"I was born in this house, my lady; my mother was housekeeper here before me. I am sixty-eight years old, and I have never slept a night away from the villa; I hope to die here. Until your arrival the house has not been inhabited for more than twenty years. I dare say if Mr. Christian Almer, the present master, had the power to sell the estate, he would have done so long ago, but he is bound by his father's will not to dispose of it while he lives. So it has been left to our care all these years.
"Christian Almer's father lived here, and courted his young wife here; a very beautiful lady. That is her portrait hanging on the wall. It was painted by M. Gabriel, and is a faithful likeness of Mr. Christian Almer's mother. His father, perhaps he may have told you, was a distinguished author; there are books upon the library shelves written by him. I will speak of him, if you please, as Mr. Almer, and my present master I will call Master Christian; it will make the story easier to tell.
"When Mr. Almer came into his property, which consisted of this villa and many houses and much land in other parts, all of which have been sold--this is the only portion of the old estates which remains in the family--there were at least twenty servants employed here. He was fond of passing days and nights shut up with his books and papers, but he liked to see company about him. He had numerous friends and acquaintances, and money was freely spent; he would invite a dozen, twenty at a time, who used to come and go as they pleased, living in the house as if it were their own. Mr. Almer and his friends understood each other, and the master was seldom intruded upon. In his solitude he was very, very quiet, but when he came among his guests he was full of life and spirits. He seemed to forget his books, and his studies, and it was hard to believe he was the same gentleman who appeared to be so happy when he was in solitude. He was a good master, and although he appeared to pay no attention to what was passing around him, there was really very little that escaped his notice.
"At the time I speak of he was not a young man; he was forty-five years of age, and everybody wondered why he did not marry. He laughed, and shook his head when it was mentioned, and said sometimes that he was too old, sometimes that he was happy enough with his books, sometimes that if a man married without loving and being loved he deserved every kind of misfortune that could happen to him; and then he would say that, cold as he might appear, he worshipped beauty, and that it was not possible he could marry any but a young and beautiful woman. I have heard the remark made to him that the world was full of young and beautiful women, and have heard him reply that it was not likely one would fall at the feet of a man of his age.
"My mother and I were privileged servants--my mother had been his nurse, and he had an affection for her--so that we had opportunities of hearing and knowing more than the others.
"One summer there came to the villa, among the visitors, an old gentleman and his wife, and their daughter. The young lady's name was Beatrice.
"She was one of the brightest beings I have ever beheld, with the happiest face and the happiest laugh, and a step as light as a fairy's. I do not know how many people fell in love with her--I think all who saw her. My master, Mr. Almer, was one of these, but, unlike her other admirers, he shunned rather than followed her. He shut himself up with his books for longer periods, and took less part than ever in the gaieties and excursions which were going on day after day. No one would have supposed that her beauty and her winning ways had made any impression upon him.
"It is not for me to say whether the young lady, observing this, as she could scarcely help doing, resolved to attract him to her. When we are young we act from impulse, and do not stop to consider consequences. It happened, however, and she succeeded in wooing him from his books. But there was no love-making on his part, as far as anybody could see, and his conduct gave occasion for no remarks; but I remember it was spoken of among the guests that the young lady was in love with our master, and we all wondered what would come of it.
"Soon afterwards a dreadful accident occurred.
"The gentlemen were out riding, and were not expected home till evening, but they had not been away more than two hours before Mr. Almer galloped back in a state of great agitation. He sought Mdlle. Beatrice's mother, and communicated the news to her, in a gentle manner you may be sure. Her husband had been thrown from his horse, and was being carried to the villa dreadfully hurt and in a state of insensibility. Mr. Almer's great anxiety was to keep the news from Mdlle. Beatrice, but he did not succeed. She rushed into the room and heard all.
"She was like one distracted. She flew out of the villa in her white dress, and ran along the road the horsemen had taken. Her movements were so quick that they could not stop her, but Mr. Almer ran after her, and brought her back to the house in a fainting condition. A few minutes afterwards the old gentleman was brought in, and the house was a house of mourning. No dancing, no music, no singing; all was changed; we spoke in whispers, and moved about slowly, just as if a funeral was about to take place. The doctors gave no hopes; they said he might linger in a helpless state for weeks, but that it was impossible he could recover.
