CHAPTER XCVIII.
MARIE MELMOTTE'S FATE.
In the meantime Marie Melmotte was living with Madame Melmotte in
their lodgings up at Hampstead, and was taking quite a new look out
into the world. Fisker had become her devoted servant,--not with that
old-fashioned service which meant making love, but with perhaps a
truer devotion to her material interests. He had ascertained on her
behalf that she was the undoubted owner of the money which her father
had made over to her on his first arrival in England,--and she also
had made herself mistress of that fact with equal precision. It
would have astonished those who had known her six months since could
they now have seen how excellent a woman of business she had become,
and how capable she was of making the fullest use of Mr. Fisker's
services. In doing him justice it must be owned that he kept
nothing back from her of that which he learned, probably feeling
that he might best achieve success in his present project by such
honesty,--feeling also, no doubt, the girl's own strength in
discovering truth and falsehood. "She's her father's own daughter,"
he said one day to Croll in Abchurch Lane;--for Croll, though he
had left Melmotte's employment when he found that his name had been
forged, had now returned to the service of the daughter in some
undefined position, and had been engaged to go with her and Madame
Melmotte to New York.
"Ah; yees," said Croll, "but bigger. He vas passionate, and did lose
his 'ead; and vas blow'd up vid bigness." Whereupon Croll made an
action as though he were a frog swelling himself to the dimensions
of an ox. "'E bursted himself, Mr. Fisker. 'E vas a great man; but
the greater he grew he vas always less and less vise. 'E ate so
much that he became too fat to see to eat his vittels." It was thus
that Herr Croll analyzed the character of his late master. "But
Ma'me'selle,--ah, she is different. She vill never eat too moch, but
vill see to eat alvays." Thus too he analyzed the character of his
young mistress.
At first things did not arrange themselves pleasantly between Madame
Melmotte and Marie. The reader will perhaps remember that they were
in no way connected by blood. Madame Melmotte was not Marie's mother,
nor, in the eye of the law, could Marie claim Melmotte as her father.
She was alone in the world, absolutely without a relation, not
knowing even what had been her mother's name,--not even knowing what
was her father's true name, as in the various biographies of the
great man which were, as a matter of course, published within a
fortnight of his death, various accounts were given as to his birth,
parentage, and early history. The general opinion seemed to be that
his father had been a noted coiner in New York,--an Irishman of the
name of Melmody,--and, in one memoir, the probability of the descent
was argued from Melmotte's skill in forgery. But Marie, though she
was thus isolated, and now altogether separated from the lords and
duchesses who a few weeks since had been interested in her career,
was the undoubted owner of the money,--a fact which was beyond the
comprehension of Madame Melmotte. She could understand,--and was
delighted to understand,--that a very large sum of money had been
saved from the wreck, and that she might therefore look forward to
prosperous tranquillity for the rest of her life. Though she never
acknowledged so much to herself, she soon learned to regard the
removal of her husband as the end of her troubles. But she could
not comprehend why Marie should claim all the money as her own.
She declared herself to be quite willing to divide the spoil,--and
suggested such an arrangement both to Marie and to Croll. Of Fisker
she was afraid, thinking that the iniquity of giving all the money
to Marie originated with him, in order that he might obtain it
by marrying the girl. Croll, who understood it all perfectly,
told her the story a dozen times,--but quite in vain. She made a
timid suggestion of employing a lawyer on her own behalf, and was
only deterred from doing so by Marie's ready assent to such an
arrangement. Marie's equally ready surrender of any right she might
have to a portion of the jewels which had been saved had perhaps
some effect in softening the elder lady's heart. She thus was in
possession of a treasure of her own,--though a treasure small in
comparison with that of the younger woman; and the younger woman had
promised that in the event of her marriage she would be liberal.
It was distinctly understood that they were both to go to New York
under Mr. Fisker's guidance as soon as things should be sufficiently
settled to allow of their departure; and Madame Melmotte was told,
about the middle of August, that their places had been taken for the
3rd of September. But nothing more was told her. She did not as yet
know whether Marie was to go out free or as the affianced bride of
Hamilton Fisker. And she felt herself injured by being left so much
in the dark. She herself was inimical to Fisker, regarding him as a
dark, designing man, who would ultimately swallow up all that her
husband had left behind him,--and trusted herself entirely to Croll,
who was personally attentive to her. Fisker was, of course, going
on to San Francisco. Marie also had talked of crossing the American
continent. But Madame Melmotte was disposed to think that for her,
with her jewels, and such share of the money as Marie might be
induced to give her, New York would be the most fitting residence.
Why should she drag herself across the continent to California? Herr
Croll had declared his purpose of remaining in New York. Then it
occurred to the lady that as Melmotte was a name which might be too
well known in New York, and which it therefore might be wise to
change, Croll would do as well as any other. She and Herr Croll had
known each other for a great many years, and were, she thought, of
about the same age. Croll had some money saved. She had, at any rate,
her jewels,--and Croll would probably be able to get some portion of
all that money, which ought to be hers, if his affairs were made to
be identical with her own. So she smiled upon Croll, and whispered
to him; and when she had given Croll two glasses of Curaçoa,--which
comforter she kept in her own hands, as safe-guarded almost as the
jewels,--then Croll understood her.
