The moment the priest and the Marchioness de Chazeul were gone, Rose d'Albret cast herself down into her chair, and covered her eyes with her hands. She would fain have shut out every sight and sound, in order that she might bend the whole energies of her mind to contemplation of that one question--were the dreadful tidings she had heard, true or false? But the agitating beating of her heart, the whirling confusion of her brain, prevented her for a long time, from fixing her thoughts firmly upon all the different arguments for believing or disbelieving the tale that had been told her. All was wild, and vague, and indistinct. Apprehension at first was far more powerful than hope; and, though reason pointed out many improbabilities even in that part of the intelligence which, as the reader knows, was absolutely true, yet she still dreaded the worst, even while she resolved, if possible, to believe that all was false.
"Was it likely," she asked herself, "that so proud a prince as the Duke of Nemours, should risk his life in single combat against his own prisoner? Was it probable, that he, who had shown himself so haughty towards De Montigni as scarcely to return him an answer, should place himself in such a position as to be compelled to meet him in the field? Was it not likely, most likely, that such a tale should be invented by those who had already deceived her on other points, in order to lead her the more easily to the objects they desired? Was it not clear that it was so, from their refusal to produce the messenger? Was not, in short, anything asserted by Jacqueline de Chazeul, more likely to be false than true?"
Thus argued hope; but on the other side fear, though in fewer words, spoke with a more powerful voice. "The priest had asserted that the report had undoubtedly arrived. Would he venture to do so, after the solemn adjuration she addressed to him, if he were not himself convinced that what he said was true? Then, too, the pains he had taken to prepare her mind for the tidings, showed care and consideration for her; and, if the language he had used in so doing, were but the preface to a falsehood, it must be blasphemous trifling indeed. She suffered memory to run back over all the events lately passed; she considered his conduct, she asked herself if he had ever been guilty of deliberate falsehood? The answer was, no. He had suffered others to do so; but he had not done it himself. Without telling the exact truth, he had not uttered actual untruth. With that species of art, which has acquired the name of a body of men famous for employing it in all their dealings, he had made truth serve the purposes of falsehood; and, by a jesuitical juggle, had countenanced things that he knew to be untrue, without leaving those he deceived any means of convicting him of a lie. But now he had boldly and straightforwardly said, that the intelligence had certainly arrived. There was no evading that, she thought; it must either be true or false. She recollected, too, the fierce anger which De Montigni had displayed when first made prisoner by Nemours, and the words and glances which had passed between them in regard to herself. Might not such a scene, she inquired, have been renewed, when her lover found that she had been actually sent back without even being permitted another interview with him? Might he not have used such language as would compel a prince of fiery courage like Nemours to wave the privileges of his rank, and meet him as had been reported. Nemours was known to be daring, chivalrous, and of a character to carry the point of honour to excess; and if they met, was not the result reported to her, likely to take place."
Thus argued fear; and between his voice and that of hope, her mind was left in that painful uncertainty, which is more wearing and agitating to the human frame, than even grief itself. She was still busy with these thoughts, when the door opened and the maid looked in; but Rose waved her hand impatiently, exclaiming, "leave me, leave me, I do not want you. You can go to bed."
The very sight of Blanchette, however, brought back to her mind all the arts that had been practised upon her before, and made her once more hope that this sad intelligence might be part of a similar plan. "I will retire to bed;" she thought, "in the darkness and stillness of the night, I can think over these things more quietly than now. The sight of that girl is hateful to me. I will shut her out," but when she looked round, she found that the lock of the door between her room and the ante-chamber, had been removed.
"Ha!" she said, "am I to have no privacy? This is hard, indeed;" and, sitting down, she wept, feeling that she was left alone to struggle with all the arts and machinations of a number, amongst whom she had no friend. Rising again, after a moment, she wiped away the tears, murmuring to herself, "but they shall not conquer me. Even if he whom I love be gone, and have left me in this cold-hearted world alone, I can die and follow him; but I will never be the wife of that base and hateful man, let the result be whatever it may." Thus saying, she undressed without assistance, and retired to bed. But, for poor Rose d'Albret, it was no couch of repose. The thorns of the pillow--busy care, and sharp apprehension and bitter grief--banished all sleep from her eyes; and hour after hour she lay turning in her mind the same heavy thoughts which had burdened her since the visit of the priest and Madame de Chazeul.
Daylight returned, at length; and, raising herself upon her arm, she gazed round, as the faint grey stream of early morning poured through the window, and showed the various objects in the room. Then came a warmer tint, as the sun actually rose, and with it some of the thoughts which usually accompany the rising day. How beautiful is the revival of nature from her dark slumber in the arms of night! what an image of the dawning of eternal life to the emancipated spirit after the shadow of the grave! How good, how great, how wise, is the Almighty Author of all, who plants in the seasons, and in the elements, in the changes of the world, and in all the revolutions of nature, the signs and symbols of his beneficence and his power, with promises of love and blessing and protection! There was consolation even in the pale beams of morning; but then came back the sad thought, the bitter unanswerable question, to the mind of Rose d'Albret--"Do the eyes of Louis de Montigni see, like mine, the return of dawning day, or are they closed for ever in the tomb?" And rising from her bed she knelt, and prayed, and wept, till the increasing sounds in the house told her, that her oppressors were once more waking into active life, and that she must prepare her mind to suffer and resist.