"Of course this put an end to all the festivities, and one after another the guests took their departure, until in a little while the only visitors remaining were the family upon whom such a heavy blow had fallen.
"Mr. Almer no longer locked himself up in his study, but devoted the whole of his time to Mdlle. Beatrice and her parents. He asked me to wait upon Mdlle. Beatrice, and to see that her slightest wish was gratified. I found her very quiet and very gentle; she spoke but little, and the only thing she showed any obstinacy in was in insisting upon sitting by her father's bedside a few hours every day. I had occasion, not very long afterwards, to learn that when she set her mind upon a thing, it was not easy to turn her from it. These gentle, delicate creatures, sometimes, are capable of as great determination as the strongest man.
"'Denise,' said Mr. Almer to me, 'the doctors say that if Mdlle. Beatrice does not take exercise she will herself become seriously ill. Prevail upon her to enjoy fresh air: walk with her in the garden an hour or so every day, and amuse her with light talk; a nature like hers requires sunshine.'
"I did my best to please Mr. Almer; the weather was fine, and not a day passed that Mdlle. Beatrice did not walk with me in the grounds. And here Mr. Almer was in the habit of joining us. When he came, I fell back, and he and Mdlle. Beatrice walked side by side, sometimes arm in arm, and I a few yards behind.
"I could not help noticing the wonderful kindness of his manner towards her; it was such as a father might show for a daughter he loved very dearly. 'Well, well!' I thought. I seemed to see how it would all end, and I believed it would be a good ending, although there were such a number of years between them--he forty-five, and she seventeen.
"A month passed in this way, and the old gentleman's condition became so critical that we expected every moment to hear of his death. The accident had deprived him of his senses, and it was only two days before his death that his mind became clear. Then a long private interview took place between him and Mr. Almer, which left my master more than ever serious, and more than ever gentle towards Mdlle. Beatrice.
"I was present when the old gentleman died. He had lost the power of speech; his wife was sitting by his bedside holding his hand; his daughter was on her knees with her face buried in the bed-clothes; Mr. Almer was standing close, looking down upon them; I was at the end of the room waiting to attend upon Mdlle. Beatrice. She was overwhelmed with grief, but her mother's trouble, it appeared to me, was purely selfish. She seemed to be thinking of what would become of her when her husband was gone. The dying gentleman suddenly looked into my master's face, and then turned his eyes upon his daughter, and my master inclined his head gravely, as though he was answering a question. A peaceful expression came upon the sufferer's face, and in a very little while he breathed his last."
Here Mother Denise paused and broke off in her story, saying:
"I did not know it would take so long a-telling; I have wearied you, my lady."
"Indeed not," said the Advocate's wife; "I don't know when I have been so much interested. It is just like reading a novel. I am sure there is something startling to come. You must go on to the end, Mother Denise, if you please."
"With your permission, my lady," said Mother Denise, and smoothing down her apron, she continued the narrative.
"Two days after Mdlle. Beatrice's father was buried, Mr. Almer said to me:
"'Denise, I am compelled to go away on business, and I shall be absent a fortnight at least. I leave Mdlle. Beatrice in your care. As a mark of faithful service to me, be sure that nothing is left undone to comfort both her and her mother in their great trouble.'
"I understood without his telling me that it was really Mdlle. Beatrice he was anxious about; everyone who had any experience of the old lady knew that she was very well able to take care of herself.
"On the same day a long conversation took place between my master and the widow, and before sundown he departed.
"It got to be known that he had gone to look after the affairs of the gentleman who died here, and that the ladies, instead of being rich, as we had supposed them to be, were in reality very poor, and likely to be thrown upon the world in a state of poverty, unless they accepted assistance from Mr. Almer. They were much worse off than poor people; having been brought up as ladies, they could do nothing to help themselves.
"While Mr. Almer was away, Mdlle. Beatrice and I became almost friends, I may say. She took great notice of me, and appeared to be glad to have me with her. The poor young lady had no one else, for there was not much love lost between her and her mother. The selfish old lady did nothing but bewail her own hard fate, and spoke to her daughter as if the young lady could have nothing to grieve at in being deprived of a father's love.
