The moment her son had left her, Madame de Chazeul rose and began to dress herself in haste; but although she grumbled at her sleepy maids for their slowness, and called them by many an unpleasant name, which indeed she was not a little accustomed to shower upon every one who approached her, when her eager impatience prompted; yet the strong spice of coquetry which remained with her, as a relic of former passions, did not suffer her to conclude the arrangement of her dress without the aid of the various cosmetics she was accustomed to employ, and many a touch of that pigment which had obscured the real colour of her skin for years. Thus, from the dawn of day, what between her conversation with Chazeul, and her devotion to the toilet, at least an hour and a half had passed away before she was ready habited, in deep mourning, to appear in the hall of the castle.
"Now, call Martin to me," said the lady as soon as the whole structure was complete; "be quick for once, jade. You will drive me mad this morning, with your idle sloth."
"The boy Philip, Madam, is waiting in the ante-room," replied the soubrette; "would you please to see him first, or Martin?"
"Why, in the name of Satan, did you not tell me he was here?" demanded Madame de Chazeul. "Call him in, hussy."
"He has just come, Madam," said the girl, willing to justify herself; "he put his head in as I went for the wimple."
But the Marchioness did not always confine the punishment of offences to the tongue; and she pushed the girl rudely by the shoulder, exclaiming, "Call him in, I say!"
The maid ran to the door, and shouted, "Philip, Philip! my lady says, come in."
The boy instantly approached with the book in his hand, saying, "Here, Madam, are the Hours. I suppose they are the right ones, for the old woman would get them herself. I should have been back a long while ago, but she kept me waiting in the hall, and--"
Snatching the book from him as he came near, the Marchioness exclaimed, "Hold your tongue, little miscreant. How dare you go for anything without my orders?"
"Why, Madam, you sent me orders to go," replied the page; "at least, father Walter told me so."
"He is a liar, and you are another, I believe," cried the Marchioness, struggling with the clasps, which for a moment or two resisted all her efforts.
"Ah, Mathurine could not open it either," observed the page in a natural tone.
"Did she try?" demanded his mistress turning upon him vehemently.
"Yes, that she did," was his reply, "for at least five minutes; but she could not get it open."
"Perhaps you can do it," said Madame de Chazeul holding out the book to him, and fixing her eye upon his face.
The boy took it, laid down his hat upon the floor, and laboured to open the clasps with all his might,--at least, in appearance;--and the Marchioness, satisfied with the trial to which she had put him, called one of the maids, who, using less force and more skill, unclasped the little volume in a minute.
"Here, give it me!" cried Madame de Chazeul not withdrawing her eyes from the book for an instant; and as soon as the maid had delivered it into her hand, she turned page after page, looking them all over, but without finding aught written on any leaf but the name of Helen de la Tremblade, in the hand of her uncle.
"What could he want with it?" she murmured; "perhaps I have deceived myself.--Yet, no! The room she used to occupy!--so said the man. Here, boy, what did father Walter say, when he sent you?"
"I do not well remember, Madam," answered the page, "for I was half asleep. But I know he told me, you said I was to go, and that I must get the book from Mademoiselle Helen's room."
"Did he say the roomshe usedto occupy?" demanded Madame de Chazeul. "Answer me exactly."
"I cannot recollect, Madam," replied the boy. "He said her room; but I did not take much heed as to the words."
"Fool!" cried the Marchioness looking fiercely at him; "you should take heed of everything;" and then falling into thought again, she murmured, "Well, he is better where he is. If he be there, he may rage when the knot is tied, but cannot unloose it; if he were free he might stop the tying. Get thee gone, boy; and remember, when any one tells thee to go anywhere in my name, come to me and ask if they have authority."
"What, in the night?" asked the page.
"Ay, in the night," replied his mistress; "if I can give them directions, I can give thee an answer.--Now, girl, call Martin;" and leaning on the table while the maid hastened to fulfil her orders, she fell into a fit of meditation.
Many minutes did not elapse before the man she had sent for made his appearance. And still preserving that haughty tone of hands, which is so effectual with dependents, even when requiring evil actions at their hands, until they find that all real power to injure or disappoint is at an end, she demanded, "Well, is the priest safe?"
"Ay, Madam," answered the man; "I have done your will, though it be against my conscience."
"Conscience!" cried Madame de Chazeul; "what have you to do with conscience?--Is it not in a priest's keeping?" she added, seeing an unpleasant shade come over the man's brow; "and can he not give you absolution? This may cost a score more crowns than any other offence. But it is purchasable, and I will pay the money. To kill a Cardinal is a ruinous thing; but it can be absolved on a fair calculation of his weight in gold. These candlesticks of the church can always be replaced; and this is but a trifle. Methinks you will become a Huguenot next, and fancy that the Pope has no power to absolve us. I tell you what, Martin, if such were the case, many a fair lady and gallant gentleman, in France, would be in a perilous case."
"I shall never turn Huguenot, Madam," replied the man gravely; "but, as father Walter said, 'to drag a priest from the altar is more like the act of a heretic than of a Christian man.'"
"Ay, so he said," exclaimed the Marchioness, "because he was the person dragged; but on my honour he would have told a different story, if he had ordered the thing to be done. But you shall have the money. Here, Madelaine, bring me the casket.--Where have you put him?"
The man paused till one of the maids had brought in a small ebony and ivory box, and the Marchioness de Chazeul had counted out into his hand, a hundred small pieces of gold, upon which his fingers clenched with zealous eagerness.
"Where have you put him?" demanded the lady again. "In the sacristy, Madam," replied the servant. But at those words Madame de Chazeul started from her chair like one possessed.