Oh, how most painful of all the many grievous tasks of life, is that of resistance! and yet it is the unceasing lot of humanity; for this is all a battle field, and at every point--within and without, against ourselves and others, against circumstances, temptations, cares, griefs, fears, pleasures, successes, triumphs, vanity, hope, expectation, pride, disappointment, opposition, regret, and despair; against man and fiends--it is all resistance; and he who would ultimately win the garland of victory, must be armed and awake at every moment of existence. From the moment when the foot of Adam first trod the garden, until the now in which we stand against the foe, the conflict has gone on; and happy are they who do resist.
Yet 'tis a weary and a terrible task, especially for those who buckle on their armour for the first time; and poor Rose d'Albret felt her heart sink as she prepared herself for it. But still, the thought of him she loved, and her repugnance to the man who would have injured him, nerved her for the effort; and again and again, she repeated, "They shall never move me! My voice must speak the falsehood, my own hand must sign my folly, my own heart must prove the traitor, ere they can conquer."
Her knowledge, too, of those with whom she had to deal, was not a little serviceable in guarding her against all arts. That knowledge had come slowly, not by study or inquiry, but sinking in daily into her mind, as act after act, and word after word, developed the characters of the persons who now surrounded her.
"If they have doubts of De Montigni's fate," she argued, "they will urge me to this abhorred marriage with Chazeul at once and immediately; they will give me no time--they may even try threats, and violence, and force. If they have no doubt they will be less importunate; they will allow me to deliberate, to mourn. But, good heaven, if they try force, what shall I do?--It matters not, I will die first. But, by their course, I shall know whether the tale be true or false; and if from their urgency I judge that it is false, I shall gain strength from hope, and courage even from their cruelty. Poor Helen de la Tremblade! They cannot make me as thou art--they cannot add self-reproach to all I suffer, but by my own fault. Would that I had not promised, never to tell her tale, till she herself thought fit. I might perhaps find a friend, if I could do so, in the only one who could well befriend me. She knew not how much her story might serve me now; and I little thought that I should long to tell it for my own safety, rather than for her comfort. But hark, there are people speaking near! I will be dressed and prepared to meet them when they come hither. Blanchette," she continued aloud, "Blanchette!"
The girl made her call several times, and then appeared with a dull and sullen countenance; and Rose proceeding with her toilet, exchanged but few words with one whom she had never either loved or esteemed, and now despised.
When she was fully dressed she advanced towards the door, saying, "I will go out upon the ramparts. Put the room in order against my return."
But the girl planted herself in the way, and replied, "You cannot, Mademoiselle. There are strict orders that you remain here, till the Count or the Marchioness come for you."
There was a low suppressed laugh--a laugh of triumph in her power--mingled with the girl's words, which was hard to bear; and Rose felt at first inclined to resist, and then to weep; but she gave way to neither temptation; and, after gazing at her for a minute, merely replied, "What, I am a prisoner, then; and my own maid the gaoler? It is well; but it will prove fruitless. Give me a book, I will read."
The girl inquired what book, and gave her mistress the pain--and she well knew it was a pain,--to speak more than once before she chose to comprehend.
At length, however, a book was brought; and poor Rose d'Albret, placing herself near the window, strove to read with an unconcerned air. But it was in vain she did so; the letters swam before her eyes: her mind wandered to other things: her eye ran over the lines without gathering their sense; and, ere she had mastered more than two or three sentences, there was a step in the ante-room, a knock at the door, and before she could say "Come in," Madame de Chazeul entered, followed by Monsieur de Liancourt. The conflict, she saw, was about to begin, and with an anxious gasp for breath, and a haggard eye, she gazed upon them as they approached, unable to speak, though she strove to do so.
"Be calm, Rose, be calm," said Monsieur de Liancourt, placing a seat for his sister, and taking one himself. "I have come to you thus early in the morning, because Madame de Chazeul and father Walter informed me last night, that you entertained suspicions as to the reality of the sad intelligence which we received last night, and I wish to assure you with my own lips that there is no doubt--that I entertain no doubt of the fact."
Rose wept but could not reply; and after a brief pause, the Count proceeded: "Of course I feel deeply grieved that such a fate should have overtaken my nephew; but I cannot help at the same time remembering, that he has not lately acted as became him, nor shown towards me that respect and gratitude which I trust I deserved at his hands."
"Oh, Sir," cried Rose, waving her hand mournfully; "touch not the memory of the dead--of one who was willing to show you every reverence, although, perhaps, he might feel that he had been wronged and deceived. To you," she continued, seeing the Count's lip quiver, "to you he attributed it not, but to the counsels of others; and you would have found no one more affectionate no one more willing to testify, in every way, his regard and respect."
"Well, well," cried Madame de Chazeul, "there is no use of disputing about such things. That is all past. The question before us is of the present. You had something to say on that score, brother, I think?"
"Why, simply this," replied the Count, "that as my nephew Chazeul is now, without dispute, my heir, he is also, without dispute, the person indicated by the contract between myself and Monsieur de Marennes--as your husband, Rose!" he added, in a slow emphatic tone.
Rose gazed down and was silent, for her heart beat so violently that she had no power to reply. Had she calculated her whole conduct, however, to obtain an insight into the views of her two companions, nothing could have served her better than that silence, for Madame de Chazeul observed, after a momentary pause, "I am happy to see you make no objection, for no longer delay can be admitted,--indeed it is impossible--for the presence of Chazeul is instantly required by the Duke of Mayenne, and you must go with him as his wife."
"Make no objection!" said Rose.
But Madame de Chazeul cut her short, saying, "Ay, and it is well that you do not, for it could have no effect if you did. Everything is determined and prepared. The contract, as before drawn up, waits for your signature, and the marriage must take place at once."
