Daumon was expecting a visit from the young man, and had been waiting for him with the cool complacency of a bird-catcher, who, having arranged all his lines and snares, stands with folded arms until his feathered victims fall into his net. The line that he had displayed before the young man’s eyes was the sight of liberty. Daumon had emissaries everywhere, and knew perfectly well what was going on at the Chateau de Champdoce, and could have repeated the exact words made use of by the Duke in his last conversation with his son, and was aware of the leave of liberty that had been granted to Norbert, and was as certain as possible that this small concession would only hasten the rebellion of the young Marquis.
He often took his evening stroll in the direction of Champdoce, and, pipe in mouth, would meditate over his schemes. Pausing on the brow of a hill that overlooked the Chateau, he would shake his fist, and mutter,—
“He will come; ah, yes, he must come to me!”
And he was in the right, for, after a week spent in indecision, Norbert knocked at the door of his father’s bitterest enemy. Daumon, concealed behind the window curtain, had watched his approach, and it was with the same air of deference that he had welcomed the Marquis, as he took care to call him; but he affected to be so overcome by the honor of this visit that he could only falter out,—
“Marquis, I am your most humble servant.”
And Norbert, who had expected a very warm greeting, was much disconcerted. For a moment he thought of going away again, but his pride would not permit him to do so, for he had said to himself that it would be an act of a fool to go away this time without having accomplished anything.
“I want to have a bit of advice from you, Counsellor,” said he; “for as I have but little experience in a certain matter, I should like to avail myself of your knowledge.”
“You do me too much honor, Marquis,” murmured the Counsellor with a low bow.
“But surely,” said the young man, “you must feel that you are bound to assist me after all you told me a day or two back. You mentioned two means by which I could regain my freedom, and hinted that there was a third one. I have come to you to-day to ask you what it was.”
Never did any man more successfully assume an air of astonishment than did Daumon at this moment.
“What,” said he, “do you absolutely remember those idle words I made use of then?”
“I do most decidedly.”
The villain’s heart of Daumon was filled with delight, but he replied,—
“Oh, Marquis! you must remember that we say many things that really have no special meaning, for between act and intention there is a tremendous difference. I often speak too freely, and that has more than once got me into trouble.”
Norbert was no fool, in spite of his want of education, and the hot blood of his ancestors coursed freely through his veins. He now struck the butt-end of his gun heavily upon the floor.
“You treated me like a simpleton, then, it appears?” remarked he angrily.
“My dear Marquis—”
“And imagined that you could trifle with me. You managed to learn my real feelings for your own amusement; but, take care; this may cost you more than you think.”
“Ah, Marquis, can you believe that I would act so basely?”
“What else can I think?”
Daumon paused for a moment, and then said,—
“You will be angry when you hear what I have to say, but I cannot help speaking the truth.”
“I shall not be angry, and you can speak freely.”
“I am but a very poor and humble man. What have I to gain by securing any note, and by encouraging you to brave your father’s anger? Just think what must happen if I opposed the all-powerful Duke de Champdoce; why, I might find myself in prison in next to no time.”
“And for what reason, if you please?” asked Norbert.
“Have you never studied law in the slightest degree, Marquis? Dear me, how neglectful some parents are! You are not of age, and there is a certain article, 354 in the code, that could be so worked that a poor humble creature like me could be locked up for perhaps five years. The law deals very hardly when any one has dealings with a minor, the more especially when the father is a man of untold wealth. If the Duke should ever discover——”
“But how could he ever do so?”
Daumon made no reply, and his silence so plainly showed Norbert that the Counsellor did not trust him, that he repeated the question in an angry voice.
“Your blind subservience to your father is too well known.”
“You believe that I should confess everything to him?”
“You yourself told me that when his eyes were fixed on yours you could not avoid yielding to his will.”
Norbert’s anger gradually died away, as he replied in accents of intense bitterness,—
“I may be a savage, but I am not likely to become a traitor. If I once promised to keep a secret, no measures or tortures would tear it from me. I may fear my father, but I am a Champdoce, and fear no other mortal man. Do you understand me?”
“But, Marquis—”
“No other mortal man,” interrupted Norbert sternly, “will ever know from me that we have ever exchanged words together.”
An expression passed over the features of the Counsellor which cast a ray of hope upon the young man’s heart.
“Upon my word,” said he, “any one would judge from my hesitation that I had some wrong motive in acting as I am doing, but I never give bad advice, and any one will tell you the same about me, and this is the breviary by which I regulate all my actions.”
As he spoke, he took a book from his desk, and waved it aloft.
Norbert looked puzzled and angry.
“What do you mean?” asked he.
“Nothing, Marquis, nothing; have patience; your majority is not far off, and you have only a few years to wait. Remember that your father is an old man; let him carry out his plan for a few years longer, and——”
Norbert struck his fist savagely upon the table, crying out furiously. “It was not worth my coming here if this was all that you had to say;” and, whistling to Bruno, the young man prepared to quit the room.
“Ah, Marquis! you are far too hasty,” said the Counsellor humbly.
Norbert paused. “Speak then,” answered he roughly.
In a low, impressive voice, Daumon went on.
“Remember, Marquis, that though I should like to see you have a better understanding with your father, yet, at the same time, I should like to work for the happiness of you both. I am like a judge in court, who endeavors to bring about a compromise between the litigants. Can you not, while affecting perfect submission, live in a manner more suited to you? There are many young men of your age in a precisely similar position.”
Norbert took a step forward and began to listen earnestly.
“You have more liberty now,” continued Daumon. “Pray, does your father know how you employ your time?”
“He knows that I can do nothing but shoot.”
“Well, I know what I would do if I were your age.”
“And what would that be?”