"In the sacristy?" she cried; "then on my soul, he is free by this time! Do you know, that there is a way out through the walls?"
"Yes, Madam," answered Martin; "but that door is locked."
"And that," exclaimed the Marchioness, "through the vestiary and out into the court?"
The man looked confounded, and after a moment's musing he replied, "Ay, that is the way he got out."
"Out! out! Is he out?" screamed Madame de Chazeul. "He was out, but is in again," rejoined the man. "René saw him, or his ghost, in the court, and drove it back with his partizan. But as soon as he told me, I went to the chapel and into the sacristy; and there I found the good father seated where I left him, with the book on his knees."
"He takes it very easily," replied the Marchioness. "There is some new plot afoot. He must be removed, Martin; no more wandering about the castle till the marriage is over. On that marriage all depends. You know you are promised a command in my son's cornet of horse."
"I did not know it, Madam," replied the man.
"Well, then, I promise," answered the Marchioness, "for your good services this night. As soon as the marriage is over, Chazeul shall confirm it. But the priest must be removed to the little chamber at the foot of the great staircase. Have him away quick, before my brother comes down,--the room where old Estoc slept, I mean.--How came you to put him in the sacristy?"
"It was his own wish," said Martin; "you told me I might put him where I liked, and keep him under my own ward: so I gave him his choice; and he preferred the sacristy."
"Because he could get out!" cried the Marchioness: "that was his only reason: and now, good Martin, hasten and remove him,--with all gentleness, for he is a reverend man,--yet firmly too, for he is full of arts and wiles, and will confound you with mere words. Listen not to him, Martin; but tell him to come on without speaking, and lodge him safely where I have told you. What is to be done had better be done completely. The offence is committed, and we may as well make it a secure one, as spoil the benefit by half doing. Go and remove him quickly; and then, keep yourself ready to bear witness to what you saw last night."
"Oh, I am quite ready for that," answered the man; "there I have but to say what I saw, and that I can swear to. I took care to make all sure, by speaking to monsieur when I met him."
"That was right, that was right, good Martin," said the Marchioness. "You always show yourself a man of resolution and discernment. Now be quick, and see that the door be fast locked."
It may be remarked, that she spoke to the man who now left her, in a very different tone from that which she used to most of the others whom she employed in the multifarious services required of her domestics; but the truth is, that he was of a more bold, determined, and vigorous cast of mind than the others. She had less hold upon him; she feared him more; she doubted him more; and, from the minister who holds the helm of state, down to the tradesman with his shopmen, we all show more courtesy and smooth compliance, to those on whom we have no sure hold, than to those on whom we have. It is force of character that usually gains this reverence; and it is vain for any one to say, I will acquire it; for the very necessity of seeking such an ascendancy, is an everlasting bar to its attainment. The only thing that can ever supply the place of that force of character, in obtaining station and command over mankind's esteem, is the force of principle. Every man can say, I will be virtuous and true, and, with God's grace, he may be so. Then, sooner or later, honour must follow; but he must never dream of being so, for that end; for if he do, the touchstone of the world will soon prove the metal, wear through the outside gilding, and show the baser stuff below.
Madame de Chazeul was, with this man, a different being from with the rest, because she feared he might resist, and knew if he did so, it would be with no weak and poor resistance. She spoke him fair, lured him with rewards, flattered him; but she loved him less; and the moment he had left her, she thought, "I must find some means to dispose of him, after this affair is over. Yes, he shall have a command in Chazeul's cornet. We will put him in the front of the battle; and then a blow from before, or a shot from behind may finish the affair.--Oh! David was a wise man."
After sitting before her table for a moment, to collect her thoughts, and call to mind all the particulars of the plan which she had already arranged, and which, like every other dark intrigue had become, as we have seen, more and more complicated at each step she took, the Marchioness rose and walked leisurely to the great hall. Her brother, whom she expected to find, was not there; and after waiting for a moment or two, her impatience persuaded her, that it would be better to seek him in his own chamber, where they could not be interrupted. She accordingly turned her steps thither, and knocked at the door, though that ceremony was not perhaps necessary. It was a quick and hasty knock, however, as if she had come thither on urgent business; and the moment the Count's voice was heard, bidding her come in, she entered with a countenance prepared for the occasion, bearing a mingled expression of grief and bewilderment.
"Why, what is the matter, Jacqueline?" demanded the Count, as soon as he saw her. "You look scared. What is the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing," she replied in a tone of affected indifference. "I only wanted to know if you were ready; for we have much to do to-day. I wished to inquire too, what Rose was saying to you last night, just before she went to bed--for something has happened very strange."
"I do not recollect her saying anything particular," replied the Count. "I said that, from what I saw during the day, I hoped she was more inclined to do her duty, and give her hand to Chazeul; and, as before, she replied, 'Never!'"
"Ay, but she must!" cried the Marchioness, "and that this the very day too. The girl is a rank coquette, Liancourt, and only wishes to be driven."
"No, no!" cried Monsieur de Liancourt. "Not so, Jacqueline, not so!--I dare say she might be brought to love Chazeul in time; but now she clearly does not like him, though yesterday she seemed to endure him, yet it was no very cordial companionship. It did not promise much."
"More than you think or I am inclined to say," replied the Marchioness. "But one thing I will add, that if you knew as much as I do, you would be the first to force her without delay, into a marriage which is necessary for your own honour as well as hers. Ah, you do not know woman's heart, my good brother.--I say no more; but if you have any regard for her reputation and for your own good name, let no affected resistance have any effect."
"What do you mean, Jacqueline?" cried the Count, hurriedly throwing on his cloak, "what is the signification of all those mysterious nods and looks? If there be anything affecting my honour, let me hear it."
