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or several days after the eventful scene at the Chateau de Beaujardin nothing particularly worth mentioning occurred either there or at Valricour; outwardly at least, matters seemed to have relapsed into their ordinary routine, just as some usually placid stream, after being swollen and agitated for a while by a sudden storm of wind and rain, subsides once more into its customary channel. The marquis, indeed, might seem somewhat more sedate and more taciturn than was his wont, and the marchioness possibly suffered herself to be looked upon by her female friends as very much to be pitied for some mysterious cause of anxiety she could not divulge for all the world. Madame de Valricour, however, betrayed not the slightest indication that anything was going or had gone wrong; on the contrary, she appeared more lively and amiable than usual, and treated Marguerite with peculiar affability and sweetness. But Clotilde, at all events, was not slow to perceive that both Marguerite and herself were watched much more closely than they had ever been before by Madame de Bleury, a decayed gentlewoman and distant relative of Madame de Valricour, who had for some years past lived at the chateau, and discharged the multifarious duties of housekeeper, chaperone, duenna, and private secretary to the baroness as occasion required. More than once during those few days Madame de Valricour went over to Beaujardin, but did not take either of the young ladies with her, a circumstance at which Clotilde chafed not a little, declaring that she was quite sure that it was neither the weather nor the distance that stood in the way, as her mother alleged, but in order that she might not come across Monsieur de Crillon, who was just then on a visit at Beaujardin.
"What should I care about him?" she would say to Marguerite. "He has become much too grand a personage at court to care about such insignificant creatures as you or I. Why, I am told he is quite the right-hand man of the king's minister, and that he is likely enough some day to rise to be one of the first officers of state; but then he has no money, and as I have not a farthing, perhaps it is no wonder that mamma is in such terrible fear of our meeting, even for one evening, at Beaujardin."
And where was Isidore all this week? If any one asked, the reply was that it was believed he had gone to Paris to pay his respects to the king, though there were some amongst the domestics at Beaujardin who smiled when they heard that, for Monsieur Jasmin was still at the chateau; it was even whispered that Isidore had once or twice been seen at Valricour whilst the baroness was away. If that lady, however, did know anything of these rumours, she took no notice of them, and bided her time.
There had been a large party at Beaujardin, at which the marquis and marchioness, whatever may have been their disquietude at heart, had treated their guests with all their wonted courtesy and attention. Nevertheless it is likely enough that long after the numerous and distinguished visitors had retired to rest, the noble host and hostess, as well as the Baroness de Valricour, who had been present, spent more than one wakeful hour. Besides them, however, there were three other persons in the chateau who sat up till a late period of the night. In a handsomely furnished and well lighted apartment at the rear of the mansion Monsieur Boulederouloue, the steward ormaître d'hotel, with his special guests, Monsieur Achille Perigord, thechef de cuisine, and Monsieur Jasmin, the young marquis' valet, yet lingered over a flask of Chateau d'Yquem, such as all the regiments of royal butlers at Versailles could not have set before his most Christian Majesty Louis Quinze himself.