"He is not dead," murmured Rose to herself, with a sudden look of joy passing over her countenance, which those who saw it could in no degree comprehend; and the next moment, turning to Monsieur de Liancourt, she said, "Sir, I will ask if this be decent and proper, in the very first day of mourning for your nephew, for him to whom my heart was given, and my hand promised, to propose that I should wed another?"
"Urgent circumstances, Rose," answered the Count, "must justify what would not otherwise be right. The necessity for Chazeul's immediate departure compels us to this course, and I must insist that you make no opposition."
"If Monsieur de Chazeul must depart," said Rose, "let him; he can return at some future period, when a widowed heart may have somewhat recovered from the wound it has received. But it shall not be said, that Rose d'Albret gave her hand to another, before her tears were dry for him to whom her faith was plighted."
"This is all vain folly," cried Madame de Chazeul; "my son will find means to dry your tears, if that be all."
"He can but make them flow more bitterly," replied Rose d'Albret; "was ever such a monstrous and cruel thing proposed! Oh, Sir," she continued, turning to the Count, "will you, a man of honour and a gentleman, a man of feeling, and of a kindly heart--will you countenance the attempt to force me, the very day after I have heard of poor Louis de Montigni's bloody death, to wed a man for whom I never entertained aught but indifference?"
"Well, Rose, well," said the Count, rising; "I will give you another day; that is all that I can allow; for my word is pledged that, before noon to-morrow, you shall be Chazeul's wife. Nay, say no more, for I will hear no more. Make up your mind to it in the meanwhile; for on this point I am firm, and your conduct in secretly quitting my roof for the purpose of thwarting all my designs and wishes for your benefit, well justifies me in compelling your immediate obedience."
Thus saying he turned and left the room; but Madame de Chazeul remained gazing upon her poor victim with a bitter, and almost contemptuous look, which might well teach Rose to apprehend no very happy life if wedded to her son.
"What is the meaning of all this, girl?" exclaimed the Marchioness, as soon as the door had closed upon Monsieur de Liancourt; "you are plotting some stratagem,--your delays have some end in view."
"None, Madam," answered Rose d'Albret. "The only object that I can have in life is, to avoid a union with a man I despise and abhor."
"Despise and abhor!" exclaimed Jacqueline de Chazeul, in a mocking tone; "pray may I ask how it happens that such passions have found their way into your gentle breast?"
"His own deeds, which have come to my ears in spite of your precautions, Madam," replied Rose, "have planted those feelings there, never to be rooted out."
"What deeds?" demanded the Marchioness, sternly.
"Unhappily I have promised never to name them," answered Rose; "but you know to what I allude right well; and you cannot doubt with what eyes I must look upon your son."
"You must be his wife, notwithstanding," said Madame de Chazeul.
But Rose could bear no more. "Never!" she exclaimed; "never! Come what may I will never be his wife. You may drag me to the altar, but not even by silence will I seem to give consent. I will refuse the vow, I will cast away the ring, I will call God to witness that I am not his wife. This hand shall never sign the contract till it moulders in the grave; and if death be the consequence, I will not do one act that can make me his;" and overpowered by her own vehemence, as well as by the many emotions in her bosom, she burst into a bitter flood of tears.
Madame de Chazeul gazed at her for a moment, while her whole face worked with passion, which she could not find words to express; and then shaking her hand at her, she exclaimed, in a low bitter tone, "You shall!" and quitted the room.
When the Marchioness de Chazeul retired from Rose's chamber, she did not seek the society of her brother; neither did she at first send for her son, nor inquire for the priest. But, as she passed through the ante-chamber, she beckoned to the maid Blanchette, who had quitted the room, when she and the Count had entered it, and, with a sign to follow, led the way to her own apartments. When there, she seated herself before the mirror, and remained for several minutes in deep thought. She was, as we have depicted her, rancorous and vindictive, but at the same time ambitious and greedy. Nor was she less pertinacious and resolute, than crafty and clear-sighted. No difficulties repelled her, no obstacles were in her eyes insurmountable, no means unjustifiable to attain her ends. Of true religion she had none, though not a little bigotry, strange as such a combination may appear; and, as was the case with many besides herself in that day, she would often scoff at even Almighty power, and set at nought Heaven's vengeance, yet as often give herself up to penance and austerities, with all the devotion of a saint. But penance never reached the point of interrupting her in the course she chose to pursue. She would mortify her appetites, but not abandon her designs; and, though her formal observance of the injunctions of her church, might show some sort of superstitious dread, the only fear that seemed to affect her in her dealings with the world, was the fear of failure.
It was that apprehension that now assailed her; but, as was always the case with her, all that it produced was, fresh efforts to attain her ends, greater exertions to overcome the obstacles that opposed her. The high and firm resolution displayed by Rose d'Albret would have been nothing in her eyes, had she possessed the sole command over her brother's unhappy ward. Her declarations, she would have laughed to scorn, and her remonstrances she would not have listened to. For years, she had looked upon Rose as a creature that was but to be made subservient to her purposes, the seal to the deed that was to transfer the estates of Liancourt and Marennes to the house of Chazeul, and she regarded even an expression of reluctance as a daring offence. But she feared the effect of Rose's firmness on her brother; she knew him to be weak and irresolute, easily swayed by persons of a firmer mind than his own, violent and hasty by starts, but alarmed and intimidated by resistance; and she doubted much, if Rose maintained her resolution steadily, refused to go to the altar, or to sign the contract, that Monsieur de Liancourt would use force to compel her, or pass over her resistance and declare the marriage complete, contrary to her protest. There was no scheme, however dark and criminal, that she would not have followed to remove the resistance of her brother's ward; there were no means that she would not have employed, as she herself expressed it, to render a marriage with Chazeul necessary to her honour. But she feared that she might be frustrated if she attempted too daring a project, though that which had presented itself at one time to her mind, had been shortly before carried through but too successfully in another noble house in France, where the most atrocious violence had been employed, to effect an object very similar to her own.