"No, no! you would rage and storm," answered the Marchioness, "and perhaps do some rash act towards Chazeul or Rose. But you must remember, women are strange perverse beings, brother, and you must take them as you find them, forgive them all their little faults and failings, and understand that a woman often refuses most vehemently, that which she most desires; and as to such errors as these I talk of, they are but too common."
"What is the meaning of all this?" cried the Count. "Come, Jacqueline, come.--No more turning and winding. I must and will know what you mean. No one has a right to speak of my honour being in danger, without telling me how."
"But it is not in danger, Liancourt," replied the Marchioness with apparent reluctance, "if the marriage takes place at once; and as for the scandal, it can be hushed up. I will give the people money,--and, after all, Chazeul may have had no wrong intent, nor Rose either. They may only have wished to talk with each other for an hour or two in private, when every one was in bed. You saw there were secret conferences between them yesterday."
"Speak plain, woman; speak plain," exclaimed the Count, growing irritated: "Talk with each other in private, when every one was in bed! What do you mean?--where did they talk?"
"Why, if the truth must be told, in Rose's room," replied the Marchioness. "It was imprudent, and the people who saw him come out, and told me of it, were not sparing in what they said,--but I have no doubt it was but imprudence."
"When did this happen?" cried the Count vehemently; "at what hour?"
"A little after two they saw him come out," answered the Marchioness, "and he went there about one."
The Count cast himself into a chair, and rested his head upon his hand for two or three minutes. Then starting up he exclaimed, "It is false! I will never believe it.--This is one of your tricks, Jacqueline."
"What do you mean, Monsieur de Liancourt?" cried the Marchioness with a frowning brow. "Do you mean to say, that I speak falsehood?--Nay, then the matter is easily proved, and shall be proved. The people whom,--as I told you I should,--I placed to watch that there might be no more flights from the castle, must be called. I insist upon it, since you accuse me of falsehood. They know my son; they know Rose d'Albret's room.--Nay, more; we will have her maid. I have not seen the girl myself, but you can question her. Perhaps she will not acknowledge the truth; but you must make her. I cannot tell that it was not herself Chazeul went to see,--for men have strange fancies,--only she is as ugly as a sow. However, send for her first, and let us hear what she says. Shall I go away and let you question her alone?"
"No, no!" replied the Count. "Stay and hear. I cannot believe it! There must be some mistake."
"Of that you can judge better than I can," answered the Marchioness, who well knew how to manage her brother. "I don't want to lead you. I know that's quite in vain, Anthony. You never would be led by any body in your life; but, see all the people, hear what they say, and then act as you may think fit."
"I will speak first with the maid," said the Count de Liancourt; and, approaching a door which led down to one of his servant's rooms, he called to the man, bidding him send Blanchette to him with all speed.
The girl made them wait for several minutes, during which time, Madame de Chazeul improved her opportunity, in guiding her brother's mind into the exact course that she desired. She took occasion to plead for her son's pardon, in the tone of a supplicant, but was not at all displeased to see, that Monsieur de Liancourt was highly indignant at his nephew; as she argued thence the success of her own plans.
When Blanchette at length appeared, the Count called her to him in a somewhat stern tone, saying, "Come hither, girl, and answer me truly. Was there any one in Mademoiselle d'Albret's chamber last night? Don't hesitate, but answer."
The girl did hesitate, however; for Madame de Chazeul had purposely left her in the dark regarding her views and purposes, knowing very well, that the more she faltered, and prevaricated, the stronger would be Monsieur de Liancourt's conviction, that the tale which had been told him was true.
"Dear me, Sir," said Blanchette at length, "who could be there?"
"Girl you are making up a falsehood," cried the Count. "I insist upon your answering straightforwardly. Was Monsieur de Chazeul, or was he not, with your mistress, between one and two o'clock this morning?"
Blanchette began to whimper; but at length, with many an excuse, and many an explanation, she admitted that it was so.
"And how dare you, you base girl," exclaimed Madame de Chazeul, joining in, "how dare you give admittance to any man into your mistress's chamber in the middle of the night?"
"Why you told me, yourself Madam," replied Blanchette somewhat saucily, "that I was to admit Monsieur de Chazeul, at any time, and to do exactly what he told me."
"At any time during the day," replied Madame de Chazeul, in a tone of indignation. "You could not suppose that I meant at night; and I never expected that he would ask you to do what was wrong, or I certainly should not have told you to obey him. However, for this very thing, I will take care you shall be discharged. There shall be no such convenient ladies about my son's wife."
The girl held down her head in sullen silence, very well understanding, that she had done exactly what Madame de Chazeul wished, though it suited her now to condemn it, and that she, Blanchette, having been the tool, was destined to be the victim.
"Pray did Mademoiselle d'Albret direct you to admit Monsieur de Chazeul?" asked the Count; and this time he got an eager and a rapid answer, for Blanchette would have done a great deal at that moment, to damage Madame de Chazeul's scheme, which she began to suspect.
"Oh no, Sir!" answered the girl, "and I am very sure she would be excessively angry if she knew that he was there at all. I only let him in, because Madame la Marquise told me to admit him at all times, and to do exactly as he ordered me; and he would have fain persuaded me, that mademoiselle had changed her mind and liked him; but I know better than that, from what she said just as she was going to bed, and from the way she prayed to God to be delivered from him; so that she would be angry enough if she knew that I had admitted him. But he kept mighty, still, and took care not to disturb her."
Madame de Chazeul's eyes had flashed fire while the girl spoke, and she had given her many a threatening look to induce her to pause. But Blanchette was not easily daunted by the lightning of the eyes; and she went on to the end as fast as possible, without hesitation or dismay.