The three men were in every particular about as unlike to each other as any three men could be. The valet, who possessed an unusually good face and figure, whose costume was unexceptionable, and who had acquired to perfection the ultra-courteous manners of the time, might have passed for a nobleman anywhere except alongside of a real one. One might really have been excused for fancying him of a different race of beings from Monsieur Boulederouloue, the shapelessness of whose huge unwieldy frame was happily rendered undistinguishable by an extravagantly full suit of the Louis Quatorze fashion. An enormous full-bottomed wig of the same period surmounted and flanked his full moon face of pasty whiteness, most like the battered and colourless visage of an old wax doll, in which a transverse slit does duty for a mouth, and whose deficiency in the article of nose is counterbalanced by great glassy eyes guiltless of a single atom of expression. Marvellous indeed was Monsieur Boulederouloue's stolidity in all things, and not less notable his stupidity in all but one; that one thing, however, was his business asmaître d'hotel, in which he was unsurpassed, unrivalled. If you told him that there had been no kings of France before Louis the Fourteenth, and that his native country was an island in the Pacific, that grass grew on trees in India, and that the stars were old moons chopped up into bits, he would have stared at you and believed it all. What did he know of such things? His father and grandfather had been stewards in the Beaujardin family before he was born; from his infancy he had seen, noted, watched, talked of, cared for only what pertained to the proper regulation of the household that constituted his little world. So he grew up, and on the day on which his father, old Mathieu Boulederouloue, departed this life, young Mathieu put on the Louis Quatorze suit and wig, and not one of the guests at the chateau could have imagined that the one functionary in the place most important to him had bequeathed to new and untried hands the post that he had filled for forty years. What of it? From that day it was with young Mathieu as it had been with old Mathieu. One glance into the brilliant saloon told him how many covers were required for supper, what wines, what viands, suited the occasion. One stately walk round the furnished table was enough for him to detect the minutest error or omission of his myrmidons. Not one of the hundreds of guests that visited the chateau crossed the great hall to whom themaître d'hotelwas unable to assign on the spot the chamber he was to occupy, his place at table, and the degree of precedence to which he was entitled. Yes, M. Boulederouloue was assuredly a perfect master of his business; and what is more, the scores of servants under him were all masters of theirs, for he had a most simple and summary mode of dealing with any one that was not perfectly in order. The offending party was at once summoned to the presence of Monsieur Boulederouloue, who presented him with an order on the intendant for the wages due to him, and without a word waved his hand towards the door. Remonstrance and entreaty, or the assurance that it was a first fault, were alike in vain; a stare, a shrug, and just possibly the pithy injunction, "Go!" was the utmost they ever elicited from themaître d'hotel; and as their wages were high and always paid to the day, a practice by no means common in great households in those times, the cases of delinquency were few, and M. Boulederouloue's staff, like himself, did their duty to perfection.
And Monsieur Perigord, thechef? Well, if Monsieur Boulederouloue weighed twice as much as M. Jasmin, the latter certainly weighed twice as much as Monsieur Perigord. Diminutive and meagre to a degree, the master of the kitchen possessed a mighty soul, and was endowed with an energy of purpose that must have made him first and foremost in any sphere of life; but fate had ordained that he should only be the first and foremost cook in all the world, though as Beaujardin, and not Versailles, was the scene of his operations, it is only in these humble pages that his name will go down to posterity. Such was his restless vivacity, that in his ever ready denunciations of anything poor and mean, or cowardly, his shrivelled frame would quiver like a marionette on wires; he would rend in shreds his laced frill and ruffles, scattering thorn like snowflakes on the floor, and end by flinging after them his small pig-tailed queue, leaving all bare and bald a head that for colour and size might have been mistaken for an ostrich egg, but for the hawk-like beak and small fiery black eyes, that would have been ridiculous in any face but that of Monsieur Perigord.
That Monsieur Jasmin should look down with sovereign contempt on two such men—on themaître d'hotelfor his entire absence of all sensitiveness, and on thechef de cuisinefor his unpolished excess of it was only natural. Yet it must not be supposed that with either of them he indulged that air of supercilious patronage with which he was accustomed to treat all not absolutely above him in the social scale; it would have been simply thrown away upon the one, the other would have kicked him for it, even if he had to get upon a chair to do so. Still Monsieur Jasmin managed to maintain some kind of mysterious superiority over both, and, on the present occasion, he took care to let them know that he was the depository of a most important family secret—in fact the counsellor and confidential agent in an affair of the most vital consequence to the powers above. At first he had only dropped vague hints, but what with M. Boulederouloue's dullness in comprehending them, and Monsieur Perigord's sudden and searching comments on them, he gradually began to let out more and more. Perhaps the Chateau d'Yquem loosened M. Jasmin's tongue, for he had latterly been staying much at Valricour, and as the wine allowed that household was of a quality and quantity that gave an additional relish to unstinted measure and a vintage of the choicest class, he became more and more communicative.
"To be sure—to be sure! It is but natural that Monsieur Isidore should marry Mademoiselle Clotilde," exclaimed the voluble little man, as Jasmin with a mysterious smile left some allusion to the subject half unsaid. "It is only what was to be expected—it could hardly be otherwise—any one could guess that. What! Have I not danced them both on my knees when they were babies, and seen them grow up together as it were hand in hand, as if they were destined from their cradles to be husband and wife? He is noble, generous, and handsome; she is witty, virtuous, and beautiful. What do you tell us of a rival—of complications—of difficulties—of amésalliance?"
