"You love romance," he said, addressing her. "Let me, in this moment of happiness, tell you mine; and you shall tell me in return whether the conclusion of the tale I have invented for my life is possible. To me wealth would bring greater happiness than to other men; for the highest happiness I can imagine would be to enrich the one I loved.
You, mademoiselle, who know so many things, tell me if it is possible for a man to make himself beloved independently of his person, be it handsome or ugly, and for his spirit only?"
Modeste raised her eyes and looked at Butscha. It was a piercing and questioning glance; for she shared Dumay's suspicion of Butscha's motive.
"Let me be rich, and I will seek some beautiful poor girl, abandoned like myself, who has suffered, who knows what misery is. I will write to her and console her, and be her guardian spirit; she shall read my heart, my soul; she shall possess by double wealth, my two wealths,--
my gold, delicately offered, and my thought robed in all the splendor which the accident of birth has denied to my grotesque body. But I
myself shall remain hidden like the cause that science seeks. God himself may not be glorious to the eye. Well, naturally, the maiden will be curious; she will wish to see me; but I shall tell her that I
am a monster of ugliness; I shall picture myself hideous."
At these words Modeste gave Butscha a glance that looked him through and through. If she had said aloud, "What do you know of my love?" she could not have been more explicit.
"If I have the honor of being loved for the poem of my heart, if some day such love may make a woman think me only slightly deformed, I ask you, mademoiselle, shall I not be happier than the handsomest of men, --as happy as a man of genius beloved by some celestial being like yourself."
The color which suffused the young girl's face told the cripple nearly all he sought to know.
"Well, if that be so," he went on, "if we enrich the one we love, if we please the spirit and withdraw the body, is not that the way to make one's self beloved? At any rate it is the dream of your poor dwarf,--a dream of yesterday; for to-day your mother gives me the key to future wealth by promising me the means of buying a practice. But before I become another Gobenheim, I seek to know whether this dream could be really carried out. What do you say, mademoiselle, YOU?"
Modeste was so astonished that she did not notice the question. The trap of the lover was much better baited than that of the soldier, for the poor girl was rendered speechless.
"Poor Butscha!" whispered Madame Latournelle to her husband. "Do you think he is going mad?"
"You want to realize the story of Beauty and the Beast," said Modeste at length; "but you forget that the Beast turned into Prince Charming."
"Do you think so?" said the dwarf. "Now I have always thought that that transformation meant the phenomenon of the soul made visible, obliterating the form under the light of the spirit. If I were not loved I should stay hidden, that is all. You and yours, madame," he continued, addressing his mistress, "instead of having a dwarf at your service, will now have a life and a fortune."
So saying, Butscha resumed his seat, remarking to the three whist-
players with an assumption of calmness, "Whose deal is it?" but within his soul he whispered sadly to himself: "She wants to be loved for herself; she corresponds with some pretended great man; how far has it gone?"
"Dear mamma, it is nearly ten o'clock," said Modeste.
Madame Mignon said good-night to her friends, and went to bed.
They who wish to love in secret may have Pyrenean hounds, mothers, Dumays, and Latournelles to spy upon them, and yet not be in any danger; but when it comes to a lover!--ah! that is diamond cut diamond, flame against flame, mind to mind, an equation whose terms are mutual.
On Sunday morning Butscha arrived at the Chalet before Madame Latournelle, who always came to take Modeste to church, and he proceeded to blockade the house in expectation of the postman.
"Have you a letter for Mademoiselle Mignon?" he said to that humble functionary when he appeared.
"No, monsieur, none."
"This house has been a good customer to the post of late," remarked the clerk.