"Ay, girl," cried the Marchioness at length, "now you have committed a shameless and infamous act, and aided my son and your mistress in soiling her own reputation for ever, you would fain represent the culpability as not so great. But get thee gone; thou art unworthy of more words. Get thee gone, and send my man Martin here. Tell him to bring his comrade with him."
The girl, who was by nature saucy, as well as sullen, would willingly have answered the Marchioness by telling her, to call her man herself, if she wanted him; but she did not dare; and, in a few minutes after she had quitted the room, the servant Martin and a comrade, whom he had had with him during the preceding night, made their appearance. The Count questioned them eagerly, and found that his nephew had undoubtedly been in the chamber of Rose d'Albret for more than an hour the preceding night. This was quite sufficient to work all the effect that Madame de Chazeul desired. He gave way to bursts of furious rage, calling his nephew a base villain who had dishonoured his house and speaking of Rose in terms of the utmost violence, without ever inquiring whether she was to blame or not.
"Where is your son, Jacqueline?" he cried, "where is this young scoundrel?"
"He quitted the castle early," replied Madame de Chazeul, "fearing, I fancy, that this affair would be found out, and then that the consequences between him and you might be serious."
"Most likely to avoid marrying her whose fair name he has blasted," said Monsieur de Liancourt. "But he shall marry her! By the Lord that lives, he shall marry her this very day!"
"There is no fear of him," replied Madame de Chazeul; "though there may be, regarding your fair ward, brother; for depend upon it she will deny the whole of this affair. The maid Blanchette will go and tell her, that it is discovered; and then they will get up some story between them, which they will expect us to believe. To make it look like truth too, you may be very sure that Rose will affect to be more opposed to the marriage than ever; and, if it were not necessary for her reputation, it would be amusing enough not to press her."
"She shall wed him before the clock strikes noon," replied the Count. "But where is your son, Jacqueline? Has he gone to Chazeul?--He must be sent for."
"Oh, no," replied the Marchioness; "he has only gone down to the village, to keep out of your way till you are a little cooler. You had better leave him there till the hour of marriage approaches, and then be as lenient with him as may be. I have already rated him severely."
"Imustspeak to him, Jacqueline," replied her brother. "This is an insult and an injury to me. What did he say, when you spoke to him? Did he deny it?"
"No, not absolutely deny it," replied the Marchioness; "but he did as all young men do under such circumstances. He said he had done no harm; but had only gone to Rose's chamber because he wished to speak with her in peace and quietness, which he had not been able to do during the day. It was very likely true," she added, in a tone of mock candour; "I don't think it at all unnatural."
"At all events it is ruin to her fame," replied the Count; "and we must heal the wound as speedily as possible by their marriage. I will go to her and tell her, that there must be no more delay--that I expect her to be in the hall to sign the contract at eleven, and in the chapel to take the vow immediately after. I will have no excuses; it shall be done. I will go to her this moment, before I hear mass."
"No, let me see her first," replied Madame de Chazeul; "you accused me of being harsh with her yesterday, I shall be more gentle than you with her to-day. I will be firm with her, however, and let her know that you are so too. She may make up her mind to it--about which there will be less difficulty than you think--while you and I are at the funeral, which we must get over first, in order not to have the dead body in the chapel at the wedding. Poor father Walter was taken ill last night while he was watching the corpse.--Did they tell you?"
"No," exclaimed the Count with a look of concern; "I will go and see him."
"He is sleeping, and asked not to be disturbed," replied the Marchioness; "so I sent down to the village for the Curé to attend to the funeral; but I do hope that father Walter will be awake and well enough to perform the marriage ceremony."
"I hope so too," replied the Count, "for if this girl makes any resistance, we might have difficulties with the Curé."
"Oh, she will be more easily persuaded than you imagine," replied Madame de Chazeul; "though of course she will affect reluctance, the Curé will easily see that it is all pretence. The more furious it is, the more will the affectation be apparent. So stay for me here, and I will rejoin you directly." Thus saying, she left her weak brother, who, during her absence, which was longer than he expected, worked himself into greater fury than ever, and prepared his own mind, as his sister could have wished, for any act of violence which might be required.
It was with a quick and agitated step that the girl Blanchette returned to the room which served as her own bed-chamber and as the ante-room to that of her mistress. It was the sort of pace that, had she stopped for one moment, it must have been to stamp with rage; and, when she reached a seat, she cast herself into it, and burst forth into a violent fit of tears--passionate, not penitent; full of virulent anger, not of sorrow or remorse. The same feelings were in her heart, with which Macbeth exclaimed "For Banquo's issue have I 'filed my mind,"--feelings which lead to fresh crimes, rather than to atonement for those that are gone.
"I shall be discharged, shall I?" asked the girl, "and all for doing what she told me. I have heard of her ways. Fool that I was not to believe it. I might have known, if I had not been as stupid as an owl, that what she does to others, she would do to me. Oh that I could but match her!--Well, I may perhaps--Now if I could get Mademoiselle out of the château? But she will watch me.--Well, let her; I will watch her.--The old hag is cunning enough, but there may be others as shrewd;" and she dried her tears, and laughed at the thought of the bitter sweet potion of revenge.