But though fond of strong and decided measures, Madame de Chazeul was always willing to employ cunning and tortuous means; and she saw no method of ensuring success, but by pursuing the plan which she had hinted to her son: and now, as she sat there revolving all the circumstances in her mind, she applied herself to fit so neatly the various parts of her scheme together, that no flaw might mar it in the execution. Blanchette in the meantime stood before her, now bending her eyes upon the ground, in assumed modesty and diffidence, now raising them with a furtive glance, to the countenance of the Marchioness, and striving, but vainly, to read on that dark and puzzled page, that which was passing in the still darker and more intricate heart.
At length Madame de Chazeul spoke, in a tone quiet and calm as if no angry passion was a guest in her bosom, saying, "How did Mademoiselle d'Albret pass the night, Blanchette? She seems weary and disturbed this morning."
"I do not know, Madam," replied Blanchette. "She sent me away from her quite crossly, and I saw her no more till this morning. Then she was cross enough, Madam," continued the girl, "especially when I told her she was not to leave the room till some one came for her."
"And who told you to do that?" exclaimed the Marchioness with a look of surprise, "who told you to do that, I say?"
"Why you, Madam, ordered me to watch her closely every moment," answered Blanchette; "and so did the Count; and how was I to watch her, if she were to go out, wandering all about the Château?"
"You are insolent, girl!" cried Madame de Chazeul, "and this is the way by your impertinent domineering, that you turn the mind of Mademoiselle d'Albret against her friends. You should have watched as if you were not watching; you should have given information to my brother, or myself, if she went out; and not have presumed to make yourself her turnkey.--Who are you, that you should dare to dictate to a lady like that, whether she should go forth or not?"
The maid replied not, but coloured highly and bit her lip, looking down upon the ground with apparently no very placable endurance of the reprimand, which probably she felt the more, as she was fully conscious of having exceeded her orders, at the very time she did so, for the purpose of gratifying her own spiteful nature.
"Well," continued Madame de Chazeul, recovering herself speedily, and remembering that the girl's services might still be needful, "I dare say, you did not err intentionally; but remember to do so no more. You may watch Mademoiselle d'Albret closely, while she is in her chamber: and, if she goes out of it, either give information instantly to Monsieur de Liancourt, or come to me. It seems," she added in an indifferent tone, "that the only person she is inclined to see is Monsieur de Chazeul. I shall therefore trouble her no more. When he comes, of course admit him, as the marriage is to take place to-morrow, but no one else,--except indeed, father Walter de la Tremblade," she continued after an instant's thought--"Monsieur de Chazeul of course whenever he comes,--but no one else;--and remember, Blanchette, have everything prepared to set out to-morrow, about mid-day, both for your mistress and yourself, for you must all sleep at Chartres to-morrow night, and the next day, on to Paris."
There is a dull and heavy looking sort of personage, amongst the various classes of human beings, by whom the wit and clear-sightedness of the shrewd and the cunning in human character, are more frequently set completely at defiance than even by the politic and the artful. The air of cold indifferent stupidity, which is natural to it, in itself generates an idea of a slow and unexcitable spirit, and an obtuse and inactive mind incapable of strong feelings except of a very animal kind, which not unfrequently deceives the most penetrating. The surface looks so much as if there were nothing below, that we rarely take the trouble of ascertaining the depth and strength of the currents that may be running underneath.
Of this character was the maid Blanchette. She gave no indication of being offended at the censure of the Marchioness de Chazeul, except by the momentary heightening of her colour; and the lady fancied that she had effaced all trace of her harsh words, by holding out the idea of her accompanying Rose to Paris. But it was not so. Blanchette was always displeased with censure, even when, as a humble dependant, she had no claim, but for services that could be performed by a dozen others, as well as by herself; but, when she had grown a person of importance in her own eyes, by being entrusted with a charge that no one but herself could perform, she felt injured and indignant at the slightest blame, and that of Madame de Chazeul had been neither very gentle in manner nor very temperate in words. She only dropped a profound courtesy then, without making any reply while the Marchioness spoke, as if her little wit were busily engaged with other matters, and she was prepared to receive and obey all orders communicated to her without doubt or hesitation. But such a line of conduct was far from her intention; deep and angry passion was at the bottom of her heart; and she determined, if fortune prospered with her, to find some means of retaliating, in act, if not in seeming, the bitter words of the Marchioness, without spoiling her own prospects of advancement. She listened then to the end without saying a word; but merely courtesying from time to time, till at length as the lady finished, she replied, "I will see to it all, Madam! Everything shall be quite ready."
"Ay, see that it be," replied Madame de Chazeul. "And now, Blanchette, send Monsieur de Chazeul to me if you can find him."
