He had scarcely been made a lieutenant as a matter of favour (and that only two days ago) than he began to calculate that if he was to become commander-in-chief at thirty, like all the great generals, then he must be more than a lieutenant at twenty-three at the latest.
He thought about nothing except fame and his son.
It was in the midst of the ecstasies of the most reinless ambition that he was surprised by the arrival of a young valet from the Hotel de la Mole, who had come with a letter.
"All is lost," wrote Mathilde to him: "Rush here as quickly as possible, sacrifice everything, desert if necessary.
As soon as you have arrived, wait for me in a fiacre near the little garden door, near No. —— of the street —— I will come and speak to you: I shall perhaps be able to introduce you into the garden.
All is lost, and I am afraid there is no way out; count on me; you will find me staunch and firm in adversity.
I love you."
A few minutes afterwards, Julien obtained a furlough from the colonel, and left Strasbourg at full gallop. But the awful anxiety which devoured him did not allow him to continue this method of travel beyond Metz.
He flung himself into a post-chaise, and arrived with an almost incredible rapidity at the indicated spot, near the little garden door of the Hotel de la Mole.
The door opened, and Mathilde, oblivious of all human conventions, rushed into his arms.
Fortunately, it was only five o'clock in the morning, and the street was still deserted.
"All is lost.
My father, fearing my tears, left Thursday night.
Nobody knows where for?
But here is his letter: read it."
She climbed into the fiacre with Julien.
"I could forgive everything except the plan of seducing you because you are rich.
That, unhappy girl, is the awful truth.
I give you my word of honour that I will never consent to a marriage with that man.
I will guarantee him an income of 10,000 francs if he will live far away beyond the French frontiers, or better still, in America.
Read the letter which I have just received in answer to the enquiries which I have made.
The impudent scoundrel had himself requested me to write to madame de Renal.
I will never read a single line you write concerning that man.
I feel a horror for both Paris and yourself.
I urge you to cover what is bound to happen with the utmost secrecy.
Be frank, have nothing more to do with the vile man, and you will find again the father you have lost."
"Where is Madame de Renal's letter?" said Julien coldly.
"Here it is.
I did not want to shew it to you before you were prepared for it."
LETTER
"My duties to the sacred cause of religion and morality, oblige me, monsieur, to take the painful course which I have just done with regard to yourself: an infallible principle orders me to do harm to my neighbour at the present moment, but only in order to avoid an even greater scandal.
My sentiment of duty must overcome the pain which I experience.
It is only too true, monsieur, that the conduct of the person about whom you ask me to tell you the whole truth may seem incredible or even honest.
It may possibly be considered proper to hide or to disguise part of the truth: that would be in accordance with both prudence and religion.
But the conduct about which you desire information has been in fact reprehensible to the last degree, and more than I can say.
Poor and greedy as the man is, it is only by the aid of the most consummate hypocrisy, and by seducing a weak and unhappy woman, that he has endeavoured to make a career for himself and become someone in the world.
It is part of my painful duty to add that I am obliged to believe that M. Julien has no religious principles.
I am driven conscientiously to think that one of his methods of obtaining success in any household is to try to seduce the woman who commands the principal influence.
His one great object, in spite of his show of disinterestedness, and his stock-in-trade of phrases out of novels, is to succeed in doing what he likes with the master of the household and his fortune.
He leaves behind him unhappiness and eternal remorse, etc., etc., etc."
This extremely long letter, which was almost blotted out by tears, was certainly in madame de Renal's handwriting; it was even written with more than ordinary care.
"I cannot blame M. de la Mole," said Julien, "after he had finished it.
He is just and prudent.
What father would give his beloved daughter to such a man?
Adieu!"
Julien jumped out of the fiacre and rushed to his post-chaise, which had stopped at the end of the street.
Mathilde, whom he had apparently forgotten, took a few steps as though to follow him, but the looks she received from the tradesmen, who were coming out on the thresholds of their shops, and who knew who she was, forced her to return precipitately to the garden.
Julien had left for Verrieres.
During that rapid journey he was unable to write to Mathilde as he had intended. His hand could only form illegible characters on the paper.
He arrived at Verrieres on a Sunday morning.