"But sorrow does not last forever, my lady, even with the old, and the young shake it off much more readily. So it was, to my mind, quite natural, when Mr. Almer returned, which he did after an absence of fifteen days, that he should find Mdlle. Beatrice much more cheerful than when he left. He was pleased to say that it was my doing, and that I should have no cause to regret it to the last day of my life. I had done so little that the great store he set upon it made me think more and more of the ending to it all. There could be but one natural ending, a marriage, and yet never for one moment had I seen him conduct himself toward Mdlle. Beatrice as a lover. He brought bad news back with him, and when he communicated it to the old lady she walked about the grounds like a distracted person, moaning and wringing her hands.
"I got to know about it, through my young lady. We were out walking in the lanes when we overtook two wretched-looking women, one old and one young. They were in rags, and their white faces and slow, painful steps, as they dragged one foot after another, would have led anybody to suppose that they had not eaten a meal for days. They were truly misery's children.
"Mdlle. Beatrice asked in a whisper, as they turned and looked pitifully at her:
"'Who are they, Denise?'
"'They are beggars,' I answered.
"She took out her purse, and spoke to them, and gave them some money. They thanked her gratefully, and crawled away, Mdlle. Beatrice looking after them with an expression of thoughtfulness and curiosity in her lovely face.
"Denise,' she said presently, 'Mr. Almer, who, before my father's death, promised to look after his affairs, has told us we are beggars.'
"I was very, very sorry to hear it, but I could not reconcile the appearance of the bright young creature standing before me with that of the wretched beings who had just left us; and although she spoke gravely, and said the news was shocking, she did not seem to feel it as much as her words would have led one to believe. It was a singular thing, my lady, that Mdlle. Beatrice wore black for her father for only one day. There was quite a scene between her and her mother on the subject, but the young lady had her way, and only wore her black dress for a few hours.
"'I hate it,' she said; 'it makes me feel as if I were dead.'
"I am sure it was not because she did not love her father that she refused to put on mourning for him. Never, except on that one day, did I see her wear any dress but white, and the only bits of colour she put on were sometimes a light pink or a light blue ribbon. That is how it got to be said, when she was seen from a distance walking in the grounds:
"'She looks like a white shadow.'
"So when she told me she was a beggar, and stood before me, fair and beautiful, dressed in soft white, with a pink ribbon at her throat, and long coral earrings in her ears, I could not understand how it was possible she could be what she said. It was true, though; she and her mother had not a franc, and Mr. Almer, who brought the news, did not seem to be sorry for it. The widow cried for days and days--did nothing but cry and cry, but that, of course, could not go on forever, and in time she became, to all appearance, consoled. No guests were invited to the villa, and my master was alone with Mdlle. Beatrice and her mother.
"It seemed to me, after a time, that he made many attempts to get back into his old groove; but he was not his own master, and could not do as he pleased. Now it was Mdlle. Beatrice who wanted him, now it was her mother, and as they were in a measure dependent upon him he could not deny himself to them. He might have done so had they been rich; he could not do so as they were poor. I soon saw that when Mdlle. Beatrice intruded herself upon him it was at the instigation of her mother, and that, had she consulted her own inclination, she would have retired as far into the background as he himself desired to be. The old lady, however, had set her heart upon a scheme, and she left no stone unturned to bring it about. Oh, she was cunning and clever, and they were not a match for her, neither her daughter, who knew nothing of the world, nor Mr. Almer, who, deeply read as he was, and clever, and wise in many things, knew as little of worldly ways as the young lady he loved and was holding aloof from. For this was clear to me and to others, though I dare say our master had no idea that his secret was known--indeed, that it was common talk.
"One morning I had occasion to go into Geneva to purchase things for the house, which I was to bring back with me in the afternoon. As I was stepping into the waggon, Mdlle. Beatrice came out of the gates and said:
"'Denise, will you pass the post-office in Geneva?'
"'Yes, mademoiselle,' I replied.
"'Here is a letter,' she then said, 'I have just written, and I want it posted there at once. Will you do it for me?'
"'Certainly I will,' I said, and I took the letter.
"'Be sure you do not forget, Denise,' she said, as she turned away.
"'I will not forget, mademoiselle,' I said.
