Self Doubt: Not Me, But Mercedes

The best of 3 days work for me. Mercedes doubts herself.

Louis materialized as if from nowhere, and he showed me to the magnificent front door, an archway with a glass window in the top. The wooden floor of the hallway, the parts I could see from underneath the fine blue Persian rug, shined like a mirror. There were gilded frames on the wall, framing designs made of hair. “Today,” said Louis, “you get to go out the front door. If you come with M. Dantes in the future, you might want to wear something that makes you feel a little more like someone who should be upstairs.”

I couldn’t tell him that this dress and the other one that I had worn here were the only dresses I had. “Of course,” I croaked. “I’ll remember that.”

“M. Morrel seems to approve of you,” he said, “and I always have. I think that M. Dantes has made a good choice. You would do well not to embarrass him.” He opened the door and held it open for me.

I stood on the stone steps, stunned, as the door closed behind me, the latch sounding final. Embarrass Edmond? Of course! I hadn’t thought enough about that! I was a village girl, a poor village girl, with nothing to my name. Edmond had prospects. Why was he interested in me? I believed him when he said he was, I believed he wasn’t the kind of man who would try to take advantage of me for his own purposes, that he was good and honorable. I thought about how my family would see us, how the people in the market would see us, but I knew he could conquer my family and friends. His father had already seemed to like me, but what about Edmond’s prospects, men like M. Morrel?

I wandered down the street slowly. I didn’t know what to do. I barely had enough money to eat and keep a roof over my head. The flax that I was using to make thread for the Pharaon I would have to pay Mdm. Marchand for later. I had no money to dress like a lady who was a match for Edmond Dantes’ position. I didn’t even know where to begin.

I wondered even about the way I behaved. Other girls were demure and feminine, and I knew I had been running my own way all my life. My mother had never been one to correct me to behave this way and that, and while Aunt Beatrice had occasionally chastised me, I usually shrugged off her advice about my femininity. I squared my shoulders and I walked deliberately back to the market.

Gaston Marchand was helping his mother with a mountain of delicious melons. Mdm Marchand turned toward me with a smile, and then saw how downcast I was. “What is this?” she asked. “This morning clouds could have kept you up! What has happened? Why the long face?”

I knew I was crying. My face was warm, and the tears skated cool tracks across them. “Oh Madame! I have been a fool!”

Mdm. Marchand moved surprisingly fast from Gaston to me. Gaston’s eyes narrowed in concern. Mdm Marchand sat me down upon the small stool upon which she usually rested throughout the day. “Now, now,” she soothed. “Has he done anything to you? Has he said anything?”

“If he has,” said Gaston, “I’ll take Jacques and Pierre, Mama, and we will teach that Dantes a thing or two!”

“No,” I sniffed. “No, Gaston! Leave him alone! He is wonderful.”

“Then what of these tears?” Madame clucked. She produced a lace trimmed handkerchief from inside her sleeve. She dabbed my eyes with it. It smelled of rosewater. “Why are you crying?”

“Madame, I can never marry him!”

“Silly goose!” she protested. “Of course you can! You love him! He loves you! Everyone can see you are mad for each other! It is as simple as that!”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s not that simple!” I stood up, feeling despair inside of me. “Look at me! I am poor and shabby!”

“He doesn’t care! His family doesn’t care! They are not exactly wealthy, you know.”

“I know he doesn’t care! But look at me! Would I ruin him? I am coarse and poor. What sorts of chances would he have with such a wild, unkempt, untrained wife?”

Gaston crouched down beside us, so he could look me and his mother in the eye. “Has someone been saying things about you?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I met M. Morrel today. He was nice, very well mannered. I could tell he was surprised that Edmond had chosen me. And then one of the servants suggested that I might wear something different when I was presented. I have nothing different to wear! I don’t want to disgrace Edmond in front of his employer, but I truly am out of my depth. I have nothing to wear. I have no idea how to act.” I sank further into the chair. “I should return to the Catalans and stay there.”

“This is nonsense,” said Gaston in his deep voice. “This is about window dressing, Mercedes. You can act the part of a lady, with prudence, if you merely let yourself. You are a good person, truly funny and witty, but you are a bit rash and outspoken. However, your manners are sound, and you are considerate. You must merely moderate your temperament. As to the window dressing,” here he looked at his mother, “I believe that Alicia might be able to loan her something appropriate to meet M. Morrel.”

“There. You see?” Mdm Marchand patted my hand. “My George, his wife Alicia, she can lend you a frock. You will be the belle of the ball, if you like, and we will make you into a queen. You must put yourself in our hands.”

I sniffed. “You are too good friends.”

“You do not see your potential,” said Mdm. Marchand off hand. “I have always seen it. When you are Mdm. Dantes, and you have ten children, and you are feeding them with my vegetables, you will more than amply pay me back. No time for this self pity now. You have spinning to do. Then, I will send you to my Alicia, and we will transform you for when you see Dantes tomorrow. His breath will be taken away.” She turned to order her son. “Gaston, get her the flax. Mercedes, dry your eyes. I won’t put up with this self-indulgent bluthering.” She winked at me and returned to her pile of melons. I took the flax, and as I wandered back home, I began to realize that I must be a favorite of providence to have such good friends.