But it was essential that she should know what Marie intended to do.
Marie was anything but communicative, and certainly was not in any
way submissive. "My dear," she said one day, asking the question in
French, without any preface or apology, "are you going to be married
to Mr. Fisker?"
"What makes you ask that?"
"It is so important I should know. Where am I to live? What am I to
do? What money shall I have? Who will be a friend to me? A woman
ought to know. You will marry Fisker if you like him. Why cannot you
tell me?"
"Because I do not know. When I know I will tell you. If you go on
asking me till to-morrow morning I can say no more."
And this was true. She did not know. It certainly was not Fisker's
fault that she should still be in the dark as to her own destiny, for
he had asked her often enough, and had pressed his suit with all his
eloquence. But Marie had now been wooed so often that she felt the
importance of the step which was suggested to her. The romance of
the thing was with her a good deal worn, and the material view of
matrimony had also been damaged in her sight. She had fallen in love
with Sir Felix Carbury, and had assured herself over and over again
that she worshipped the very ground on which he stood. But she had
taught herself this business of falling in love as a lesson, rather
than felt it. After her father's first attempts to marry her to this
and that suitor because of her wealth,--attempts which she had hardly
opposed amidst the consternation and glitter of the world to which
she was suddenly introduced,--she had learned from novels that it
would be right that she should be in love, and she had chosen Sir
Felix as her idol. The reader knows what had been the end of that
episode in her life. She certainly was not now in love with Sir Felix
Carbury. Then she had as it were relapsed into the hands of Lord
Nidderdale,--one of her early suitors,--and had felt that as love was
not to prevail, and as it would be well that she should marry some
one, he might probably be as good as any other, and certainly better
than many others. She had almost learned to like Lord Nidderdale and
to believe that he liked her, when the tragedy came. Lord Nidderdale
had been very good-natured,--but he had deserted her at last. She
had never allowed herself to be angry with him for a moment. It had
been a matter of course that he should do so. Her fortune was still
large, but not so large as the sum named in the bargain made. And it
was moreover weighted with her father's blood. From the moment of
her father's death she had never dreamed that he would marry her.
Why should he? Her thoughts in reference to Sir Felix were bitter
enough;--but as against Nidderdale they were not at all bitter.
Should she ever meet him again she would shake hands with him and
smile,--if not pleasantly as she thought of the things which were
past,--at any rate with good humour. But all this had not made
her much in love with matrimony generally. She had over a hundred
thousand pounds of her own, and, feeling conscious of her own power
in regard to her own money, knowing that she could do as she pleased
with her wealth, she began to look out into life seriously.
What could she do with her money, and in what way would she shape her
life, should she determine to remain her own mistress? Were she to
refuse Fisker how should she begin? He would then be banished, and
her only remaining friends, the only persons whose names she would
even know in her own country, would be her father's widow and
Herr Croll. She already began to see Madame Melmotte's purport in
reference to Croll, and could not reconcile herself to the idea of
opening an establishment with them on a scale commensurate with her
fortune. Nor could she settle in her own mind any pleasant position
for herself as a single woman, living alone in perfect independence.
She had opinions of women's rights,--especially in regard to money;
and she entertained also a vague notion that in America a young woman
would not need support so essentially as in England. Nevertheless,
the idea of a fine house for herself in Boston, or Philadelphia,--for
in that case she would have to avoid New York as the chosen residence
of Madame Melmotte,--did not recommend itself to her. As to Fisker
himself,--she certainly liked him. He was not beautiful like Felix
Carbury, nor had he the easy good-humour of Lord Nidderdale. She had
seen enough of English gentlemen to know that Fisker was very unlike
them. But she had not seen enough of English gentlemen to make Fisker
distasteful to her. He told her that he had a big house at San
Francisco, and she certainly desired to live in a big house. He
represented himself to be a thriving man, and she calculated that
he certainly would not be here, in London, arranging her father's
affairs, were he not possessed of commercial importance. She had
contrived to learn that, in the United States, a married woman
has greater power over her own money than in England, and this
information acted strongly in Fisker's favour. On consideration of
the whole subject she was inclined to think that she would do better
in the world as Mrs. Fisker than as Marie Melmotte,--if she could see
her way clearly in the matter of her own money.
"I have got excellent berths," Fisker said to her one morning at
Hampstead. At these interviews, which were devoted first to business
and then to love, Madame Melmotte was never allowed to be present.
"I am to be alone?"
"Oh, yes. There is a cabin for Madame Melmotte and the maid, and a
cabin for you. Everything will be comfortable. And there is another
lady going,--Mrs. Hurtle,--whom I think you will like."
"Has she a husband?"
"Not going with us," said Mr. Fisker evasively.
"But she has one?"
"Well, yes;--but you had better not mention him. He is not exactly
all that a husband should be."
"Did she not come over here to marry some one else?"--For Marie in
the days of her sweet intimacy with Sir Felix Carbury had heard
something of Mrs. Hurtle's story.