"There was no harm in looking at the envelope; it was addressed to a M. Gabriel. I was not half a mile on the road to Geneva before I heard coming on behind me very fast the wheels of a carriage. We drove aside to let it pass; it was one of our own carriages, and the old lady was in it.
"'Ah, Denise,' she said, are you going to Geneva?'
"'Yes, my lady.'
"'I shall be there an hour before you; I am going to the post-office to get some letters.' As she said that I could not help glancing at the letter Mdlle. Beatrice had given me, which I held in my hand for safety. 'It is a letter my daughter has given you to post,' she said.
"'Yes, my lady,' I could say nothing else.
"'Give it to me,' she said, 'I know she wants it posted immediately. It does not matter who posts a letter.'
"She said this impatiently and haughtily, for I think I was hesitating. However, I could do nothing but give her the letter, and as I did not suspect anything wrong I said nothing of the adventure to Mdlle. Beatrice, especially as she did not speak of the letter to me. Had she done so, I might have explained that her mother had taken it from me to post, and quite likely--although I hope I am mistaken--the strange and dreadful events that occurred before three years passed by might have been avoided.
"'The old lady was very civil to me after this, and would continually question me about my master.
"'He has a great deal of property?' she asked.
"'Yes, madame.'
"'He is very rich, Denise?'
"'Yes, madame.'
"'And comes from an old family?'
"'Yes, madame.'
"'It is a pity he writes books; but he is highly respected, is he not, Denise?'
"'No gentleman stands higher, madame.'
"'His nature, Denise--though it is exceedingly wrong in me to ask, for I have had experience of it--his nature is very kind?'
"'Very kind, madame, and very noble.'
"A hundred questions of this kind were put to me, sometimes when the young lady was present, sometimes when the mother and I were alone. While this was going on, I often noticed that Mdlle. Beatrice came from her mother's room in great agitation. From a man these signs can be hidden; from a woman, no; man is too often blind to the ways of women. I am sure Mr. Almer knew nothing of what was passing between mother and daughter; but even if he had known he would not have understood the meaning of it--I did not at the time.
"Well, all at once the old lady made her appearance among us with a face in which the greatest delight was expressed. She talked to the servants quite graciously, and nodded and smiled, and didn't know what to do to show how amiable she was. 'What a change in the weather!' we all said. The reason was soon forthcoming. Our master and her daughter were engaged to be married.
"We were none of us sorry; we all liked Mdlle. Beatrice, and it was sad to think that a good old race would die out if Mr. Almer remained single all the days of his life. Yes, we talked over the approaching marriage, as did everybody in the village, with real pleasure, and if good feeling and sincere wishes could bring happiness, Mr. Almer and his young and beautiful wife that was to be could not have failed to enjoy it.
"'It is true, mademoiselle, is it not?' I asked of her. 'I may congratulate you?'
"'I am engaged to be married to Mr. Almer,' she said, 'if that is what you mean.'
"'You will have a good man for your husband, mademoiselle,' I said; 'you will be very happy.'
"But here was something in her manner that made me hope the approaching change in her condition would not make her proud. It was cold and distant--different from the way she had hitherto behaved to me.
"So the old house was gay again; improvements and alterations were made, and very soon we were thronged with visitors, who came and went, and laughed and danced, as though life were a perpetual holiday.
"But Mdlle. Beatrice was not as light-hearted as before; she moved about more slowly, and with a certain sadness. It was noticed by many. I thought, perhaps, that the contemplation of the change in her life made her more serious, or that she had not yet recovered the shock of her father's death. The old lady was in her glory, ordering here and ordering there, and giving herself such airs that one might have supposed it was she who was going to get married, and not her daughter.
"Mr. Almer gave Mdlle. Beatrice no cause for disquiet; he was entirely and most completely devoted to her, and I am sure that no other woman in the world ever had a more faithful lover. He watched her every step, and followed her about with his eyes in a way that would have made any ordinary woman proud. As for presents, he did not know how to do enough for the beautiful girl who was soon to be his wife. I never saw such beautiful jewelry as he had made for her, and he seemed to be continually studying what to do to give her pleasure. If ever a woman ought to have been happy, she ought to have been."