“First of all, I would stay at home sufficiently often not to arouse papa’s suspicions, and the rest of my leisure I would spend in Poitiers, which is a very pleasant town. I could take nice rooms in which I could be my own master. At Champdoce I could keep to my peasant’s clothes, but in Poitiers I would be dressed by the best tailor. I should pick up a few boon companions amongst the jolly students, and have plenty of friends, ladies as well as gentlemen. I would dance, sing, and drink, and would dip into every kind of life, so that——”
He paused for a second and then said, “There ought to be a fast horse or so in your father’s stables, eh? Well then, if there are, why not take one for your own riding? Then at night, when you are supposed to be snug between the sheets, creep down to the stable, clap a bridle on the horse, and, hey, presto! you are in Poitiers. Put on the clothes suitable to the handsome young noble you are, and have a joyous carouse with your many companions; and if you do, next day, not choose to go back until the morning, the servants will only tell your father that you are out shooting.”
Norbert was a thoroughly strong, honest youth, and the idea of meanness and duplicity were most repugnant to his feelings in general; and yet he listened eagerly to this proposition, for oppression had utterly changed his nature. The career of dissipation and pleasure proposed so adroitly by Daumon dazzled his imagination and his eyes began to sparkle.
“Well,” asked the Counsellor invidiously, “and, pray, what is there to prevent you doing all this?”
“Want of funds,” returned Norbert, with a deep sigh; “I should want a great deal, and I have hardly any; if I were to ask my father for any, he would refuse me, and wonder——”
“Have you no friends who would find you such a sum as you would require until you came of age?”
“None at all;” and, overwhelmed with the sense of his utter helplessness, Norbert sank back upon a chair.
After a brief period of reflection, Daumon spoke with apparent reluctance,—
“No, Marquis, I cannot see you so miserably unhappy without doing my best to help you. A man is a fool who puts out his hand to interfere between father and son, but I will find money to lend you what you want.”
“Will you do so, Counsellor?”
“Unluckily I cannot, I am only a poor fellow, but some of the neighboring farmers intrust me with their savings for investment. Why should I not use them to make you comfortable and happy?”
Norbert was almost choked with emotion. “Can this be done?” asked he eagerly.
“Yes, Marquis; but you understand that you will have to pay very heavy interest on account of the risk incurred in lending money to a minor. For the law does not recognize such transactions, and I myself do not like them. If I were in your place, I would not borrow money on these terms, but wait until some friend could help me.”
“I have no friends,” again answered the young man.
Daumon shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man who says: “Well, I suppose I must give in, but at any rate I have done my duty.” Then he began aloud, “I am perfectly aware, Marquis, that, considering the wealth that must one day be yours, this transaction is a most paltry one.”
He then went on to enumerate the conditions of the loan, and at each clause he would stop and say, “Do you understand this?”
Norbert understood him so well that at the end of the conversation, in exchange for the thousand francs, he handed to the Counsellor the promissory notes for four thousand francs each, which were made payable to two farmers, who were entirely in Daumon’s clutches. The young man, in addition, pledged his solemn word of honor that he would never disclose that the Counsellor had anything to do with the transaction.
“Remember, Marquis, prudence must be strictly observed. Come here to me only after the night has set in.”
This was the last piece of advice that Daumon gave his client; and when he was again left alone, he perused with feelings of intense gratification, the two notes that Norbert had signed. They were entirely correct and binding, and drawn up in proper legal form. He had made up his mind to let the young man have all his savings, amounting to some forty thousand francs, and not to press for payment until the young man come into his fortune.
All this, however, hinged upon Norbert’s silence and discretion, for, at the first inkling of the matter, the Duke would scatter all the edifice to the winds; but of this happening Daumon had no fear.
As Norbert walked along, followed by his dog, he could not resist putting his hands into his pockets and fingering the tempting, crisp banknotes which lurked there, and making sure that it was a reality and not a dream. That night seemed interminable; and the next morning, with his gun on his shoulder and his dog at his heels, he walked briskly along the road to Poitiers. He had determined to follow Daumon’s advice,—to have suitable rooms, and to make the acquaintance of some of the students. On his arrival at Poitiers, which he had only once before visited, Norbert felt like a half-fledged bird who knows not how to use its wings. He wandered about the streets, not knowing how to commence what he wanted. Finally, after a sojourn in the town of a very brief duration, he went to the inn where he had breakfasted with his father on his former visit, and, after an unsatisfactory meal, returned to Champdoce, as wretched as he had been joyful and hopeful at his early start in the morning. But later on he went to Daumon, who put him in communication with a friend who, for a commission, took the unsophisticated lad about, hired some furnished rooms, and finally introduced him to the best ladies in the town, while Norbert ordered clothes to the tune of five hundred francs. He now thought himself on the high road to the full gratification of his desires; but, alas! the reality, compared with what his imagination had pictured, appeared rank and chilling. His timidity and shyness arrested all his progress; he required an intimate friend, and where could he hit upon one?
One evening he entered the Café Castille. He found a large number of students collected there, and was a little disgusted at their turbulent gayety, and, hastily withdrawing, he spent the rest of the weary evening in his own rooms with Bruno, who, for his part, would have much preferred the open country. He had really only enjoyed the four evenings on which he had visited the Martre; but these limited hours of happiness did not make up for the web of falsehood in which he had enmeshed himself, or the daily dread of detection in which he lived.
The Duke had noticed his son’s absence, but his suspicions were very wide of the truth. One morning he laughed at Norbert on the continued non-success of his shooting.
“Do your best to-day, my boy,” said he, “and try and bring home some game, for we shall have a guest to dinner.”
“To dinner, here?”