"I know her now," she continued, sometimes speaking to herself in low murmurs, sometimes meditating in silence; "I know her now. Oh she can feign and speak sweet, and promise all kinds of things. But she shall not take me in any more. I can see well enough. Her game is nearly played. If she wants any more help, she will be as smooth as oil; and then, when all is done, I shall be kicked off to die on a dunghill, for what she cares. But I have taken care of that. I have got as many crowns as promises, and I will be caught by none of the latter any more. Oh yes, she will soon come, and be very civil doubtless, if she has anything for me to do; and tell me she was obliged to speak so before her brother, but that it meant nothing. She shall see that I am affronted, however; but not too much--no, not too much, for then she might not trust me any farther, and I should miss my opportunity; for vengeance I will have, one way or another."
With such sweet and innocent thoughts Blanchette entertained herself for some time, till at length the door swung open, and Madame de Chazeul walked in, with no signs of plausibility in her countenance. The girl was sitting, with the handkerchief which had lately wiped away her tears, upon her lap; and her whole face showed that she had undergone no light emotions. The Marchioness did not stay to inquire, of what sort they were, but jumped at the conclusion, that the dread of losing her place, was the cause of the girl's agitation; and, believing that, by that fear, she could rule her as she thought fit, she was only careful to prevent her from thinking the post of soubrette to the future Marchioness de Chazeul irretrievably gone.
"Why do you not rise, girl, when you see me?" she demanded in a haughty tone.
"Why, I have done so much wrong, Madam," said the maid with a sullen face, "in doing what I thought was your will and pleasure, that I am sure I know not what to do, to give satisfaction."
"You must do better than you have done, if you would long keep your place," replied the Marchioness; "but if you really thought you were pleasing me, that makes a difference. An error may be forgiven; disobedience not. Your mistress is up, I dare say."
"Oh yes, hours ago," answered Blanchette. "Shall I tell her you are here, Madam?"
"No!" replied Madame de Chazeul, advancing towards the opposite door, "we will have no farther ceremonies;" and, without giving any sign of her approach, she walked straight in.
Rose d'Albret was seated as before, near the window: the favourite spot of the prisoner, where he can see some part, if it be but a glimpse of that free world which is no longer his; but when the Marchioness entered, she started and rose. Madame de Chazeul had gathered her face into a frown; and Rose, who felt in her heart a deeper degree of indignation at the events of the last night, than at all the injuries, deceits, and harshness which had been practised on her before, gazed at her with a swelling heart and a firm determination to tell her what she thought of all her conduct.
The Marchioness did not clearly understand that look; and it somewhat puzzled her as to her course; but after a moments pause, she said, "I have come, Mademoiselle d'Albret, to tell you, that at eleven the contract is to be signed in the great hall; and, immediately after, the marriage will take place in the chapel."
"Madam, you have already had my answer," replied Rose, "and I have only to beg, that you will not insult me, even by naming your son's name in my hearing. I have long disliked and despised him. I now abhor and scorn him; and I would sooner give my hand to a beggar on the road, than to one so utterly base and degraded."
"I should have thought," answered the Marchioness, with a bitter sneer, "that, after what passed last night, your reluctance would have quite vanished, and that Nicholas de Chazeul would have found in Rose d'Albret a very willing--nay, perhaps, an over-willing bride;" and she pointed, smiling sarcastically, to a man's glove that lay upon the table.
"I had not remarked it," replied Rose, advancing to the table and taking it up with a look of disgust.
"No, I suppose not," answered Madame de Chazeul. "Such little oversights will occur in such circumstances, Mademoiselle."
"It was no oversight on his part, at least," said Rose, turning to the open window; "the low-minded villain who left it here, knew well in that respect, at least, what he was doing; but I treat it, and him, and all his arts, with the same contempt," and she threw it out into the court below.
"Weak, foolish, guilty girl!" cried the Marchioness. "Do not think to escape thus.--Your fate is sealed; and within three hours you are his wife, however unworthy to be so. For your own sake, for your own reputation's sake, it must be so. However little care you yourself take of your own fame, there are others bound to be more thoughtful, and to use any or all means of saving you from the disgrace which would fall upon you but for them."
"Madam, my reputation is in no danger," replied Rose; "happily, neither you nor your son can affect that."
"Indeed!" said Madame de Chazeul, with an incredulous smile. "Perhaps your high purity is not aware, that Monsieur de Chazeul was seen last night, by two trustworthy persons, entering your chamber at one o'clock, and quitting it somewhat after three; perhaps you are not aware, that your maid has confessed she gave him admission to it."
"To this chamber; not to mine, Madam," answered Rose, with a look of calm scorn. "Your admirable plan has failed, lady; and you cannot drive me into an union with one so despicable as to take part in it, even by the fear of calumny."
Madame de Chazeul gazed at her with rage struggling with surprise. "You are wonderfully tranquil," she said, at length; "but still all your calmness will not disprove to the good busy world what several persons, independent of each other, know: that Monsieur de Chazeul passed more than one hour in your chamber last night, and that your maid admits the fact."
"I have better witnesses than my calmness, Madam," replied Rose d'Albret, "who will be quite credible against your servants, planted on purpose on the stairs, and my maid, bribed long ago to betray and deceive her mistress; and they will prove that, warned of the base scheme contrived against me, informed of all its particulars, I slept undisturbed in another chamber; and that, if your son thought fit to pass his time in this place, he passed it here alone."
"It is the priest!" muttered Madame de Chazeul. "I have not spoken with him, since my return hither," said Rose, who caught the words not intended for her ear.
"Who are your witnesses, then, girl?" exclaimed Madame de Chazeul. "I do not believe you! The whole tale is false, invented but to screen your own dishonour."
"My witnesses I will produce when need may be," answered Rose, "but not to Madame de Chazeul alone; and, for the rest, you know right well, which tale is false, and which is true. It is needless to argue with one so well informed already. Moreover, remember, that no force shall ever make me wed your son. My hand is promised by myself to him, for whom my father destined it; and the well-devised story of his death has failed, as well as the artful scheme that followed it. I now know him to be living, as well, or, rather, better than you do; and you may find that he is so when you least expect to see him."