Again M. Jasmin smiled mysteriously; M. Boulederouloue, collecting all his energies for the purpose, ejaculated, "Impossible!"
"Our good friend is right; it is impossible," continued Perigord vivaciously. "Who could come between them? Who else could aspire to the hand of monsieur our young marquis? Ah! my good friend, you have been dreaming of something till you have imagined it to be a reality."
Monsieur Jasmin was nettled, but he only smiled again more contemptuously, saying, "Of course, it was doubtless only a dream of mine that there is such a young lady as Mademoiselle Lacroix."
"What! Mademoiselle Marguerite, she is a reality indeed—sensible, handsome, courageous, charitable, an angel for one in her station; but then," here M. Perigord shrugged his shoulders, "she knows well that the rank of monsieur our young marquis forbids the thought of her aspiring to his hand. Ah, no! you deceive yourself, my friend, but you cannot deceive me in such a matter."
"Indeed," replied the other, sarcastically; "and what should you say if I tell you that she has won monsieur's heart already, and that he has offered her his hand? Yes," he added, observing the effect which his words produced even on the stolid countenance of the major-domo. "Yes, and what would you say if I told you that madame the baroness, who had set her heart on the union of the cousins, has discovered all this and has appealed to monsieur the marquis himself about it?"
Monsieur Perigord could only stare at the speaker in amazement, while, strange to say, M. Boulederouloue, with whom astonishment was an habitual and chronic state, was able to exclaim, "The world is coming to an end!"
"Absurd, ridiculous, preposterous, impossible!" cried Perigord at last, with a vehement sweep of his hand which sent a decanter and a couple of wine glasses flying off the table. "Monsieur Jasmin, your powers of invention are wonderful indeed, but I am not such a fool as to believe all this. How could you know it even if it were all true? Answer me that, my friend—answer me that!"
"But I am fool enough to believe what I know to be true," retorted the valet, forgetting his habitual caution in his irritation at M. Perigord's incredulity. "And if you wish to know how I learnt all this, permit me to inform you that madame the baroness herself was so obliging as to make me acquainted with it at interviews with which she favoured me. I can tell you more," he added, provoked by the scornful smile with which M. Perigord received these last words, and thereupon he gave forth, with a volubility that would have done no discredit to old Perigord himself, a tolerably full account of all he knew or had gathered from others respecting the affair, concluding with a supercilious intimation that he had now at madame's request taken the matter in hand, and would soon set all to rights.
"Ah, no doubt—no doubt! Madame could not have chosen a more able person for the business," cried M. Perigord, suppressing the indignation that boiled within him by an effort which could scarcely have deceived the wily valet had he been sober. "I was a fool indeed to suppose that my good friend could be mistaken in his surmises; but then I could not know that he was honoured with the confidence of madame the baroness. And yet it is a weighty matter—a maze of difficulties, a labyrinth of conflicting circumstances. If Mademoiselle Clotilde does not care for Monsieur Isidore after all, and he loves Mademoiselle Marguerite, and has actually plighted his word to her, what master-stroke of policy can even the genius of M. Jasmin devise to overcome such obstacles?"
The valet's wits were too blunted to detect the irony, but he drank in the flattery as he sipped his wine. "Bah!" replied he, "our young master can have his choice between a union with Mademoiselle Clotilde or alettre de cachet; and as for pretty Mademoiselle Lacroix, as she has no particular home of her own, she ought to be grateful if we find her one in some convent where the lady superior is not too fond of letting herprotégéesgad abroad—you understand?"
"Yes; but what if she should appeal to the baron, who, as we know, pledged himself to protect the poor orphan, and should refuse to permit her to go just wherever she is bid?" As he spoke these words M. Perigord clutched the chair in which he sat as if to keep himself steady, whilst a nervous twitching seemed to convulse his lilliputian frame.