"Well, they were married, and the day was never forgotten in the village. Mr. Almer made everybody merry, the children, the grown-up people, the poor, and the well-to-do. New dresses, ribbons, flags, flowers, music and feasting from morning to night--there was never seen anything like it. The bride, in her white dress and veil, was as beautiful as an angel, and Mr. Almer's face had a light in it such as I had never seen before--it shone with pride, and joy, and happiness.
"In the afternoon they departed on their honeymoon tour, and the old lady was left mistress of the villa during the absence of the newly-married pair. She exercised her authority in a way that was not pleasing to us. No wonder, therefore, that we looked upon her with dislike, and spoke of it as an evil day when she came among us; but that did not lessen our horror at an accident which befell her, and which led to her death.
"Mr. and Mrs. Almer had been absent barely three weeks when the old lady going into a distant part of the grounds where workmen were employed in building up some rocks to serve as an artificial waterfall, fell into a pit, and was so frightfully bruised and shaken that, when she was taken up, the doctors declared she could not live another twenty-four hours. Letters were immediately sent off to Mr. Almer, but there was no chance of his receiving them before the unfortunate old lady breathed her last. We did everything we could for her, and she took it into her head that she would have no one to attend to her but me.
"'My daughter is fond of you,' she said on her deathbed, 'and will be pleased that I have chosen you before the other servants. Keep them all away from me.'
"It was many hours before she could be made to believe that there was no hope for her, and when the conviction was forced upon her, she cried, in a tone of great bitterness:
"'This is a fatal house! First my husband--now me! Will Beatrice be the next?'
"And then she bemoaned her hard fate that she should have to die just at the time that a life of pleasure was spread before her. Yes, she spoke in that way, just as if she was a young girl, instead of an old woman with white hair. A life of pleasure! Do some people never think of another life, a life of rewards and punishments, according to their actions in this world? The old lady was one of these, I am afraid. Three or four hours before she died she said she must speak to me quite alone, and the doctors accordingly left the room.
"'I want you to tell me the truth, Denise,' she said; I had to place my ear quite close to her lips to hear her.
"'I will tell you,' I said.
"'It would be a terrible sin to deceive a dying woman,' she said.
"I answered I knew it was, and I would not deceive her.
"'Beatrice ought to be happy,' she said; 'I have done my best to make her so--against her own wishes! But is it likely she should know better than her mother? You believe she will be happy, do you not, Denise?'
"I replied that I could not doubt it; that she had married a good man, against whom no person could breathe a word, a man who commanded respect, and who was looked upon by the poor as a benefactor--as indeed he was.
"'That is what I thought,' said the dying woman; 'that is what I told her over and over again. A good man, a kind man, a rich man, very rich man! And then we were under obligations to him; had Beatrice refused him he might have humiliated us. There was no other way to repay him.'
"I could not help saying to her then that when Mr. Almer rendered a service to anyone he did not look for repayment.
"'Ah,' she said impatiently, 'but we are of noble descent, and we never receive a favour without returning it. All I thought of was my daughter's happiness. And there was the future--hers as well as mine--it was dreadful to look forward to. Denise, did my daughter ever complain to you?'
"'Never!' I answered.
"'Did she ever say I was a hard mother to her--that I was leading her wrong--that I was selfish, and thought only of myself? Did she? Answer me truly.'
"'Never,' I said, and I wondered very much to hear her speak in that way. 'She never spoke a single word against you. If she had any such thoughts it would not have been proper for her to have confided them to me. I am only a servant.'
"'That is true,' she muttered. 'Beatrice has pride--yes, thank God, she has pride, and if she suffers can suffer in silence. But why should she suffer? She has everything--everything! I torment myself without cause. You remember the letter my daughter gave you to post--the one to M. Gabriel?'
"'Yes, madame; you took it from me on the road. I hope I did not do wrong in parting with it. Mademoiselle Beatrice desired me to post it with my own hands.'
"'You did right,' she said. 'It does not matter who posts a letter. You did not tell my daughter I took it from you?'
"'No, madame.'
"'You are faithful and judicious,' she said, but her praise gave me no pleasure. 'If I had lived I would have rewarded you. You must not repeat to my daughter or to Mr. Almer what I have been saying to you. Promise me.'