“Yes,” answered the Duke suppressing a smile. “Yes, actually here; M. Puymandour is coming, and the dining-room must be opened and put into proper order.”
“I will try and kill some game,” answered Norbert to himself as he started on his errand.
This, however, was more easily resolved on than executed. At last he caught sight of an impudent rabbit near a hedge; he raised his gun and fired. A shriek of anguish followed the report, and Bruno dashed into the hedge, barking furiously.
Diana de Laurebourg was a strange compound; under an appearance of the most artless simplicity she concealed an iron will, and had hidden from every one of her family, and even from her most intimate friends, her firm resolve to become the Duchess of Champdoce. All her rambles in the neighborhood had turned out of no avail; and as the weather was now very uncertain, it seemed as if her long strolls in the country roads and fields would soon come to an end. “The day must eventually come,” murmured she, “when this invisible prince must make his appearance.” And at last the long-expected day arrived.
It was in the middle of the month of November, and the weather was exceedingly soft and balmy for the time of year. The sky was blue, the few remaining leaves rustled on the trees, and an occasional bird whistled in the hedgerows. Diana de Laurebourg was walking slowly along the path leading to Mussidan, when all at once she heard a rustling of branches. She turned round sharply, and all the blood in her body seemed to rush suddenly to her heart, for through an opening in the hedge she caught sight of the man who for the past two months had occupied all her waking thoughts. Norbert was waiting for something with all the eagerness of a sportsman, his finger on the trigger of his gun.
Here was the opportunity for which she had waited so long, and with such ill-concealed impatience; and yet she could derive no advantage from it, for what would happen? Simply this: Norbert would bow to her, and she would reply with a slight inclination of her head, and perhaps two months might pass away before she met him again. Just as she was about to take some bold and decisive step she saw Norbert raise his gun and point it in her direction. She endeavored to call out to him, but her voice failed her, and in another moment the report rang out, and she felt a sharp pang, like the touch of a red-hot iron upon her ankle. With a wild shriek she threw up her arms and fell upon the pathway. She did not lose her senses, for she heard a cry in response to her own, and the crashing of something forcing its way through the hedge. Then she felt a hot breath upon her face, and then something cold and wet touched her cheek. She opened her eyes languidly, and saw Bruno licking her face and hands.
At the same moment Norbert dashed through the hedge and stood before her. At once she realized the advantage of her position and closed her eyes once more. Norbert, as he hung over the seemingly unconscious form of this fair young creature, felt that his senses were deserting him, for he greatly feared that he had killed Mademoiselle de Laurebourg. His first impulse was to fly precipitately, and his second to give what aid he could to his victim. He knelt down by her, and, to his infinite relief, found that life was not extinct. He raised her beautiful head.
“Speak to me, mademoiselle, I entreat you,” cried he.
All this time Diana was returning thanks to kind Providence for the fulfillment of her wishes. After a time she made a slight move, and Norbert uttered an exclamation of joy. Then, opening her beautiful eyes, she gazed upon the young man with the air of a person just awaking from a dream.
“It is I,” faltered the distracted young man. “Norbert de Champdoce. But forgive me, and tell me if you are in pain?”
Pity came over the wounded girl. She gently drew herself away from the arm that encircled her, and said softly,—
“It is I who ought to apologize for my foolish weakness; for I am really more frightened than hurt.”
Norbert felt that heaven had opened before his very eyes. “Let me go for help,” exclaimed he.
“No, no; it was a mere scratch.” And, raising her skirt, she displayed a foot that might have turned a steadier head than Norbert’s. “See,” said she, “it is there that I am in pain.”
And she pointed to a spot of blood upon the delicate white stocking. At the sight of this the young man’s terror increased, and he started to his feet.
“Let me run to the Chateau,” said he, “and in less than an hour—”
“Do nothing of the kind,” interrupted the girl; “it is a mere nothing. Look, I can move my foot with ease.”
“But let me entreat you—”
“Hush! we shall soon see what it is that has happened.” And she inspected what she laughingly termed his terrible wound.
It was, as she had supposed, a mere nothing. One pellet had grazed the skin, another had lodged in the flesh, but it was quite on the surface.
“A surgeon must see to this,” said Norbert.
“No, no.” And with the point of a penknife she pulled out the little leaden shot. The young man remained still, holding his breath, as a child does when he is putting the topmost story on a house of cards. He had never heard so soft a voice, never gazed on so perfectly lovely a face. In the meantime Diana had torn up her handkerchief and bandaged the wound. “Now that is over,” exclaimed she, with a light laugh, as she extended her slender fingers to Norbert, so that he might assist her to rise.
As soon as she was on her feet, she took a few steps with the prettiest limp imaginable.
“Are you in pain?” said he anxiously.
“No, I am not indeed; and by this evening I shall have forgotten all about it. But confess, Marquis,” she added, with a coquettish laugh, “that this is a droll way of making an acquaintance.”
Norbert started at the word Marquis, for no one but Daumon had ever addressed him thus.
“She does not despise me,” thought he.
“This little incident will be a lesson to me,” continued she. “Mamma always has told me to keep to the highroad; but I preferred the by-paths because of the lovely scenery.”
Norbert, for the first time in his life, realized that the view was a beautiful one.
“I am this way nearly every day,” pursued Diana, “though I am very wicked to disobey my mother. I go to see poor La Berven. She is dying of consumption, poor thing, and I take her a little soup and wine every now and then.”
She spoke like a real Sister of Mercy, and, in Norbert’s opinion, wings only were lacking to transform her into a perfect angel.
“The poor woman has three children, and their father does nothing for them, for he drinks what he earns,” the young girl went on.
Berven was one of the identical men to whom Norbert had given his promissory note for four thousand francs, for he was one of the two men who had intrusted Daumon with their savings for investment; but the young man was not in a condition to notice this. Diana had meantime slung her basket on her arm.