"Oh, leave that to me," rejoined the valet; "I warrant you I'll find a way when the time comes, and that will very likely be no further off than to-morrow, to tempt the silly little bird into the snare of the fowler." Saying this, the valet rose as if to depart, but at the same moment the fiery little king of the kitchen bounded from his chair, sprang at him, and seized him by the throat, exclaiming—
"Traitor! miscreant! Is this your duty, faith, and loyalty to your young master? If all men had their due your false and cowardly heart should be torn out of your bosom for daring thus to plot against a noble and beautiful young lady, whom one would think even the meanest would feel bound to help and protect."
"The fiery little king of the kitchen bounded from his chair, sprang at him, and seized him by the throat.""The fiery little king of the kitchen bounded from his chair, sprang at him, and seized him by the throat."
"The fiery little king of the kitchen bounded from his chair, sprang at him, and seized him by the throat.""The fiery little king of the kitchen bounded from his chair, sprang at him, and seized him by the throat."
M. Boulederouloue rose from his chair and stood aghast, ejaculating solemnly, "It is terrible!"
"And to think that such a scoundrel should be trusted by madame the baroness! Shame upon her! It is abominable!" Saying which M. Perigord, who had by this time let go the valet's throat, snatched off his own wig and dashed it passionately on the floor. "Begone, despicable scoundrel that you are," he added, as the valet, with a malignant scowl, but without venturing to utter a word, made his way to the door. "Begone! go to madame if you like, and tell her that if old Achille Perigord can do anything to save our young master and this poor young lady from your horrible schemes he will not leave it undone, I promise you."
Having hurled this speech after his retreating foe, M. Perigord also retired, after a parting salutation to themaître d'hotel, who could only answer by holding up his hands and exclaiming, "Alas! the world is coming to an end!"
Tailpiece to Chapter V
Tailpiece to Chapter V
Headpiece to Chapter VI
Headpiece to Chapter VI
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fter the memorable interview with his father, Isidore had at first buoyed himself up with the hope that with the help Clotilde and Marguerite he might still find some way out of the difficulty; a night of anxious thought, however, convinced him that they would be powerless to effect anything, and that he must act for himself, and promptly too. He could not remain at Beaujardin, nor could he any longer accept the hospitality of the baroness. Besides, out of consideration for Clotilde he did not care to disclose to her her mother's part in the matter, whilst his pride recoiled from telling Marguerite all the humiliating incidents of the scene with his father. There could be no hope of their speedy union, or indeed of any favourable turn of affairs for some time to come, and he therefore resolved to go off straight to Paris and obtain his re-appointment to his former post in Canada; there he could communicate with his uncle, and secure his aid. He accordingly confided to a trusty messenger a note, in which he briefly informed Marguerite of the unfavourable result of his visit to Beaujardin, and of his object in proceeding to Paris, whence he promised to return without delay. He set off for that city on the following morning, and on arriving there made his application to the Minister of War; but two days elapsed before he received an answer. What was his astonishment on opening it to find that the application was refused! He was on the point of hurrying off to seek an interview with the Minister himself, when he perceived a small note, which had been enclosed with the official letter; it was in the hand of a confidential secretary whom he knew well, and ran as follows:—
"Quit Paris without an hour's delay, or you are lost. The danger also threatens a person about whom you are most concerned."
The warning came from one who would not have penned it without good grounds, and Isidore felt that it was not to be neglected for a moment. What if some mischief had already befallen Marguerite during his absence! In half an hour he was again in the saddle and on his way to Valricour.