The Marchioness turned red, and then pale, even through the paint upon her face; but, for several moments, she made no reply, turning rapidly in her mind every chance in the wide range of circumstances that could have given to Rose the information she possessed. Be it remarked, however, that she never doubted the truth of what that Lady said; for, though the deceitful are ever suspicious, there is something in the plain, straightforward simplicity of truth, which raises it, in general, above doubt. Men may affect to disbelieve it, when it militates against them, but in their heart they recognize it for what it is.
"If the priest had not told her, who had?" Madame de Chazeul asked herself. "Could it be the maid?" But then Blanchette had not been informed of the whole plan. "Could it be one of the servants?" None knew more than a part. "Could Chazeul have betrayed the secret to some of his own people, who again had communicated it to Rose?" It was most improbable. "Could De Montigni himself have returned, and made his way into the château unperceived?" It might be so; but still her scheme was unknown to him. She was in a maze, which, with all her quick wit, she could not thread; and all that she could decide upon doing, was to pursue her plan boldly, to exercise all her influence over her brother's mind, to blind his eyes and overrule the better feelings of his heart, and to watch warily for every accident, to guard against any event, which might frustrate her design.
"It is all very well, Mademoiselle d'Albret," she said at length, in a calmer but not less stern tone than she had hitherto employed, "to set your simple assertions against facts unfortunately too well and widely known. I shall be happy to hear, when you are my son's wife, the proofs that you say you can give, that you did not commit the imprudence, to call it no worse, of admitting him to your chamber in secrecy and silence, at an hour past midnight. It will be a great satisfaction to me, and I will take care that those who witnessed the scene, and may otherwise spread the scandal abroad in the world, shall be present to hear your exculpation.--But it must be as my son's wife, for your guardian and myself have consulted, and have determined, that it is absolutely necessary for your fame and respectability that you should be united to him without delay. My brother, indeed, has sworn a dreadful oath, that he will compel you to obey before noon; and you well know when he has sworn--"
"Oh no, no!" cried Rose, now greatly agitated, "not sworn.--He would never swear!"
"Ay, but he has!" answered Madame de Chazeul; "he has sworn by all he holds sacred,--he has called down the vengeance of heaven on his head,--he has taken the name of his God and his Saviour to witness, that he will force you to follow his will, and relieve your name of the stain that hangs upon it, by your marriage with Nicholas de Chazeul."
Poor Rose d'Albret covered her eyes with her hands in terror and in grief; for she well knew that Monsieur de Liancourt was one who would consider such an oath, however rashly and intemperately spoken, as full justification for violating every dictate of propriety, right, and justice. Madame de Chazeul saw her agony, and enjoyed it; for anger and wounded pride had their share in the bitter determination which she had formed, to force the poor girl into the arms of her son; and amongst the many images which a quick fancy brought before her mind of future triumphs, was the prospect of mingling misery and care with Rose's married life, and taking vengeance, for what she called the disdain of the haughty girl, upon the unwilling bride. She sat silent, then, and Rose remained with her fair face covered, hiding the tears that would burst forth, and striving to smother the sobs that struggled for free course.
Neither uttered a word for several minutes. The house, and the chamber remained quite still; and then came a sound as of a key turning in a door, and next a gentle tap close to the chair where Madame de Chazeul was seated. Both Rose and the Marchioness started up, though with very different feeling; Rose with terror and alarm, lest Helen should discover herself; and the Marchioness with surprise, which did not at all deprive her of her prompt decision, and ready wit. Ere Mademoiselle d'Albret could utter a word, however, in the wild confusion into which her thoughts had been thrown, her fierce companion judging in a moment that the secret was about to be disclosed, said in a low, but quick tone. "Come in!" The door from the priest's room opened, and Helen de la Tremblade stood before them, with a face calm and placid when she first appeared, but which became glowing and agitated, as soon as she beheld her enemy.
"Ha, ha, ha!" exclaimed Madame de Chazeul, bursting forth into a long peal of laughter, "so the secret is discovered! So here is the precious witness! So here is the wise intelligence bearer!--Strumpet, how dare you show yourself in my presence?"
"Neither willingly not wittingly, have I done so, Madam," answered Helen de la Tremblade, who had now recovered her self-possession, and spoke in a much calmer and firmer tone than the Marchioness had ever heard her assume; for, in the fire of adversity, she had gained strength, and the loss of hope had carried with it the loss of all those thrilling emotions, those vibrations of the heart, which shake and agitate the mind also. Thus, though surprised at seeing the woman who had so harshly used her, and whom,--in the long pause that had taken place in the conversation with Rose d'Albret,--she had thought gone from the chamber, she was nevertheless not confounded, and far less dismayed than might have been expected, "Neither wittingly nor willingly," she repeated, "but since it is so, it may be no better. I am, Madam, as you have said, both the witness, and the intelligence bearer; but happily not the only one."
"What minion, will you dare me?" cried Madame de Chazeul advancing a step, as if she would have struck her.
"Have a care, lady," said Helen in a deep tone. "Remember, I am not a servant, and no longer in any way under your authority, or, as you once termed it, protection.--Protection! Oh, God, what protection! Our position is different; and I bear not now, what I have borne before."
"On my life," exclaimed the Marchioness, "this is admirable! Where do you stand, girl?--Is this my brother's house, or yours?"
"Your brother's, Madam, but not yours," replied Helen, "and I know that brother too well, to doubt that he will do justice, when he knows the truth. To him I am now going; and at his feet I will tell all,--my own fault, and my own folly.--Ay, and your crimes, to me and to others."