“Before I leave you to-day,” said she, “I should so much like to ask a favor of you.”
“A favor of me, mademoiselle?”
“Yes; oblige me by saying nothing of what has occurred to-day to any one; for should it come to my parents’ ears, they would undoubtedly deprive me of the little liberty that they now grant me.”
“Mademoiselle,” answered Norbert, “be sure that I will never mention the terrible accident that my awkwardness has caused.”
“Thank you, Marquis,” answered the girl, with a half-mocking courtesy. “Another time let me advise you, before you shoot, to look that no one is behind a hedge.”
With these words she tripped away, without her tiny feet showing any signs of lameness. She had read Norbert’s heart like the pages of a book, and felt that there was every chance of her winning the game. “I am sure of it now,” said she; “I shall be the Duchess of Champdoce.” How grateful she felt for that untimely shot! And she felt sure that Norbert had understood what she meant when she had said that she went along that path. She felt certain that the young man had not lost one word. She believed that the only opposition would come from his father. As she looked round for a moment, she saw Norbert standing fixed and motionless as the trees around him.
After Diana had departed, the unhappy lad felt as if she had taken half his life with her. Was it all a dream? He knelt down, and, after a slight search, discovered the little pellet, the cause of all the mischief; and, taking it up carefully, returned home. To his extreme surprise, he found the main gateway wide open, and from a window he heard his father’s voice calling out in kindly accents,—
“Come up quickly, my boy, for our guest has arrived.”
Since the death of the Duchess of Champdoce the greater portion of the Chateau had been closed, but the reception rooms were always ready to be used at a very short notice.
The dining-room was a really magnificent apartment. There were massive buffets of carved oak, black with age, ornamented with brass mountings. The shelves groaned beneath their load of goblets and salvers of the brightest silver, engraved with the haughty armorial bearings of the house of Champdoce.
Standing near one of the windows, Norbert saw a man, stout, robust, bald and red-faced, wearing a mustache and slight beard. His clothes were evidently made by a first-rate tailor, but his appearance was utterly commonplace.
“This is my son,” said the Duke, “the Marquis de Champdoce. Marquis, let me introduce you to the Count de Puymandour.”
This was the first time that his father had ever addressed Norbert by his title, and he was greatly surprised. The great clock in the outer hall, which had not been going for fifteen years, now struck, and instantly a butler appeared, bearing a massive silver soup tureen, which he placed on the table, announcing solemnly that his Grace was served, and the little party at once seated themselves. A dinner in such a vast chamber would have been rather dull had it not been enlivened by the amusing tales and witty anecdotes of the Count de Puymandour, which he narrated in a jovial but rather vulgar manner, seasoned with bursts of laughter. He ate with an excellent appetite, and praised the quality of the wine, which the Duke himself had chosen from the cellar, which he had filled with an immense stock for the benefit of his descendants. The Duke, who was generally so silent and morose, smiled buoyantly, and appeared to enjoy the pleasantries of his guest. Was this only the duty of the host, or did his geniality conceal some hidden scheme? Norbert was utterly unable to settle this question, for though not gifted with much penetration, he had studied his father’s every look as a slave studies his master, and knew exactly what annoyed and what pleased him.
The Count de Puymandour lived in a magnificent house, with his daughter Marie, about three miles from Champdoce, and he was exceedingly fond of entertaining; but the gentry, who did not for a moment decline to accept his grand dinners, did not hesitate to say that Puymandour was a thief and a rogue. Had he been convicted of larceny, he could not have been spoken of with more disdainful contempt. But he was very wealthy, and possessed at least five millions of francs. Of course this was an excellent reason for hating him, but the fact was, that Puymandour was a very worthy man, and had made his money by speculation in wool on the Spanish frontier. For a long period he had lived happy and respected in his native town of Orthez, when all at once he was tempted by the thought of titular rank, and from that time his life was one long misery. He took the name of one of his estates, he bought his title in Italy, and ordered his coat-of-arms from a heraldic agent in Paris, and now his ambition was to be treated as a real nobleman. The mere fact of dining with the eccentric Duke de Champdoce, who never invited any one to his table, was to him, as it were, a real patent of nobility.
At ten o’clock he rose and declared he must leave, and the Duke escorted him the length of the avenue to the great gates opening on the main road, and Norbert, who walked a few paces in the rear, caught now and then a few words of their conversation.
“Yes,” remarked Puymandour, “I will give a million down.”
Then came a few words from the Duke, of which Norbert could only catch the words, “thousands and millions.”
He paid, however, but little attention, for his mind was many miles away. Since the unlooked-for meeting with that fair young face, he had thought of nothing else, and he mechanically shook hands with, and bade his guest “Good-night” when his father did.
When the Duke was sure that M. de Puymandour could not hear his voice, he took his son by the arm, and the bitterness of feeling which he had so long repressed burst forth in words.
“This,” said he, “is a specimen of the mushroom aristocracy that has sprung up, and not a bad sample either; for though he is puffed up by ridiculous vanity, the man is shrewd and intelligent enough, and his descendants, who will have the advantages of a better education than their progenitors, will form a new class, with more wealth and as much influence as the old one.”