Full of anxiety, and wholly unable to form any plan for want of information as to the nature of the impending danger, he rode on, with but scanty rest, stopping only for a few hours during each night. The road to Valricour passed close to Beaujardin, and the sun was just rising as he came to one of the side gates leading into the great gardens of the chateau. Suddenly the thought occurred to him that he would see his father once more, and make a final appeal to him. Prompt to act on his resolves, he sprang from his horse, and telling his attendant to await his return, entered the garden and made his way towards the mansion. Ah, if only his path were as clear and straight as those he was now treading—and yet the stiff formality of the vast pleasure grounds seemed hideous and hateful to him. To think that hundreds of thousands of livres should be spent on making nature as unlike to herself as possible. Here were miles of straight gravel walks and terraces, and hedges of almost incredible height, cut trimly to pattern like gigantic green walls, with prim and formal arches cut to the inch, and, for a change, long terraces with cold stone balustrades and statues, which, instead of giving life, made everything seem yet more lifeless. O for a thicket or a coppice, or a clump of tangled brambles, to show that there was some sympathy in nature with the tangled trouble of his heart! Yet the inflexible regularity of all around him produced one effect on Isidore, and led him to make up his mind on one point at least. He resolved that no consideration whatever should induce him to give up Marguerite, or to desert at such a crisis the poor girl who could have no hope but in his constancy. There were moments in which he could not help thinking that the kindest thing he could do would be to relinquish her, and thus free her at once from the persecution she had incurred. Still he clung to the notion that his father could not really intend to cast him off altogether. Yes, the marquis had been indeed harsh and angry, but it could not be denied that appearances gave him some excuse. These thoughts were passing through his mind when he noticed that some one was dogging his steps. In no mood to brook anything that looked like espionage he turned sharply on the intruder, and, to his surprise, found that it was old Achille Perigord.
"What! is it you?" said the young marquis. "What brings you here at such an hour?"
"Alas, alas! my dear young master," replied the old man, "then it is you indeed; I had hardly dared to hope for such good fortune. But there is not a moment to be lost."
"What do you mean?" answered Isidore, hastily. "What brings you here?"
"I thought I saw you in the garden as I stood at my window, almost despairing of ever seeing you again. Ah, there may yet be a chance of saving you, for you are in such danger that I shudder to think of it—you whom I have dandled on my knee—you who were always so brave and so good, and so considerate to me, and were always fighting any young malapert who laughed at old Perigord."
Isidore could not help feeling his heart yearn towards the oldchef, who, indeed, had got him out of many a boyish scrape, and allayed the pain of many a whipping with tarts, preserves, and other delicacies.
"Yes, you used to stand my friend often enough, Monsieur Perigord," said Isidore, as the old days came vividly back to his memory, "though I am afraid your well-meant sympathy will not help me much just now. But what do you know of my troubles and my danger?"
"I know all—everything—partly from what I have picked up in various quarters, for you may easily suppose that what goes on in the salon is talked about in the kitchen, but principally from that villain, that traitor, Jasmin, who for once let his tongue run on last night, and told enough to make it certain that something terrible is impending over you, and not only over you, but also over that sweet young lady, Mademoiselle Marguerite. Yes, my dear young master," continued the old man, as Isidore gave a slight start, and regarded him with manifest anxiety, "yes, I know how matters stand between you, and that there is a plot hatching against you, in which—monsieur will excuse me if I say it plainly—madame the baroness is the chief actor, and in which she has bribed that rascal to assist her and to betray you."
Isidore gazed at him half incredulous, and yet after what he had learned at Paris, what could be more likely, considering Madame de Valricour's conduct, and the check she had received in her most cherished plans?
"And Jasmin too! Where is the scoundrel?" said Isidore, impetuously. "Is he here?"
"My good master, do not waste time on him. I tell you frankly that I fear madame is contemplating alettre de cachet, it may be for mademoiselle only, but I do not believe that even you are safe from her machinations, and I have reason to believe she has influence enough at Versailles for anything."
"I am not afraid of her, Monsieur Perigord," observed Isidore haughtily. "My father would hardly stand that, although he may be angry with me, as I suppose you know, since you know so much else."
"Perhaps so, perhaps so," answered old Perigord; "but it may be done behind his back, and before he can interfere. Besides, even if monsieur is safe I do not suppose he would let Mademoiselle Marguerite run any risk of such a horrible fate if he could help it."
"You are right, my good friend," said Isidore; "I am afraid there is danger indeed, and at all events I will do what I can to avert it. I will go on at once to Valricour and warn Mademoiselle Lacroix, though as to what more I can do I am at present utterly at a loss."