"I gave her the promise, and then she said that perhaps she would give me a message to deliver to her daughter, her last message; but she must think of it first, and if she forgot it I was to ask her for it. After that she was quiet, and spoke to no one. A couple of hours passed, and I asked the doctors whether she had long to live. They said she could not live another hour. I then told them that she had asked me to remind her of a message she wished me to give to her daughter, and whether it was right I should disturb her. They said that the wishes of the dying should be respected, and that I should try to make her understand that death was very near. I put my face again very close to hers.
"'Can you hear me?' I asked.
"'Who are you?' she said.
"Her words were but a breath, and I could only understand them by watching the movements of her lips.
"'I am Denise.'
"'Ah, yes,' she replied. 'Denise, that my daughter is fond of.'
"'You wished to give me a message to your daughter.'
"'I don't know what it was. I have done everything for the best--yes, everything. And she was foolish enough to rebel, and to tell me that I might live to repent my work; but see how wrong she was. And presently she said: 'Denise, when my daughter comes home ask her to forgive me.'
"These were her last words. Before the sun rose the next morning she was dead.
"Mr. and Mrs. Almer arrived at the villa before she was buried. It was a shocking interruption to their honeymoon, and their appearance showed how much they suffered. It was as if the whole course of their lives had been turned; tears took the place of smiles, sorrow of joy. And how different was the appearance of the village! No feasting, no music and dancing; everybody was serious and sad.
"And all within one short month!
"I gave Mrs. Almer her mother's dying message. When she heard the words such a smile came upon her lips as I hope never again to see upon a human face, it was so bitterly scornful and despairing.
"'It is too late for forgiveness,' she said, and not another word passed between us on the subject.
"Mrs. Almer did not wear mourning for her mother, nor did her husband wish her to do so. I remember his saying to her:
"With some races, white is the emblem of mourning; not for that reason, Beatrice, but because it so well becomes you, I like you best in white.'
"Now, as time went on, we all thought that the sadness which weighed upon Mrs. Almer's heart, and which seemed to put lead into her feet, would naturally pass away, but weeks and months elapsed, and she remained the same. There used to be colour in her cheeks; it was all gone now--her face was as white as milk. Her eyes used to sparkle and brighten, but now there was never to be seen any gladness in them; and she, who used to smile so often, now smiled no more. She moved about like one who was walking slowly to her grave.
"Mr. Almer made great efforts to arouse her, but she met him with coldness, and when he spoke to her she simply answered 'yes' or 'no,' and she did nothing whatever to make his home cheerful and happy.
"This weighed upon his spirits, as it would upon the spirits of any man, and during those times I often saw him gazing upon her from a distance, when she was walking in the grounds, with a look in his eyes which denoted how troubled he was. Then, as if some thought had suddenly occurred to him, he would join her, and endeavour to entice her into conversation; but she answered him only when she was compelled, and he became so chilled by her manner that soon he would himself grow silent, and they would pace the garden round and round for an hour together in the most complete silence. It hurt one to see it. They were never heard to quarrel, and the little they said to each other was said in a gentle way; but that seemed to make matters worse. Much better to have spoken outright, so that they might have known what was in each other's minds. A storm now and then is naturally good; it clears the air, and the sun always shines when it is over; but here a silent storm was brooding which never burst, and the only signs of it were seen in the sad faces of those who were suffering, and who did not deserve to suffer.
"Imagine what the house was, my lady, and how we all felt, who loved our master, and would have loved our lady too, if she had allowed us. Cold as she was to us, we could not help pitying her. For my own part I used to think I would rather live in a hut with a quarrelsome husband who would beat and starve me, than lead such a life as my master and mistress were leading.
"Once more, after many months has passed in this dreadful way, my master suddenly resolved to make another attempt to alter things for the better. He locked up his study, and courted his wife with the perseverance and the love of a lover. It was really so, my lady. He gathered posies for her, and placed them on her desk and dressing-table; he spoke cheerfully to her, taking no apparent notice of her silence and reserve; he strove in a thousand little delicate ways to bring pleasure into her life.
"'We will ride out to-day,' he would say.
"'Very well,' she would answer.
"He would assist her into the saddle, and they would ride away, they two alone, he animated by but one desire--to make her happy; and they would return after some hours, the master with an expression of suffering in his face which he would strive in vain to hide, and she, sad, resigned, and uncomplaining. But that silence of hers! That voice so seldom heard, and, when heard, so gentle, and soft, and pathetic! I would rather have been beaten with an oak stick every day of my life than have been compelled to endure it, as he was compelled. For there was no relief or escape for him except in the doing of what it was not in his nature to do--to be downright cruel to her, or to find another woman to love him. He would have had no difficulty in this, had he been so minded.