For more than an hour the Duke de Champdoce enlarged on his favorite topic; but he might as well have been alone, for his son paid no attention to what he said, for his mind was still dwelling upon his adventures of the morning. Again that sweet, soft laugh, and that modulated voice rang in his ears. How foolish he must have seemed to her! and what a ridiculous figure he must have cut in her eyes! He had by no means omitted to engrave on the tablet of his memory the fact that Diana passed daily down the little path on her errand of bounty, and that there he had the chance of again seeing her. He fancied that he had so much to say to her; but as he found that his bashfulness would deprive him of the power of utterance, he determined to commit his sentiments to paper. That night he composed and destroyed some fifty letters. He did not dare to say openly, “I love you,” and yet that was exactly what he wanted to express, and he strove, but in vain, to find words which would veil its abruptness and yet disclose the whole strength of his feelings. At last, however, one of his efforts satisfied him. Rising early, he snatched up his gun, and whistling to Bruno, made his way to the spot where he had the day before seen Diana stretched upon the ground. But he waited in vain, and hour after hour passed away, as he paced up and down in an agony of suspense. Diana did not come. The young lady had considered her plans thoroughly and kept away. The next day he might have been again disappointed but for a lucky circumstance. Norbert was seated on the turf, awaiting with fond expectation the young girl’s approach and as Diana passed the opening to the pathway Bruno scented her, and rushed forward with a joyous bark. She had then no option but to walk up to the spot where Norbert was seated. Both the young people were for the moment equally embarrassed, and Norbert stood silent, holding in his hand the letter which had caused him so much labor to indite.
“I have ventured to wait for you here, mademoiselle,” said he in a voice which trembled with suppressed emotion, “because I was full of anxiety to know how you have been. How did you contrive to return home with your wounded foot?”
He paused, awaiting a word of encouragement, but the girl made no reply, and he continued,—
“I was tempted to call and make inquiries at your father’s house, but you had forbidden me to speak of the accident, and I did not dare to disobey you.”
“I thank you sincerely,” faltered Diana.
“Yesterday,” the young man went on, “I passed the whole day here. Are you angry with me for my stupidity? I had thought that perhaps you had noticed my anxiety, and might have deigned to——”
He stopped short, terrified at his own audacity.
“Yesterday,” returned Diana with the most ingenuous air in the world, and not appearing to perceive the young man’s embarrassment, “I was detained at home by my mother.”
“Yes,” replied he, “for the past two days your form, lying senseless and bleeding on the ground, has ever been before my eyes, for I felt as if I were a murderer. I shall always see your pale, white face, and how, when I raised up your head it rested on my arm for a moment, and all the rapture—”
“You must not talk like that, Marquis,” interrupted Diana, but she spoke in such a low tone that Norbert did not hear her and went on,—
“When I saw you yesterday my feelings so overpowered me that I could not put them into words; but as soon as you had left me, it appeared as if all grew dark around me, and throwing myself on my knees, I searched for the tiny leaden pellet that might have caused your death. I at last found it, and no treasure upon earth will ever be more prized by me.”
To avoid showing the gleam of joy that flashed from her eyes, Diana was compelled to turn her head on one side.
“Forgive me, mademoiselle,” said Norbert, in despair, as he noticed this movement; “forgive me if I have offended you. Could you but know how dreary my past life has been, you would pardon me. It seemed to me, the very moment that I saw you, I had found a woman who would feel some slight interest in me, and that for her sweet compassion I would devote my whole life to her. But now I see how mad and foolish I have been, and I am plunged into the depths ‘of despair.’”
She accompanied these words with a glance sufficiently tender to restore all Norbert’s courage.
“Ah, mademoiselle,” said he; “do not trifle with me, for that would be too cruel.”
She let her head droop on her bosom, and, falling upon his knees, he poured a stream of impassioned kisses upon her hands. Diana felt herself swept away by this stream of passion; she gasped, and her fingers trembled, as she found that she was trapped in the same snare that she had set for another. Her reason warned her that she must bring this dangerous interview to a conclusion.
“I am forgetting all about my poor pensioners,” said she.
“Ah, if I might but accompany you!”
“And so you may, but you must walk fast.”
It is quite true that great events spring from very trivial sources; and had Diana gone to visit La Besson, Norbert might have heard something concerning Daumon that would have put him on his guard; but, unfortunately, to-day Diana was bound on a visit to an old woman in another part of the parish.
Norbert looked on whilst this fair young creature busied herself in her work of charity, and then he silently placed two louis from the money he had borrowed, on the table, and left the cottage. Diana followed him, and, laying her finger upon her lips with the significant word “to-morrow,” turned down the path that led to her father’s house. Norbert could hardly believe his senses when he found himself again alone. Yes, this lovely girl had almost confessed her affection for him, and he was ready to pour out his life blood for her. He tore up the letter which had cost him so much trouble to compose, for he felt that he could make no use of it. He had now no anxieties regarding the future, and he thanked Providence for having caused him to meet Diana de Laurebourg. It never entered his brain that this apparently frank and open-hearted girl had materially furthered the acts of Providence. At supper that night he was so gay, and in such excellent spirits, that even his father’s attention was at last attracted.
“I would lay a wager, my boy,” remarked the Duke, “that you have had a good day’s sport.”
“You would win your wager,” answered the young man boldly.
His father did not pursue the subject; but as Norbert felt that he must give some color to his assertion, he stopped the next day, and purchased some quails and a hare. He waited fully half an hour for Diana; and when she did appear, her pale face and the dark marks under her eyes showed that anxiety had caused her to pass a sleepless night.
No sooner had she parted from Norbert than she saw the risk that she was running by her imprudent conduct. She was endangering her whole future and her reputation,—all indeed that is most precious to a young girl. For an instant the thought of confiding all to her parents entered her brain; but she rejected the idea almost as soon as she had conceived it, for she felt that her father would believe that the parsimonious Duke de Champdoce would never consent to such a marriage, and that her entire liberty would be taken from her, and that she might even be sent back to the convent.
“I cannot stop now,” she murmured, “and must be content to run all risks to effect an object in which I am now doubly interested.”