"Then I will tell you," rejoined the old man. "I have a cousin at St. Sulpice—you know the place, monsieur—it is on the Paris road from Valricour, not more than four or five leagues from the chateau; he is an honest and kindly man. I will go to him to-day—it is a fête day there, and my visit will cause no surprise. I will tell him that you are coming, and I am sure he and his wife will give mademoiselle a refuge—ay, and you too, if things should come to the worst—until something can be done. He is a worthy man, and I will answer for him with my life. Now go, my dear young master, and Heaven speed you. There is no time to lose."
Isidore would have expressed his thanks to the old man for the lively interest he had shown, and for the assistance he had so promptly offered in case of need, but Perigord had already vanished. Ten minutes later the young marquis was again on horseback, and on his way to Valricour.
On reaching the chateau Isidore found his cousin and Marguerite in a state of great anxiety on account of his long absence, and what he had to tell them was not calculated to allay their uneasiness. Fortunately they were alone, as the baroness had again gone over to Beaujardin that morning, and many a plan was discussed and abandoned by turns as their vague hopes of finding some way out of the difficulty alternated with the fears to which Isidore's account of the interview with his father, of the warning received in Paris, and of the meeting with old Perigord, could not but give rise. At last it was agreed that Isidore should wait and boldly face Madame de Valricour on her return, and that the final step to be taken should depend on the clue which that interview might afford as to the precise nature of the danger and the quarter from which it was likely to come. In the meanwhile Isidore, who was well known and much liked in the neighbouring village, engaged the services of a small tenant farmer who owned a good horse and cart, in case Marguerite's immediate removal from Valricour should prove to be necessary.
It was already dusk when the distant sound of wheels was heard, and on hastening to the window they perceived the great lumbering family coach coming up the avenue. In a couple of minutes more it had stopped at the hall door, and all eyes were bent on the spot to catch a sight of the baroness. To their surprise, however, no Madame Valricour descended from the vehicle, but they noticed that in addition to madame's coachman and footman it was accompanied by one of the Beaujardin servants on horseback, a not unusual precaution when persons of note travelled after dusk, although one which the state of her household and stable mostly obliged the baroness to dispense with. The mystery was soon solved by the entrance of a servant with a note for Mademoiselle Lacroix. It was from Madame de Valricour, and was to the effect that as she had found it impossible to return to the chateau that evening, she considered it undesirable that Marguerite should remain under her roof after what had passed, she had therefore, she added, sent the carriage to bring her to the Chateau de Beaujardin, where she would for the present remain.
More than once was this unexpected communication perused both by Marguerite and her friends, and then an animated dispute arose as to what was to be done. Marguerite, anxious only to escape from a roof under which she was in such a false position, was for setting off at once in compliance with the wishes of the baroness; Isidore, however, would not hear of her going alone, and declared that he would accompany her and make another appeal to his father.
Clotilde shook her head. "It is useless," said she; "nay, I will go further," she continued with a sigh, "I am afraid that there is more beneath this letter than we can fathom. It is not what my mother would write if this were all she meant. I will take Marguerite's place and go to Beaujardin."
"You!" exclaimed Isidore and Marguerite in a breath. "What will be the good of that?"
"At any rate," replied Clotilde, "I will try what I can do with my uncle, and I think I may do more than either or both of you just now."
"But how can I stay here?" pleaded Marguerite.
"I have not forgotten that; you can remain here no longer, and there is but one thing to be done. Isidore must take you at once and place you under the care of Greboeuf, at St. Sulpice. Ask me no questions; I have my reasons, but I cannot tell them. Alas! that it should ever fall to my lot to bid you, whom I have loved so dearly, to leave my own father's house!"
For a few minutes the two girls were clasped in each other's arms; but Clotilde soon regained her composure, and assuming as cheerful a face as she could, impressed upon her friend the necessity of carrying out her plan, which was this. She herself was to depart in the coach sufficiently disguised to pass for Marguerite; the latter, putting on Clotilde's cloak and hood, was immediately afterwards to leave the chateau with Isidore and go off to St. Sulpice. Clotilde was to let them know on the following day, through old Perigord, how matters stood at Beaujardin, so that they might act accordingly. By this time the horses had been baited, and all being now arranged, Isidore took down his cousin and hurried her into the vehicle, which started off at once.