She took a step towards the door; but Madame de Chazeul cast herself in the way, with a look of terrible fury. She well knew, that the poor girl had the power, if she could but obtain a few moments' interview with the Count, of overthrowing all that she had done with him, of exposing her conduct, ruining her schemes, and blasting by a breath all that she most desired to see bear fruit. The worm she had trampled upon, had turned to sting, her, and her only safety was to crush it.
"Stand back, minion!" she cried in a stern tone; "back to your den, this moment!"
"Nay, nay, Madam," cried Rose d'Albret interposing, "Helen has suffered enough; you shall not make her suffer more here."
"Blanchette, Blanchette!" exclaimed the Marchioness aloud, without heeding her, but still keeping between the door and her victim, "Blanchette, Blanchette!"
The girl appeared and gazed in surprise upon a scene, in which she found a new actor, whom she had thought far away. "Quick, call Martin, and the other men from the bottom of the stairs," cried the Marchioness. "Quick! not a moment!" and advancing again upon Helen, she repeated, "Back to your den, serpent! Back to your den!"
"No!" cried Rose d'Albret taking her poor friend by the hand, "she shall not be driven from my chamber, if she chooses to stay."
But Helen whispered, "By the other way!" and running back into the priest's room, she turned the lock and hastened to seek exit by the door at the top of the stairs.
She had, however, to deal with one quicker in every combination than herself, and ere she could unlock it, and go out, Madame de Chazeul was there before her, calling loudly, "Martin! Martin!" At the same time, she laid her hand upon the small dagger, which, as was not unfrequent with ladies in that day, she carried at her girdle. Helen, resolved to make a great effort, would in all probability have attempted to pass her at all risks; and blood would very likely have been spilt; for the tiger in the heart of Jacqueline de Chazeul was thoroughly roused and overbore every consideration even of danger. But as the poor girl paused for a single instant, the heads of the man Martin and another appeared on the stairs, and she saw that her escape was cut off.
"Now, will you back?" exclaimed the Marchioness, with a triumphant smile. "Oh, I am to be set at nought, am I?"
With a sinking heart and a slow step, Helen retreated into her uncle's chamber; and Madame de Chazeul was following, when the voice of Monsieur de Liancourt was heard below, exclaiming, "What is the matter, Jacqueline? Is anything amiss?"
"Nothing! nothing," cried the Marchioness, "I will come and tell you directly."
Helen sprang forward again; but the fierce woman caught her by the shoulder, and threw her back headlong into the room, muttering in a low bitter tone, "Back, minion, I say!--Stay on guard here, Martin," she continued; "let no one in or out. If my brother come, beg him civilly to pause. I will return in an instant."
Thus saying she entered the chamber; where Helen, stunned and bruised by the fall, still lay on the floor. Seizing her by the arm, Madame de Chazeul dragged her further in and closed the door; then gazed on her for a moment, while every terrible passion that can agitate the human countenance, crossed the face turned towards poor Helen de la Tremblade. The fingers of the Marchioness felt the hilt of her dagger, and the spirit of Cain moved her heart strongly; but she refrained for the moment, murmuring, "No, not blood--not blood." Then advancing to the door leading to the adjoining room, she tried it, took out the key; and hurrying across to the other, she went out by it, and locked it likewise.
"Monsieur de Liancourt speaks, Madam," said the man Martin.
"I am coming! I am coming!" cried the Marchioness, and began to descend.
"Shall I wait here?" asked the servant.
"No, all is safe now," rejoined his mistress, going on, "we shall want you for other matters, my good Martin."
She hurried down without a moment's pause, endeavouring to smooth her countenance, and to calm the vehement agitation of her thoughts as she went; and although, in the latter effort, she was not altogether successful, for her angry spirit when once moved, was long ere it regained tranquillity; yet her face was smiling--though with a curl of contempt hanging about the nostril and the corner of the lip--when she met her brother just ascending to inquire the cause of the noise and outcry which had reached his ear.
"What is the matter, Jacqueline?" cried Monsieur de Liancourt; "has anything new gone wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing," replied the Marchioness; "something more amusing than anything else. But I will tell you all about it after the funeral. I think it will make you laugh to see, what tricks there are in this world."
"But what is it? what is it?" asked the Count, whose mind, vacillating and uncertain, was too much agitated by the course he was persuaded to pursue against his better judgment, not to feel a movement of dread at every new incident in the drama, whenever he fell back from a fit of passionate vehemence, into his usual state of weak hesitation.
"Oh! I will tell you by and by," replied the Marchioness, who was anxious to have a little time to arrange her plans, and to think over the turn that she should give to all that had just taken place. "The story is too good to be spoilt by relating bits of it; and the hour appointed for the funeral is already past--hark! there is the bell. All the people must be waiting in the hall; and we must go and put poor old Michael in the vault, before we can talk of other things."
The Count suffered her to lead the way to that large hall in the Château of Marzay, into which we first introduced the reader, when we brought him to the house. There several of the principal members of the household were assembled, under the guidance and direction of the Count's major domo; and they had already begun, with the assistance of the good priest of the village, to discuss some of the savoury pasties, and rich old wines, which were spread out upon a table in the midst of the room.