The maid retired, and the Marchioness remained turning in her mind the next step to be taken. "Yes," she said, "we may trust the priest,--but not too far. Rose will tell him nothing, thanks to her promise. I wonder how she learned anything to tell.--Some letter from Helen doubtless: or else that girl has made herself some friends in the camp of the Bearnois; perhaps has got some new paramour.--I was a fool to deal so harshly with her. What was it to me, if she chose to play the harlot with the boy? My fear of her spoiling this marriage drove me too far.--Yes we can trust the priest. I have had the castle gates too strictly watched for any one to have brought him tidings without my knowing it.--We must trust him, that is the worst--though I do think he would go on, even if he knew all. But his chamber is too near, not to make him a sharer of our plans.--These priests are but spies upon us in our own châteaux. I wonder that we tolerate them. Yet they are useful too, when they choose to be serviceable.--His zeal for the league will keep him faithful."
Such were some of the half-muttered, half-silent thoughts of Jacqueline de Chazeul, as she sat waiting for her son; but he kept her not long in expectation, for he was anxious to hear the result of her interview with Rose d'Albret; and, as soon as he did appear, the Marchioness greeted him with a gay look, asking, "Well, Chazeul, have you seen your uncle?"
"No!" he replied, "He has not come to the hall. What are your news? What says the little prisoner?"
"Of that afterwards," answered the Marchioness, "First, the marriage is to be to-morrow before noon. For that, your Uncle's word is pledged, and we must see that he keeps it; for, if this obstinate girl should still resist, he may be shaken. Now tell me, Chazeul, when did her looks first begin to grow cold towards you?"
"They were never very warm," said Chazeul, "but they have been chilly enough for the last ten days."
"Then it is so!" rejoined his mother as if speaking to herself; "that chilliness makes me think that she may love you rather more than less."
"Come, good mother, no riddles," exclaimed Chazeul, "we have no time for solving them; nor am I an [OE]dipus. What is it that you mean?"
"I mean that jealousy has a share in this affair," answered the Marchioness. "She has learned your folly with Helen de la Tremblade.--Helen has written to her, or told her; for she saw her about that time."
"I do not believe it," replied Chazeul, "I do not believe it in the least;" and putting his hand to his brow, he thought for a moment, murmuring, "No, no she would never--"
"But she has, foolish boy," cried Madame de Chazeul. "I know she has, from what this wrong-headed girl said just now. Now mark me well, Chazeul, if you will be guided by me in everything, you will succeed, wed Rose d'Albret, and be one of the richest men in France,--ay, second to none in wealth and power, except the princes of the blood. But if you will not, you will lose her, and with her, not only her estates, but all the wealth that has accumulated, since first she came here as a child."
"Oh, my good mother, I am quite willing to follow your course of policy," replied her son. "No one like a woman for managing a woman. But let me hear first, what she said. Does she believe that De Montigni is dead?"
"Yes she does," replied the Marchioness. "Your uncle convinced her of that."
"Then she is mine according to the contract," said Chazeul. "What did she say to that?"
"Why, at first, she seemed seeking to gain time," answered his mother, "but afterwards, when your uncle was gone, she vowed vehemently, that she would never wed you.--I think not the worse of your case for that, as that is a vow which many a woman makes and breaks; but haste is the thing in this case, and her spirit must be broken down ere noon to-morrow, else we may have news, which will overthrow all that we have done--De Montigni may not be dead after all,--he may be wounded,--he may recover. Then what are we to do?--No, we must lose no time."
"Well, well, but your plan," said Chazeul. "It seems that my little sins are to be wiped out, the lady's good favour gained, her unruly spirit broken in, and rendered tractable, all within four-and-twenty hours!"
"And it can be done," answered Madame de Chazeul. "First then, we must make it seem to the eyes of all men, that you are recovering her good graces. You must appear together. You must hold conference with her, and seem in her secrets and in her intimacy."
"'Tis telling me to pull down the moon," cried Chazeul, "or carry away the gates of the castle on my back like Samson. How am I to do all this? If she refuse me audience, withhold her presence, stay in her chamber, and frown or weep whenever we meet?"
"Will it cost you so much to feign a little?" asked his mother.
"Perhaps not," replied Chazeul, "but what then? Put me on the track, and I will follow it with any one; but I see not what it is I am to feign."
"Several things," replied the Marchioness.
"First, kindly tenderness towards her, sorrow for her sorrow, sympathy with her distress, anxiety for its alleviation. You may pretend even to enter into her views of delay, affect not to wish to press her, promise to speak to Monsieur de Liancourt on the subject, and with me, and hold out the hope of gaining our consent to your joining the army for a time, and not returning till some months have passed."
"But if she be so enraged against me," said Chazeul, "and if she have discovered what you say she has, will she listen to all this?"
"Ay, but that must be one of the first things you soften down," replied the Marchioness, "an obstacle you must remove at once. You must be a repentant sinner, Chazeul; make vague confession of many faults; long to atone for them if circumstances would permit it; and if you can get a tear into your eye, so much the better."
"I understand, I understand," said Chazeul laughing. "The tear, I fear I could not manage; but all the rest I will undertake. I see my way clearly now, but not whither it leads, my dear mother. What is to result from all this? When I have persuaded her that I am penitent, and the most humble creature of her will,--when I have shown myself whispering in her ear, or walking in tender melancholy with her, side by side, on the ramparts, what is to be done next?"