"Still he did not relax his efforts to alter things for the better. He bought beautiful books, and pictures, and dresses, and pet animals for her; he forgot nothing that a man could possibly thing of to please a woman. He had frequently spoken to her of inviting friends to the villa, but she had never encouraged him to do so. Now, however, without consulting her, he called friends and acquaintances around him, and in a short time we were again overrun with company. She was the mistress of the house, and it would have been sinful in her to have neglected her duties as Mr. Almer's wife. Many young people came to the villa, and among them one day appeared M. Gabriel, the artist who painted the picture."
"At about this time it was generally known that Mr. Almer expected to become a father within three or four months, and some people considered it strange that he should have selected the eve of an event so important for the celebration of social festivities. For my own part I thought it a proof of his wisdom that he should desire his wife to be surrounded by an atmosphere of cheerfulness on such an occasion. Innocent laughter, music, pleasant society--what better kind of medicine is there in the world? But it did not do my lady good. She moved about listlessly, without heart and without spirit, and not until M. Gabriel appeared was any change observable in her. The manner in which she received him was sufficiently remarkable. My lady was giving me some instructions as Mr. Almer and a strange gentleman came towards us.
"'Beatrice,' said Mr. Almer, 'let me introduce M. Gabriel to you. A friend whom I have not seen for years.'
"She looked at M. Gabriel, and bowed, and when she raised her head, her face and neck were crimson; her eyes, too, had an angry light in them. M. Gabriel, also, whose natural complexion was florid, turned deathly white as his eyes fell upon her.
"Whether Mr. Almer observed these signs I cannot say; they were plain enough to me, and I did not need anyone to tell me that those two had met before.
"My lady turned from her husband and M. Gabriel in silence, and taking my arm walked into a retired part of the grounds. She could not have walked without assistance, for she was trembling violently; the moment we were alone her strength failed her, and she swooned dead away. I thought it prudent not to call or run for assistance, and I attended to her myself. Presently she recovered, and looking around with a frightened air, asked if any person but myself had seen her swoon. I answered 'No,' and for a moment I thought she had some intention of confiding in me, but she said nothing more than 'Thank you, Denise; do not speak of my fainting to any person; it is only that I am weak, and that the least thing overcomes me. Be sure that no one hears of it.' 'No one shall from me, my lady,' I said. She thanked me again, and pressed my hand, and then we went into the house.
"After that, there was no perceptible difference in her manner toward M. Gabriel than towards her other guests, but I, whose eyes were in a certain way opened, could not help observing that M. Gabriel watched with anxiety her every movement and every expression. The summer-house in which all those pictures are stored away was given to M. Gabriel for a studio, and there he painted and passed a great deal of his time. Mr. Almer often joined him there, and if appearances went for anything, they spent many happy hours together. About three weeks after M. Gabriel came to the villa my master took his wife into the studio, and they remained there for some time. It was understood that my lady had been prevailed upon to allow M. Gabriel to paint her portrait. From that time my lady's visits to the summer-house were frequent, at first always in her husband's company, but afterwards occasionally alone. One day she said to me:
"'Denise, I have often wished to ask you a question, but till lately have not thought it worth while.'
"'I am ready to answer anything, my lady,' I said.
"'One morning,' she said, after a pause, 'shortly after my dear father died, I gave you a letter to post for me in Geneva.'
"'Yes, my lady,' I said, and it flashed upon me like a stroke of lightning that the letter she referred to was addressed to M. Gabriel. Never till that moment had I thought of it.
"'Did you post the letter for me, Denise, as I desired you? Did you do so with your own hands? Do not tremble. Mistakes often happen without our being able to prevent them--even fatal mistakes sometimes. I saw you drive away with the letter in your hand. You did not lose it?'
"'No, my lady; but before I had gone a mile on the road to Geneva, your mother overtook me, and said she knew you had given it to me to post immediately in Geneva, and that as she would be at the post-office a good hour before me--which was true--she would put it into the post with other letters.'