The worthy curé; looked somewhat mortified at the early arrival of the two mourners, if we may so term the Count and his sister, for he had got his plate loaded with a fresh supply of viands, and it was understood that their appearance was to be the signal for beginning the ceremony. Monsieur de Liancourt, however, courteously pressed him to go on, and having a capacious mouth, and ready hand, the priest brought his meal to a speedy conclusion. It may be a curious question, whether the situation of that country is most unfortunate, where the poverty of the clergy renders their appetites easy panders to corruption; or that where their wealth tends to make them the slaves of their own passions. To say the truth, it was a relief to the Count to see the curé eat, for Monsieur de Liancourt's mind, more impressible than that of his sister, shrunk from the solemn scene he was about to witness. He felt higher and less worldly thoughts, which he dreaded and disliked, crowding upon him against his will; and certainly the very mundane appetite of the Priest, though it formed a strange contrast with the functions he was about to exercise, was well calculated to deprive the ceremony of part of its gloomy solemnity, as, indeed, is the case with all eating and drinking on such sad occasions.
The moment he had done, the worthy man started up, wiped his knife, and put it in its case. Then turning to Monsieur de Liancourt, he said, "Give me three minutes, Sir, to get everything in order in the chapel, for as Monsieur de la Tremblade is ill, probably no preparations are made."
"How is he?" asked Monsieur de Liancourt; "have you seen him, father?"
Before the curé could answer, Madame de Chazeul's servant, Martin, who stood behind her, stepped forward, saying, "He is still asleep, Sir, and begged particularly not to be roused till he awoke himself."
"Ay, let him sleep," said Madame de Chazeul, in a low and gloomy tone. "He will have sorrow enough, poor man, when he awakes."
The Count looked at her in surprise; but she nodded her head significantly; and the priest quitting the hall, hurried on to the chapel.
The Count and his sister followed soon after, and the ceremonies of the interment began. Impressive and terrible as they always are, perhaps the peculiar forms and pomp of the Roman Church, add more to them than to any other of the rites of religion. The Count felt them much; the tears rose in his eyes, when he thought of his brother, the companion of his boyhood, scarcely more than a year younger than himself, who had passed through life in friendship and affection with him, but had gone down to the grave in indignation and just displeasure at his acts. He asked himself, too, how long it might be, ere that vault, which now yawned in the midst of the chapel--with the stone which marked its place, and bore the name and arms of De Liancourt lying by the side of the gaping chasm,--would open for him also; and he shrunk with dread from the sad answer. A few short hours--a few short days--it could not be longer than a few short years; and then, the dust to dust, and the spirit to God who gave it! Next came the--what then? The terrible, what then? The dread account--the secrets of the heart laid open--the judgment, the stern, the irreversible, the unalterable decree, the doom for all eternity!
He wished it was over; he loved not such thoughts: he felt his soul shaken within him. But the Roman Catholic Church affords so many passages for escape from all those dark but gloomy convictions, which the tomb and its awful lessons are calculated to produce upon the mind of him who looks alone to Scripture for his guide--purgatory, absolution by the lips of men as frail as ourselves, indulgences, the intercession of saints, the masses for the dead--that Monsieur de Liancourt soon found means of consolation. He looked to the confessional. He thought that there he would find relief from the burden. He vowed a hundred masses for his brother's soul; he determined that he would dedicate a lamp to the virgin; and give a candlestick to the altar of our Lady of Chartres; and half his sins and errors vanished from his sight, when he remembered how easily the past and the future might be atoned for.
Madame de Chazeul felt none of these things. She maintained a decent gravity, indeed, but kept her eye fixed upon the countenance of her brother, marking the varying emotions that passed over his countenance, and calculating very accurately, the sources from which they sprang in his mind. From time to time, she suffered her own thoughts to revert to the conduct which she had to pursue; and her insight into her brother's character, with the moving picture his face displayed, aided her not a little in determining her course. Of the rest of the things around her, she took little or no heed. It was but a pageant in which she took a part; a procession in which she walked; one of those ceremonies, in which, her state and station as a mortal being, required her to share.
Too much, indeed, are we apt to go through all the strange and instructive scenes of life, as if we were automata. Their lessons are learned by rote, and not by heart; and oh! how much wiser, and how much better, should we be, if out of everything that surrounds us, out of each event affecting ourselves and others, lighted by the word of God, we were to draw the high moral that is to be found in all his doings! Who would dare to commit wrong, if he saw the hand of God close to him in every event of existence?
All was, at length, concluded; the body deposited in its last home; the priest returned to the altar; the labourer with his pickaxe, and his trowel ready at the side of the vault, to close the coffin of the good old Commander for ever from the light of day; and Monsieur de Liancourt, offering his hand to his sister, led her out into the court.
The spring sunshine was beaming brightly; a light bird, perched upon a shrub that grew out of the wall, was caroling sweetly in the warm air--the image of thoughtless life; and the Count felt relieved; for it was all over, and his heavy thoughts were buried with his brother in the tomb. Madame the Chazeul too felt relieved, though in another manner, for she had dreaded the effect of what had just taken place upon her brother's mind. It was done. The sad paraphernalia of the funeral would soon be removed from the chapel; the decorations for the marriage would take their place; and it seemed to her as if a step was gained.
"Well, Jacqueline," said the Count, as they came forth: "what is it you have to tell me?"
"It must be in private," replied the Marchioness, "for various reasons, which you will soon see. Come to my apartments, where we shan't be interrupted.--But first give orders about the marriage. We cannot get any flowers but violets and snowdrops: but they must deck the hall and the chapel out as well as they can. You are sure the notary will be here?--tell them to have everything ready." She did nothing without art, and even these ordinary words had their object.
The Count hesitated, but her ascendancy was complete; and, after a short pause, he called some of his servants to him, gave several of those orders, which his sister knew he would not be willing to recall, for fear of betraying that weakness of resolution of which he was internally conscious, and then accompanied the Marchioness to her apartment.