"There is a story, and I dare say I shall tell you all about it some
day. But you may be sure I should not ask you to associate with any
one you ought not to know."
"Oh,--I can take care of myself."
"No doubt, Miss Melmotte,--no doubt. I feel that quite strongly.
But what I meant to observe was this,--that I certainly should not
introduce a lady whom I aspire to make my own lady to any lady whom
a lady oughtn't to know. I hope I make myself understood, Miss
Melmotte."
"Oh, quite."
"And perhaps I may go on to say that if I could go on board that
ship as your accepted lover, I could do a deal more to make you
comfortable, particularly when you land, than just as a mere friend,
Miss Melmotte. You can't doubt my heart."
"I don't see why I shouldn't. Gentlemen's hearts are things very much
to be doubted as far as I've seen 'em. I don't think many of 'em have
'em at all."
"Miss Melmotte, you do not know the glorious west. Your past
experiences have been drawn from this effete and stone-cold country
in which passion is no longer allowed to sway. On those golden shores
which the Pacific washes man is still true,--and woman is still
tender."
"Perhaps I'd better wait and see, Mr. Fisker."
But this was not Mr. Fisker's view of the case. There might be other
men desirous of being true on those golden shores. "And then," said
he, pleading his cause not without skill, "the laws regulating
woman's property there are just the reverse of those which the
greediness of man has established here. The wife there can claim
her share of her husband's property, but hers is exclusively her
own. America is certainly the country for women,--and especially
California."
"Ah;--I shall find out all about it, I suppose, when I've been there
a few months."
"But you would enter San Francisco, Miss Melmotte, under such much
better auspices,--if I may be allowed to say so,--as a married lady
or as a lady just going to be married."
"Ain't single ladies much thought of in California?"
"It isn't that. Come, Miss Melmotte, you know what I mean."
"Yes, I do."
"Let us go in for life together. We've both done uncommon well. I'm
spending 30,000 dollars a year,--at that rate,--in my own house.
You'll see it all. If we put them both together,--what's yours and
what's mine,--we can put our foot out as far as about any one there,
I guess."
"I don't know that I care about putting my foot out. I've seen
something of that already, Mr. Fisker. You shouldn't put your foot
out farther than you can draw it in again."
"You needn't fear me as to that, Miss Melmotte. I shouldn't be able
to touch a dollar of your money. It would be such a triumph to go
into Francisco as man and wife."
"I shouldn't think of being married till I had been there a while and
looked about me."
"And seen the house! Well;--there's something in that. The house is
all there, I can tell you. I'm not a bit afraid but what you'll like
the house. But if we were engaged, I could do every thing for you.
Where would you be, going into San Francisco all alone? Oh, Miss
Melmotte, I do admire you so much!"
I doubt whether this last assurance had much efficacy. But the
arguments with which it was introduced did prevail to a certain
extent. "I'll tell you how it must be then," she said.
"How shall it be?" and as he asked the question he jumped up and put
his arm round her waist.
"Not like that, Mr. Fisker," she said, withdrawing herself. "It shall
be in this way. You may consider yourself engaged to me."
"I'm the happiest man on this continent," he said, forgetting in his
ecstasy that he was not in the United States.
"But if I find when I get to Francisco anything to induce me to
change my mind, I shall change it. I like you very well, but I'm not
going to take a leap in the dark, and I'm not going to marry a pig in
a poke."
"There you're quite right," he said,--"quite right."
"You may give it out on board the ship that we're engaged, and I'll
tell Madame Melmotte the same. She and Croll don't mean going any
farther than New York."
"We needn't break our hearts about that;--need we?"
"It don't much signify. Well;--I'll go on with Mrs. Hurtle, if she'll
have me."
"Too much delighted she'll be."
"And she shall be told we're engaged."
"My darling!"
"But if I don't like it when I get to Frisco, as you call it, all the
ropes in California shan't make me do it. Well;--yes; you may give
me a kiss I suppose now if you care about it." And so,--or rather so
far,--Mr. Fisker and Marie Melmotte became engaged to each other as
man and wife.
After that Mr. Fisker's remaining business in England went very
smoothly with him. It was understood up at Hampstead that he was
engaged to Marie Melmotte,--and it soon came to be understood also
that Madame Melmotte was to be married to Herr Croll. No doubt the
father of the one lady and the husband of the other had died so
recently as to make these arrangements subject to certain censorious
objections. But there was a feeling that Melmotte had been so unlike
other men, both in his life and in his death, that they who had been
concerned with him were not to be weighed by ordinary scales. Nor did
it much matter, for the persons concerned took their departure soon
after the arrangement was made, and Hampstead knew them no more.
On the 3rd of September Madame Melmotte, Marie, Mrs. Hurtle, Hamilton
K. Fisker, and Herr Croll left Liverpool for New York; and the three
ladies were determined that they never would revisit a country of
which their reminiscences certainly were not happy. The writer of the
present chronicle may so far look forward,--carrying his reader with
him,--as to declare that Marie Melmotte did become Mrs. Fisker very
soon after her arrival at San Francisco.