Diana and Norbert had a long conversation together on this day in a spot which had become so dear to them both, and it was only the approach of a peasant that recalled the girl to the sense of her rash imprudence, and she insisted on going on her ostensible errand of charity. Norbert, as before, escorted her, and even went so far as to offer his arm, upon which she pressed when the road was steep or uneven.
These meetings took place daily, and after a few short minutes spent in conversation, the young lovers would set off on a ramble. More than once they were met by the villagers, and a little scandal began to arise. This was very imprudent on Diana’s side; but it had been a part of her plan to permit her actions to be talked of by the tongue of scandal. Unfortunately the end of November was approaching, and the weather growing extremely cold. One morning, as Norbert arose from his couch, he found that a sharp icy blast was swaying the bare branches of the trees, and that the rain was descending in torrents. On such a day as this he knew that it was vain to expect Diana, and, with his heart full of sadness, he took up a book and sat himself down by the huge fire that blazed in the great hall.
Mademoiselle de Laurebourg had, however, gone out, but it was in a carriage, and she had driven to a cottage to see a poor woman who had broken her leg, and who had nothing but the scanty earnings of her daughter Francoise upon which to exist. As soon as Diana entered the cottage she saw that something had gone wrong.
“What is the matter?” asked she.
The poor creature, with garrulous volubility, exhibited a summons which she had just received, and said that she owed three hundred francs, and that as she could no longer pay the interest, she had been summoned, and that her little property would be seized, and so a finishing stroke would be put to her troubles.
“It is the Counsellor,” said she, “that rogue Daumon, who has done all this.”
The poor woman went on to say that when she went to her creditor to implore a little delay, he had scoffingly told her to send her pretty daughter to him to plead her cause.
Mademoiselle de Laurebourg was disgusted at this narrative, and her eyes gleamed with anger.
“I will see this wicked man,” said she, “and will come back to you at once.”
She drove straight to the Counsellor’s house. Daumon was engaged in writing when the housekeeper ushered Diana into the office. He rose to his feet, and, taking off his velvet skull cap, made a profound bow, advancing at the same time a chair for his visitor’s accommodation.
Though Diana knew nothing of this man, she was not so unsophisticated as Norbert, and was not imposed upon by the air of servile obsequiousness that he assumed. With a gesture of contempt, she declined the proffered seat, and this act made Daumon her bitter enemy.
“I have come,” said she in the cold, disdainful words in which young girls of high birth address their inferiors,—“I have come to you from Widow Rouleau.”
“Ah! you know the poor creature then?”
“Yes, and I take a great interest in her.”
“You are a very kind young lady,” answered the Counsellor with a sinister smile.
“The poor woman is in the most terrible distress both of mind and body. She is confined to her bed with a fractured limb, and without any means of support.”
“Yes, I heard of her accident.”
“And yet you sent her a summons, and are ready to seize all she possesses in the world.”
Daumon put on an air of sympathy.
“Poor thing!” said he. “How true it is that misfortunes never come singly!”
Diana was disgusted at the man’s cool effrontery.
“It seems to me,” answered she, “that her last trouble is of your making.”
“Is it possible?”
“Why, who is it but you who are the persecutor of this poor lone creature?”
“I!” answered he in extreme astonishment; “do you really think that it is I? Ah! mademoiselle, why do you listen to the cruel tongues of scandal-mongers? To make a long story short, this poor woman bought barley, corn, potatoes, and three sheep from a man in the neighborhood, who gave her credit to the extent of I daresay three hundred francs. Well, in time, the man asked—most naturally—for his money, and failing to get it, came to me. I urged him to wait, but he would not listen to me, and vowed that if I did not do as he wished he would go to some one else. What was I to do? He had the law on his side too. Ah!” continued he, as though speaking to himself, “if I could only see a way of getting this poor creature out of her trouble! But that cannot be done without money.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out about fifty francs.
“This is all my worldly wealth,” said he sadly. “But how foolish I am! For, of course, when poor Widow Rouleau has a wealthy young lady to take an interest in her, she must have no further fear.”
“I will speak to my father on the matter,” answered Diana in a voice which showed that she had but little hope of interesting him in the widow’s misfortunes.
Daumon’s face fell.
“You will go to the Marquis de Laurebourg?” asked he. “Now, if you would take my advice, I should say, go to some intimate friend,—to the Marquis de Champdoce, for instance. I know,” he went on, “that the Duke does not make his son a very handsome allowance; but the young gentleman will find no difficulty in raising whatever he may desire—as it will not be long before he is of age—without counting his marriage, which will put an enormous sum at his disposal even before that.”
Diana fell in an instant into the trap the wily Daumon had laid for her.
“A marriage!” exclaimed she.
“I know very little about it; only I know that if the young man wishes to marry without his father’s consent, he will have to wait at least five years.”
“Five years?”
“Yes; the law requires that a young man who marries against his father’s desire should be twenty-five years of age.”
This last stroke was so totally unexpected, that the girl lost her head.
“Impossible!” cried she. “Are you not making a mistake?”
The Counsellor gave a quiet smile of triumph.
“I am not mistaken,” said he, and calmly pointed out in the code the provision to which he had alluded. As Diana read the passage to which his finger pointed, he watched her as a cat watches a mouse.
“After all, what does it matter to me?” remarked Diana, making an effort to recover herself. “I will speak about this poor woman’s case to my father;” and, with her limbs bending under her, she left the room.
As Daumon returned from accompanying her to the door, the Counsellor rubbed his hands.
“Things are getting decidedly warm,” muttered he.
He felt that he must gain some further information, and this he could not get from Norbert. It would be also as well, he thought, to tell the sheriff to stay proceedings relative to the Widow Rouleau. By this means he might secure another interview with Mademoiselle de Laurebourg, and perhaps win the poor girl’s confidence.