"Why, what I said before," replied the Marchioness. "Visit her chamber in the night; leave something there to mark that you have been present. I will have people to witness that you go in and come forth. The girl Blanchette must be taught to swear, that it was with her mistress's consent and wish. I will indoctrinate her well. Then, to-morrow, early in the morning, I will visit our fair culprit full of reproaches, tell her all the reports that have reached me, of her light wantonness, if needful bring forth the witnesses, and show that, for your honour, for hers, and for your uncle's, the marriage must take place without delay. We shall have no more resistance then, Chazeul; and if we have, the tale thus proved, will fix my brother in his purpose of compelling her to yield; for we must keep our plan as secret as death from Liancourt; and, if he sees you much together during the day--if you can contrive to work a sudden change in her demeanour towards you, he will be easily deceived."
Chazeul mused, and then added, "I will set about it instantly. But I do wish that I had some good excuse for going to her now--something that would make my coming acceptable. She was not in the hall, and may not, perhaps, quit her room."
"Go to her, go to her!" cried the Marchioness. "She is not in the hall, and will not be, unless you bring her forth. It happens luckily that Blanchette, mistaking the order she received, made herself a gaoler over her this morning, and kept the bird in the cage. You can go and open the prison doors. Tell her how grieved you are to hear that such cruelty has been exercised towards her; declare you will never suffer it; cast all the blame on me and your uncle; make us as stern and savage as you will, and show her she is free, by leading her forth. You can enlarge upon the matter as you will; and having now the cue, your own wit and knowledge of woman, must teach you to play your part to a nicety.--For me," she continued, "I must first go sprinkle my old brother Michael's body with holy water. I can do no less for him, after all the sweet words he has given me through life; and then I will talk with the priest, and make him share our plans, as much as is needful."
"Is it not dangerous?" asked Chazeul. "I dread that man more than any other. Calm and staid and thoughtful as he is on the outside, if ever I saw human being full of strong passion, and eager fire within, it is he; and if he hears aught of this affair with Helen, he will die or frustrate our design."
"He shall not hear it, till all is accomplished," replied the Marchioness. "I will take care of that. There is not a letter nor a note, be it from some sick farmer's pretty wife, requiring consolation from a kind confessor, that is not brought to me before it reaches his hands. It has cost me more golden crowns, Chazeul, since I came into this château, to secure good friends in the barbican, than would keep a prince's household half a year. However, he must know our plans in part, for fear he should discover them without being told. His consent once given, binds him to our course; so leave that to me, and go you upon your errand."
Without pausing to thank his mother for all her care, Chazeul hastened away towards the apartments of Rose d'Albret. At the door of the ante-chamber, however, he paused for a moment to consider his proceedings, and then entered with a quick step, demanding in a loud and hurried tone, as soon as he saw Blanchette, "Can I speak with your mistress?"
"Oh, yes, Sir," cried the girl, with a low courtesy, and a sweet smile; "you are to be admitted always."
Opening the door, she looked in; and seeing Rose gaze sadly from the window, she threw it wider, exclaiming, without inquiry as to whether the lady would receive her visitor or not, "Monsieur de Chazeul, Mademoiselle."
Rose turned a quick and indignant look towards the door, and bowing her head, demanded, "What is your pleasure, Sir?--This visit was neither expected nor desired."
"I know it was not, Rose," he replied, assuming a mild and tender tone, in which his voice sounded somewhat like that of De Montigni, awakening memories in Rose's bosom, not the most favourable to himself; "but I have just heard something that would not suffer me to remain indifferent.--Shut the door, Blanchette," he added, turning to the girl and speaking in a sterner manner.
"I learn from my mother with shame and anger, Mademoiselle d'Albret," he proceeded sadly, "that they are keeping you here as a sort of prisoner; and I will not suffer such a thing for a moment; for, though it is not my doing, it is on my account. Ill judging friends have done me harm enough with you already. They shall do so no more. I will now act upon my account, and try what the generosity and kindness which I would always have striven to display, if I had been permitted, will do with a heart which I am sure is not to be ruled by harshness."
Rose was surprised, but still not deceived; for she contrasted instantly the new tone assumed towards her, with all that had gone before. She recollected, too, Helen de la Tremblade, and what she had heard from her; and the natural conclusion was, that this was fraud. "I thank you, Sir," she said, "and I trust your actions will make good your words. But what am I to conclude from that which you say regarding my captivity here; for I am, indeed, no better than a captive?"
"That it is at an end," answered Chazeul. "I told my mother instantly, that I would not submit to it; and if it were persisted in, I would quit the castle, to the ruin of all her wishes, of my own fortunes--ay, and my dearest hopes."
"Hopes, Sir!" said Rose, "Hopes?--Well, I must not be ungrateful, and I thank you for this act at least. Am I to consider myself at liberty then, to quit my chamber? Am I to be no longer gaolered by my own maid?"
"You are free as air," replied Chazeul. "Come this moment if you will, and try; and let me see the man that dares prevent you. But ere we go," he continued with the same soft tone in which he had at first spoken, "forgive me for commenting, one moment, on a word you used just now, or rather on the manner in which that word was spoken. It was, hopes! You seem to think that I did not really hope to win you; or perhaps mean that those hopes were more of your wealth, than your person?"
"How can I think otherwise?" asked Rose, fixing her beautiful eyes upon him. "Is there nothing in your heart, Monsieur de Chazeul, which tells you that it is so?"
"No, on my life," he answered; "but I know what it is you mean, and will admit that you have had good cause, to judge as you do. Iamambitious, Rose d'Albret, and wealth with me is an object, as the means of ambition. But there may be other feelings in my heart besides, and there are."
"I doubt it not," replied the lady; "but what I doubt is. Sir, that those feelings have ever been mine. Perhaps I doubt, moreover," she added slowly, and with emphasis, "that Monsieur de Chazeul may not be inclined to sacrifice the gentle and the better feelings and affections of his heart, at the shrine of that devouring God--ambition."