Not a little perplexed and anxious at the turn things had taken, Clotilde leaned back in the comfortable coach and called to mind the various incidents of the day. At first her cheek flushed with indignation at the thought of her mother's conduct towards one whom hospitality and the commonest feeling of pity should have protected from such treatment. To think that it was her own mother! Clotilde covered her face with her hands and gave way to her tears. She was, however, not one of those who fold their hands and let circumstances overmaster them. She had by nature both the wit and the courage that can turn things to the best account; quickly drying her tears, therefore, she set herself to consider how she might take advantage of this unexpected visit to Beaujardin. She could not but fear that the baroness intended to carry off Marguerite to some safe place, where there would be no means of communicating with Isidore; such things were not seldom done, and with a strong hand too, when it was found necessary to cut the gordian knot of a family difficulty. In this design she would be foiled, at least for the present, and with the help of M. Perigord and his friends Marguerite might be kept out of harm's way. In the meanwhile Clotilde would have an opportunity of appealing to her uncle, who, she fully believed, would never countenance any positive ill-treatment of one who might be said to have been bequeathed to the hospitality of the family. She might have doubted even her own ability to detach the marquis from the enemy's ranks but for one little circumstance, which was this. On hearing Isidore's account of the scene at the Chateau de Beaujardin, and the incident of the charred scrap of paper, Clotilde had gone and examined the stove in the apartment occupied by Isidore during his recent visit. Not a trace could she find of anything having been burnt there, and a minute questioning of the domestics had proved beyond a doubt that any story of the burning of the letter in that room was a fabrication. She knew well her uncle's intense abhorrence of anything like treachery or deceit. It was indeed this trait in his disposition that had led to his severity towards Isidore, and it was on this that she now relied for the success of her efforts to enlist the sympathy of the old marquis in favour of her cousin and her friend.
Absorbed in these thoughts Clotilde took no note of time or distance, while the growing darkness and the absence of novelty in a ride from Valricour to Beaujardin, to say nothing of the pre-occupation of her mind, kept her from observing anything outside of the lumbering vehicle in which she sat. They had jogged on for a considerable time, however, when the coach stopped. Under ordinary circumstances this would hardly have interfered with Clotilde's meditations, the occurrence being common enough at a period when in France, as in other countries, most of the roads, except those along which the king himself was accustomed to travel, were usually in a deplorable condition, notwithstanding the lessons left behind by those famous old road-makers the Romans, and in spite of the iniquitous road-laws which threw upon all but the nobles an intolerable amount of personal labour in the making and maintaining of the highways. But on the present occasion Clotilde's attention was arrested by the circumstance that men were busy changing the horses, and although it was now dark, she noticed at the roadside a great white stone cross, from which she knew that they must have turned off from the direct road to Beaujardin. Surprised, and perhaps a little alarmed, she tried to open one of the windows to obtain some explanation, but it was so tightly fastened that she found this impossible. She tried the other, but that too defied all her efforts, and whilst she was still thus engaged the coach was once more driven on, and now at a gallop. Then, as she peered anxiously out, she observed that the horseman who rode close to the carriage was a much bigger man than the groom from Beaujardin who had started with them from Valricour, and that he was muffled in a great riding-cloak. Clotilde was one of those women whose courage rises just when that of others usually fails: without an instant's hesitation she stooped down, and the next moment the high wooden heel of one of her shoes sent the window-pane flying in shivers out upon the road. A touch of the spur at once brought her escort alongside of the broken window.
"Holloa!" he exclaimed, in a voice Clotilde had never heard before, "what is all this about?"
"Fellow!" she replied, indignantly, "what is the meaning of this? Who are you?—and why have we gone out of our road?"
"Ah, well," answered the man coolly, "of course it is natural enough that you should want to know, but——"
"Impudent scoundrel!" cried Clotilde, "stop the carriage this moment and let me alight, or——"
"Look you, mademoiselle," the horseman here broke in, bringing his face at the same time close to the carriage window, and speaking sternly, though in a low voice, as if to avoid being overheard, "you seem to be a fine spirited young lady, and I should be sorry to let that bring you into more trouble. You are not going to Beaujardin this time. I have my orders to take you somewhere else. Now just listen, no harm will come to you if you keep quiet and go peaceably. What is more, I give you my word, if you choose to take it, that I am going to hand you over to the safe keeping of a lady who, I suppose, will treat you as a gentlewoman ought to be treated, but go you must—there's no help for that. 'Tis of no use trying to raise an alarm; that might only cost a couple of lives, perhaps," and here the speaker just opened his heavy mantle sufficiently to show the butt ends of two heavy pistols at his belt. "So, mademoiselle," he concluded, "be complaisant, and make the best of a bad business."