As Diana rode home, she abandoned herself to the grief which the intelligence that she had just heard had caused her, for the foresight of the framers of the law had rendered all her deeply laid plans of no avail.
“The Duke of Champdoce,” murmured she to herself, “will never consent to his son’s marriage with so scantily a dowered woman as I am; but as soon as Norbert is of age he can marry me, in spite of all his father’s opposition; but, oh! ‘tis a dreary time to wait.”
For a moment she dared to think of the possible death of the old man; but she shuddered as she remembered how strong and healthy he was, and felt that the frail edifice of her hope had been crushed into ten thousand atoms. For all this, however, she did not lose courage. She was not one of those women who, at the first check, beat a retreat. She had not yet decided upon a fresh point of departure, but she had fully made up her mind that she would gain the victory. The first thing was to see Norbert with as little delay as possible. Just then the carriage pulled up at the widow’s cottage, which she entered hastily.
“I have seen Daumon,” said she. “Do not be alarmed; all matters will be arranged shortly.”
Then, without listening to the thanks and blessings which the poor woman showered upon her, she said,—
“Give me a piece of paper to write on,” and, standing near the casement, she wrote in pencil on a soiled scrap of paper the following words:—
“Diana would, perhaps, have been at the usual meeting place to-day, in spite of the weather, had she not been compelled to visit a poor woman in a contrary direction. Upon the same business, she will have to call to-morrow at the house of a man called Daumon.”
She folded the note and said,—
“This letter must be taken at once to M. Norbert de Champdoce. Who will carry it?”
Francoise had made a smock frock for one of the farm servants at Champdoce, and the delivery of it formed a good excuse for going up to the Chateau, and she willingly undertook the errand.
The next day, in the midst of a heavy shower of rain, Norbert made his appearance at Daumon’s office, saying, as a pretext for his visit, that he had exhausted his stock of money, and required a fresh supply. He too was feeling very unhappy, for he feared that this father might entertain matrimonial designs for him which would be utterly opposed to his passion for Mademoiselle de Laurebourg.
Had not the inexorable old man once said, “You will marry a woman of wealth?” But in the event of this matter being brought up, Norbert swore that he would no longer be obedient, but would resist to the last; and he calculated on receiving assistance from Daumon. He was on the point of referring to this matter, when a carriage drew up at the door of the cottage, and Mademoiselle de Laurebourg descended from it. Daumon at once saw how matters stood, and wasted no time in addressing Diana.
“The sheriff will stop proceedings,” said he. “I can show you his letter to that effect.”
He turned away, and searched as diligently for the letter as if it had existed anywhere except in his own imagination.
“Dear me,” said he at length. “I cannot find it. I must have left it in the other room. I have so much to do, that really there are times when I forget everything. I must find it, however. Excuse me, I will be back immediately.”
His sudden departure from the room had been a mere matter of calculation; for, guessing that an assignation had been planned, he thought that he might know what took place at it by a little eavesdropping. He therefore applied first his ear and then his eye to the keyhole, and by these means acquired all the information he desired.
A moment of privacy with the object of his affections seemed to Norbert an inestimable boon. When Diana had first entered, he was horrified at the terrible alteration that had taken place in the expression of her face. He seized her hand, which she made no effort to withdraw, and gazed fixedly into her eyes.
“Tell me,” murmured he in accents of love and tenderness, “what it is that has gone wrong.”
Diana sighed, then a tear coursed slowly down her cheek. Norbert was in the deepest despair at these signs of grief.
“Great heavens!” cried he. “Will you not trust me? Am not I your truest and most devoted friend?”
At first she refused to answer him, but at length she yielded to his entreaties, and confessed that the evening before her father had informed her that a young man had sought her hand in marriage, and one who was a perfectly eligible suitor.
Norbert listened to this avowal, trembling from head to foot, with a sudden access of jealousy.
“And did you make no objections?” asked he.
“How could I?” retorted she. “What can a girl do in opposition to the will of all her family, when she has to choose between the alternative that she loathes, or a life-long seclusion in a convent?”
Daumon shook with laughter, as he kept his ear closely to the keyhole.
“Good business,” muttered he. “Not so bad. Here’s a little girl from a convent. She has a clever brain and a glib tongue, and under my tuition would be a perfect wonder. If this country booby does not make an open declaration at once, I wonder what her next move will be?”
“And you hesitated,” said Norbert reproachfully. “Remember you may escape from the walls of the convent, but not from the bonds of an ill-assorted marriage.”
Diana, who looked more beautiful than ever in her despair, wrung her hands.
“What reason can I give to my father for declining this offer?” said she. “Every one knows that I am almost portionless, and that I am sacrificed to my brother, immolated upon the altar erected before the cruel idol of family pride; and how dare I refuse a suitable offer when one is made for my hand?”
“Have you forgotten me?” cried Norbert. “Have you no love for me?
“Ah, my poor friend, you are no more free than I am.”
“Then you look on me as a mere weak boy?” asked he, biting his lips.
“Your father is very powerful,” answered she in tones of the deepest resignation; “his determination is inflexible, and his will inexorable. You are completely in his power.”
“What do I care for my father?” cried the young man fiercely. “Am not I a Champdoce too? Woe be to any one, father or stranger, who comes between me and the woman I love devotedly; for I do love you, Diana, and no mortal man shall take you from me.”
He clasped Diana to his breast, and pressed a loving kiss upon her lips.
“Aha,” muttered Daumon, who had lost nothing from his post of espial, “this is worth fifty thousand francs at least to me.”
For a moment Diana remained clasped in her lover’s embrace, and then, with a faint cry, released herself from him. She then felt that she loved him, and his kiss and caresses sent a thrill like liquid fire through her veins. She was half pleased and half terrified. She feared him, but she feared herself more.