"It is that, I meant," replied Chazeul; "of that I wish to speak. I know you think that I do not love you, that I have not loved you, that I have loved others, that--"
"Nay, nay," cried Rose, waving her hand; "do not enter upon such things, Sir. I cannot, must not hear them."
"You shall hear nothing that can offend you," replied Chazeul calmly. "But in simple justice, you must listen to a word or two in my own defence, as you have undoubtedly listened to accusations against me. I do not say that you will exculpate me, even if I could tell you all exactly as it occurred, which I cannot, which I ought not to do. You would find me faulty, very faulty still. I acknowledge it. I do not, even to myself, acquit myself: I have done wrong, much that is wrong; and many a time when you have seen me grave and thoughtful, it has been when I was meditating how I might make atonement. Yes," he added, seeing a doubtful expression come over Rose's face; "and many a time when I have seemed most light and gay, idle and heartless, it has been but as a cloak to cover from myself and others the bitterness within."
"But how easy"--said Rose, "how easy to make atonement! how easy to do justice!"
"Not so easy as you imagine," answered Chazeul; "for, in truth, it was impossible. I am not attempting, remember always, to exculpate myself: far from it. I acknowledge myself guilty; but some extenuation may be found in many circumstances; in education at a libertine court, in the habits and customs of the day, in the conduct of others, in temptations that I will not give to your ear. Yet I have loved you, and loved you truly; but I see the very mention of it offends you, and therefore I will say no more upon this head. I have set free my heart, and it is enough. Judge of me as you will--harshly if you be so disposed; but still I must have the advantage of my confession in your opinion, and that is something gained."
Chazeul dissembled well: there was a candor, a straightforwardness in his tone which, notwithstanding all that Rose had seen and known, could not but create a doubt of that insincerity which she had always hitherto attributed to him. She could not help blaming, condemning, disliking him; but still her feelings were softened towards him. There seemed to shine out some good amongst the evil; there was something to redeem all that was wrong--something to qualify the darker points of his character. One, reason, perhaps, why women so often learn to love men whose whole conduct they reprobate, is that, from glimpses of higher qualities, they are brought, by the easy process of regret, to pity those who give themselves up to unbridled passion, as its slaves rather than its votaries. Not that Rose d'Albret could ever have loved him. There was an innate repugnance between her nature and his, which might slumber while no external circumstances called them into active opposition, but which, when once roused, was sure to burst forth into abhorrence on her side. She could be indifferent to him, she could hate him, as their relative position brought them nearer or more remotely in contact; but she could feel nothing like love. Yet he was the first, the only one who since her return to the château had spoken with even gentleness towards her; and in moments of danger and distress, there is something that teaches the weaker part of the human race to cling in some degree to anything that offers them support.
Nevertheless, she would not banish the doubts and suspicions which she had such good cause to entertain; and she replied almost coldly, "My opinion of you, Monsieur de Chazeul, must depend entirely upon your own conduct towards me and others. You will acknowledge, doubtless, that the demeanour of all within these walls towards me since my return, has not been such as to conciliate any kindly feeling on my part."
"It has been harsh and cruel," answered Chazeul, at once; "it has been harsh to us both. No choice has been left, either to you or me."
Rose gazed on him in surprise, but he continued, "Do not misunderstand me, Rose. As far as all the affections of the heart go, my choice, my hopes, have long been fixed on one object alone. The choice I spoke of, as what I would myself have desired, was between pressing you in an unseemly manner on subjects repugnant to your whole feelings at this moment, and leaving you to recover from past griefs, ere you are urged to enter into new ties. It is not necessary to relate to you all that has taken place between me and others. I seek not to cast blame on any one; but believe me, if your heart has been outraged, your best affections set at nought, it has not been with my will. Time will clear your eyes of many clouds; and I would fain let time have its effect. You will find, that I have not been so much to blame as you have been led to believe; that matters have been represented to you as certain, that were very doubtful; and that I have suffered some wrong--at least, a bitter disappointment. I seek not to cast a reproach upon the memory of him who is gone; for doubtless, he believed all that he said; but he should have inquired farther, ere he attempted to take from me that which I value more than any treasure of the earth. Yet I would not myself now press you to a hasty decision for the world. I know time will be my friend. If you be forced to give me your hand at once, as they have determined you shall be, you will only hate me. Give me time; and, if to win your love be hopeless, I will at least win your esteem."
"Oh, Sir! if such be your sentiments," cried Rose, "why do you not join your voice to mine to stop this hasty and indecent proceeding? Why do you not use your influence to avert that terrible moment which we both dread?"
"Because it is in vain," replied the hypocrite; "my influence I have employed, but to no purpose. When my uncle offers me your hand according to the contract, I must take it, or refuse it. Can I, Rose, can I, feeling as I do towards you, choose the latter alternative? I have already urged him not to force us to such a choice.--I will do it again and again, if you but wish it. I will entreat, beseech him, to pause, to wait but till my return from the army. But he has so firmly determined to place our union beyond all doubt before I go, that I fear it will be useless. Some vague doubt, some superstitious fear, of what may take place from delay, seems to possess him; and my mother, I regret to say, encourages him to persevere in his resolution. Yet I will make every effort with both. Only but confide in me, Rose. Want of clear and straightforward confidence between us, has caused too much mischief already. Had you but told me your feelings towards me, had you but informed me of your old affection to another, I might have been grieved, I might have been angry, I might have given way to bursts of rage, it is true; but still, thought would have calmed all down; and much, much that is painful, would have been avoided. But of that no more.--Nay, do not weep,--I came to console, and not to grieve you.-Come, take the fresh air on the ramparts, before the trumpet sounds; and tell me what you would have me do, and I will do it.-I would fain see you use your liberty; for it has pained me to the heart to know the indignity that has been offered you. As we walk, you can speak freely to me; and if by any means I can work your peace, no effort of mine shall be wanting."