"'And you gave her the letter, Denise?'
"'Yes, my lady.'
"'Did my mother desire you not to mention to me that she had taken the letter from you?'
"'No, my lady, but on her deathbed----'
"I hesitated, and my mistress said. 'Do not fear, Denise; you did no wrong. How should you know that a mother would conspire against her daughter's happiness? On her deathbed my mother spoke to you of that letter?'
"'Yes, my lady, and asked me if I had told you that she had taken it from me. I answered no, and she said I had done right. My lady, in telling you this. I am breaking the promise I gave her; I hope to be forgiven.'
"'It is right that you should tell me the truth, when I desire you, about an affair I entrusted to you. Had you told me of your own account, it might have been a sin.'
"'I can see, my lady, that I should not have parted with the letter. I am truly sorry.'
"'The fault was not yours, Denise: the wrong-doing was not yours. I should have instructed you not to part with the letter to anyone; although even then it could not have been prevented; you could not have refused my mother. The past is lost to us forever.' Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, 'We will not speak of this again, Denise.'
"And it was never mentioned again by either of us, though we both thought of it often enough.
"It was easy for me to arrive at an understanding of it. M. Gabriel and my mistress had been lovers, and had been parted and kept apart by my lady's mother. The old lady had played a false and treacherous part towards her daughter, and by so doing had destroyed the happiness of her life.
"Whether my young lady thought that Mr. Almer had joined in the plot against her--that was what puzzled me a great deal at the time; but I was certain that he was innocent in the matter, as much a victim to the arts and wiles of a scheming old woman as the unfortunate lady he had married.
"The motive of the treachery was plain enough. M. Gabriel was poor, a struggling artist, with his place to make in the world. My master was rich; money and estates were his, and the old woman believed she would live to enjoy them if she could bring about a marriage between him and her daughter.
"She succeeded--too well did she succeed, and she met with her punishment. Though she was dead in her grave I had no pity for her, and her daughter, also, thought of her with bitterness. What misery is brought about by the mad worship of money which fills some persons' souls! As though hearts count for nothing!
"I understood it all now--my lady's unhappiness, her silence, the estrangement between her and her husband. How often did I repeat the sad words she had uttered! 'The past is lost to us forever.' Yes, it was indeed true. Sunshine had fled; a gloomy future was before her. Which was the most to be pitied--my lady, or her innocent, devoted husband, who lived in ignorance of the wrong which had been done?
"After the conversation I have just related, the behaviour of my mistress toward M. Gabriel underwent a change; she was gracious and familiar with him, and sometimes, as I noticed with grief, even tender. They walked frequently together; she was often in his studio when her husband was absent. Following out in my mind the course of events, I felt sure that explanations had passed between them, and that they were satisfied that neither had been intentionally false to the other. It was natural that this should have happened; but what good could come of this better understanding? Mischief was in the air, and no one saw it but myself.
"My lady recovered her cheerfulness; the colour came back to her face; her eyes were brighter, life once more appeared enjoyable to her. Mr. Almer was delighted and unsuspicious; but behind these fair clouds I seemed to hear the muttering of the thunder, and I dreaded the moment when my master's suspicions should be aroused.
"As my lady's time to become a mother drew near, many of the guests took their departure; but M. Gabriel remained. He and Mr. Almer were the closest friends, and they would talk with the greatest animation about pictures and books. M. Gabriel was very clever; the rapidity with which he would paint used to surprise us; his sketches were beautiful, and were hung everywhere about the house. Everybody sang his praises. He had a very sweet voice, he was a fine musician, there was not a subject he was not ready to converse upon. If it came to deep scholarship and learning I have no doubt that Mr. Almer held the first place, but my master was never eager, as M. Gabriel was, to display his gifts, and to show off his brilliant qualities in society. Certainly he could not win ladies' hearts as easily as M. Gabriel. These things are in the nature of a man, and one will play for the mere pleasure of winning, while another does not consider it worth his while to try. Of two such men I know which is the better and more deserving of love.
"Rapid worker as M. Gabriel was with his paintings and sketches, my lady's portrait hung upon his hands; he did not seem to be able to satisfy himself, and he was continually making alterations. When Master Christian was born, his mother's picture was still unfinished in M. Gabriel's studio."