“What, Diana! Would you refuse me?” asked he, after a moment’s pause. “Do you refuse me, when I implore you to be my wife, and to share my name with me? Will you not be the Duchess of Champdoce?”
Diana only replied with a glance; but if her eyes spoke plainly, that look said “Yes.”
“Why, then,” returned Norbert, “should we alarm ourselves with empty phantoms? Do you not trust me? My father may certainly oppose my plans, but before long I shall escape from his tyrannical sway, for I shall be of age.”
“Ah, Norbert,” returned she sadly, “you are feeding upon vain hopes. You must be twenty-five years of age before you can marry and give the shelter of your name to the woman whom you have chosen for your wife.”
This was exactly the explanation for which Daumon had been waiting.
“Good again, my young lady,” cried he. “And so this is why she came here. There is some credit in giving a lesson to so apt a pupil.”
“It is impossible,” cried Norbert, violently agitated; “such an iniquitous thing cannot be.”
“You are mistaken,” answered Diana calmly. “Unfortunately I am telling you exactly how matters stand. The law clearly fixes the age at twenty-five. During all this time will you remember that a broken-hearted girl—”
“Why talk to me of law? When I am of age, I shall have plenty of money,” broke in Norbert; “and do you think that I will tamely submit to my father’s oppression? No, I will wrest his consent from him.”
During this conversation the Counsellor was carefully removing the dust from the knees of his trousers.
“I will pop in suddenly,” thought he, “and catch a word or two which will do away with the necessity of all lengthy explanations.”
He suited the action to the word, and appeared suddenly before the lovers. He was not at all disconcerted at the effect his entrance produced upon them, and remarked placidly, “I could not find the sheriff’s letter, but I assure you that Widow Rouleau’s matter shall be speedily and satisfactorily arranged.”
Diana and Norbert exchanged glances of annoyance at finding their secret at the mercy of such a man. This evident distrust appeared to wound Daumon deeply.
“You have a perfect right,” remarked he dejectedly, “to say, ‘Mind your own business;’ but the fact is, that I hate all kinds of injustice so much that I always take the side of the weakest, and so, when I come in and find you deploring your troubles, I say to myself, ‘Doubtless here are two young people made for each other.’”
“You forget yourself,” broke in Diana haughtily.
“I beg your pardon,” stammered Daumon. “I am but a poor peasant, and sometimes I speak out too plainly. I meant no harm, and I only hope that you will forgive me.”
Daumon looked at Diana; and as she made no reply, he went on: “‘Well,’ says I to myself, ‘here are two young folks that have fallen in love, and have every right to do so, and yet they are kept apart by unreasonable and cruel-minded parents. They are young and know nothing of the law, and without help they would most certainly get into a muddle. Now, suppose I take their matter in hand, knowing the law thoroughly as I do, and being up to its weak as well as its strong points.’”
He spoke on in this strain for some minutes, and did not notice that they had withdrawn a little apart, and were whispering to each other.
“Why should we not trust him?” asked Norbert. “He has plenty of experience.”
“He would betray us; he would do anything for money.”
“That is all the better for us then; for if we promise him a handsome sum, he will not say a word of what has passed to-day.”
“Do as you think best, Norbert.”
Having thus gained Diana’s assent, the young man turned to Daumon. “I put every faith in you, and so does Mademoiselle de Laurebourg. You know our exact situation. What do you advise?”
“Wait and hope,” answered the Counsellor. “The slightest step taken before you are of age will be fatal to your prospects, but the day you are twenty-one I will undertake to show you several methods of bringing the Duke on his knees.”
Nothing could make this speech more explicit; but he was so cheerful and confident, that when Diana left the office, she felt a fountain of fresh hope well up in her heart.
This was nearly their last interview that year, for the winter came on rapidly and with increased severity, so that it was impossible for the lovers to meet out of doors, and the fear of spying eyes prevented them from taking advantage of Daumon’s hospitality. Each day, however, the widow’s daughter, Francoise, carried a letter to Laurebourg, and brought back a reply to Champdoce. The inhabitants of the various country houses had fled to more genial climates, and only the Marquis de Laurebourg, who was an inveterate sportsman, still lingered; but at the first heavy fall of snow he too determined to take refuge in the magnificent house that he owned in the town of Poitiers. Norbert had foreseen this, and had taken his measures accordingly. Two or three times in the week he mounted his horse and rode to the town. After changing his dress, he made haste to a certain garden wall in which there was a small door. At an agreed hour this door would gently open, and as Norbert slipped through he would find Diana ready to welcome him, looking more bewitching than ever. This great passion, which now enthralled his whole life, and the certainty that his love was returned, had done away with a great deal of his bashfulness and timidity. He had resumed his acquaintanceship with Montlouis, and had often been with him to the Café Castille. Montlouis was only for a short time at Poitiers, for as soon as spring began he was to join the young Count de Mussidan, who had promised to find some employment for him. The approaching departure was not at all to Montlouis’ taste, as he was madly in love with a young girl who resided in the town. He told all to Norbert; and as confidence begets confidence, he more than once accompanied the young Marquis to the door in the garden wall of the Count de Laurebourg’s town house.
April came at last. The gentry returned to their country houses, and in time the happy day arrived when Diana de Laurebourg was to return to her father’s country mansion. The lovers had now every opportunity to meet, and would exhort each other to have patience, and a week after Diana’s return they spent a long day together in the woods. After this delicious day, Norbert, happy and light-hearted, returned to his father’s house.
“Marquis,” said the Duke, plunging at once into the topic nearest his heart, “I have found a wife for you, and in two months you will marry her.”