His smooth and deceitful words were confirmed by the manner in which he spoke them. He assumed the air of eager sincerity and truth with wonderful skill; and it was impossible that Rose should not be, in some degree, shaken in her opinion of him. But nevertheless, she was not altogether deceived. Although she did not see the object to be gained by this sudden change, yet it was too rapid not to startle and surprise her; and there were also, in the whole piece of acting which he now performed, those slight defects, which, good as it was, would have immediately betrayed to an experienced eye, that it was art, not nature, and which, even to Rose herself, all unacquainted as she was with the ways of the world, suggested doubts and suspicions. She saw that he turned quickly from many of the most important points he spoke of, after briefly touching upon them, and had always an excuse ready for not going deeply into any subject which might have most embarrassed him. It was now, that he would not shock her delicacy; now, that he did not wish to cast blame on others; now, that he did not seek to exculpate or justify himself. In one or two instances these evasions might have been admitted, but they were too frequent; and he also insinuated far more than he said, and more than he might have been able to prove.
It was not exactly that Rose d'Albret marked all these particulars distinctly, but that she received from the whole, joined with her previous knowledge of his character, an indefinite impression of doubt, a fear that he might be trying to deceive her for some purpose which she did not comprehend. Still, as I have said, her opinion of his baseness was in some degree shaken; she thought that, perhaps, he might have better qualities which had been crushed under the weight of evil education and bad example, and which might have led him, had they been cultivated and developed, to higher objects, and a nobler course. He was too, as has before been remarked, the only one who seemed inclined to treat her gently and kindly; and she shrunk from the thought of repelling the first sympathy she had met with since her return.
It was with such mingled feelings then, that she replied, "I am most grateful for your kindness, Monsieur de Chazeul; but I must not deceive you. I must not deceive myself. You must clearly understand that my mind is fixed and resolute in the determination which I expressed to your mother."
"I know not what that is," replied Chazeul, "for I am not acquainted yet with all that has taken place this morning; but," he continued, "you must not suppose that I came here to entrap you into any engagements, from which you must naturally shrink. Indeed my sole object, when I reached your door, was to relieve you from that painful oppression under which you had been placed. I have been led farther than I intended; but I could not make up my mind to neglect the opportunity of removing, at least part of the prejudices which have been created against me in some degree by my own foolish conduct, in some degree perhaps by the representations of others. However, as I said, I came here to entrap you to nothing; and whatever confidence you may think proper to place in me, whatever you may require, or I may do to promote your wishes, or to free you from persecution, such as that which is now mistakenly carried on in my favour, compromises you to nothing, binds you to nothing. Let it be understood between us, that everything, on either side, remains unchanged--I loving you, though perhaps hopeless of return--You retaining every feeling and resolution which time, circumstances, and my future conduct, may not change."
Rose shook her head gravely and mournfully, but Chazeul went on with a slight alteration of tone, saying, "Come, Mademoiselle d'Albret, take a turn upon the ramparts, and let us talk no more of such things. The free air, and the sight of country round, will do you good; and, as you get a little more calm, we may consult together as to what is to be done to obviate those proceedings which we both wish to defer, at least."
Rose did not reply, but suffered him to lead her forth, though not without some reluctance. The maid Blanchette, who was in the ante-room, gazed at them as they passed, with a look of some surprise; but she said nothing, and they went out unobstructed.
Through the rest of the day Chazeul maintained the same conduct, and kept up the same tone, frequently discussing with Rose d'Albret the means which were to be taken to shake the determination of the Count de Liancourt and Madame de Chazeul. Three times he went to speak with them alone, upon the pretence of inducing them to change their resolutions, and returned with a gloomy and dissatisfied air, saying, "I can obtain no answer, but that to-morrow, before noon, our fate must be decided."
What was really the matter of his conversation with his mother and the count? Very different from that which he represented it. With his mother he laughed merrily over the artifices which he practised. "Ah! give me a woman," he cried, "for seeing into a woman's heart. I have all along mistaken this girl's character. From her light indifference and coquettish gaiety, I had thought to deal with her in the same way; but now I find, that she is all sentiment and tenderness, forsooth. If I had before possessed a clue to the little labyrinth of her heart, I should have easily found my way in."
To the Count de Liancourt, he maintained a different tone; pointed out the apparent terms of confidence which existed between Rose and himself; represented her reluctance as, in the main, affected, and merely assumed out of respect for what she considered propriety; insinuated that she would be rather pleased than not, to be the apparent victim of compulsion, in a matter where her own inclinations and her respect for appearances were at variance; and he took care to confirm the impression thus produced, by drawing from Rose replies in a low voice, to whispered questions which he affected to wish withheld from the ear of the Count. Thus passed by several hours at different times of the day. But during the rest, Rose remained in her chamber, plunged in deep reveries, and puzzled and doubtful reflections, seeking some light in the maze that surrounded her, often looking to the future with a shudder of dread, and often contemplating the past with bitter tears, but still hearing a voice that whispered, "De Montigni is not dead."