Colonel, as if he were ending a sentence already begun in his mind, "I must return underground again. I had told myself so already."
"Can I accept such a sacrifice?" replied his wife. "If some men have died to save a mistress' honor, they gave their life but once. But in this case you would be giving your life every day. No, no. It is impossible. If it were only your life, it would be nothing; but to sign a declaration that you are not Colonel Chabert, to acknowledge yourself an imposter, to sacrifice your honor, and live a lie every hour of the day! Human devotion cannot go so far. Only think!--No. But for my poor children I would have fled with you by this time to the other end of the world."
"But," said Chabert, "cannot I live here in your little lodge as one of your relations? I am as worn out as a cracked cannon; I want nothing but a little tobacco and the /Constitutionnel/."
The Countess melted into tears. There was a contest of generosity between the Comtesse Ferraud and Colonel Chabert, and the soldier came out victorious. One evening, seeing this mother with her children, the soldier was bewitched by the touching grace of a family picture in the country, in the shade and the silence; he made a resolution to remain dead, and, frightened no longer at the authentication of a deed, he asked what he could do to secure beyond all risk the happiness of this family.
"Do exactly as you like," said the Countess. "I declare to you that I will have nothing to do with this affair. I ought not."
Delbecq had arrived some days before, and in obedience to the Countess' verbal instructions, the intendant had succeeded in gaining the old soldier's confidence. So on the following morning Colonel Chabert went with the erewhile attorney to Saint-Leu-Taverny, where Delbecq had caused the notary to draw up an affidavit in such terms that, after hearing it read, the Colonel started up and walked out of the office.
"Turf and thunder! What a fool you must think me! Why, I should make myself out a swindler!" he exclaimed.
"Indeed, monsieur," said Delbecq, "I should advise you not to sign in haste. In your place I would get at least thirty thousand francs a year out of the bargain. Madame would pay them."
After annihilating this scoundrel /emeritus/ by the lightning look of an honest man insulted, the Colonel rushed off, carried away by a thousand contrary emotions. He was suspicious, indignant, and calm again by turns.