For a few minutes Clotilde felt overwhelmed and almost stunned at finding herself suddenly, and without the slightest warning, in a position so strange and obviously so full of peril. As soon as she could collect herself, however, a light broke in upon her, and with it a faint hope of escape.
"Whoever you are," she exclaimed, calling to her unknown attendant, who now continued to ride close to the window, perhaps to stop promptly any possible attempt to give an alarm, "whoever you are, you have simply made a stupid mistake, which will only get you into trouble. I am not the lady you suppose. No, sirrah," she added, as her anger made her for the moment forget her danger, "I am Mademoiselle de Valricour; so now you will see that if you dare to attempt to carry out your villainy you will have to pay dearly for it the moment that I can send either to Valricour or to Beaujardin."
"A very likely thing, no doubt," replied the horseman; "I have had that sort of trick tried upon me more than once; but to tell you the truth I neither know nor care a sou whether you be what you say you are or not. I have my orders and I stick to them, so there's an end of it." With these words the man dropped a few paces behind, and left Clotilde to a very different train of meditations from those which had been so startlingly interrupted.
There could not be a doubt that she had fallen into a trap intended for another victim, and that the object of this nefarious plot was to put a stop to the engagement between Marguerite Lacroix and the young marquis. The thought that such foul means should be used for the purpose against her bosom friend brought the hot blood into Clotilde's cheeks, and she stamped her little foot impetuously in the height of her indignation. Then she paused, and her colour fled again as she bethought her of what might be the end of it all if she should be unable to communicate with her mother or the Marquis de Beaujardin, and should be left to——
To what? More than once she had heard M. de Crillon talk—and very unconcernedly too—of the living death of those who unhappily became the victims of alettre de cachet. Yes, she remembered well how once, in order to gratify her importunate curiosity, he had told her of people sent to Pignerol, St. Michel, or Isle Marguerite, never to be heard of more. He had actually taken to himself some little share of credit for the dread inspired far and near by the terrible length of the merciless arm which could strike down an enemy at the court of some foreign potentate. Not long since, indeed, it had dared to seize at Frankfort a man too dangerous through his connection with the world of letters, and had consigned him to a living tomb, if even his life had been spared. She shuddered at the thought; but even the prospect of a fate so dismal could not long keep down the generous and heroic spirit of Clotilde de Valricour. "At least," she murmured, "I shall save poor Marguerite; nay, I perhaps maybe the means of enabling her to be happy with Isidore in spite of these cruel machinations."
How long the journey lasted the unfortunate girl had no means of knowing; it seemed to her an age, though in reality it was but a few hours. She became at last nearly exhausted with the incessant jolting over rough roads, and plunging about in others that were little better than bogs. Excitement, however, and the continual apprehension of some unlooked-for catastrophe forbade all thoughts of sleep, and it was actually with a sensation of relief that she noticed that the huge carriage was rattling over a rough pavement, and heard the noise of great gates being swung to, and barred behind them. She looked out, and could just perceive that they had driven into a spacious court-yard, nearly surrounded by grey, sombre-looking buildings, at the great entrance door of which the vehicle drew up.
Tailpiece to Chapter VI
Tailpiece to Chapter VI
Headpiece to Chapter VII
Headpiece to Chapter VII
dropcap-A
lighting hastily from the carriage, Clotilde ran up the great flight of steps which led to the door. As she entered, it was closed behind her, but to her surprise, and much to her relief, she found that the janitress was a nun.
"Tell me, good sister, tell me for the love of Heaven, what place is this? Where have these men brought me to?" she exclaimed, trembling with excitement.
Apparently somewhat astonished at the vehemence of the new-comer, the female answered only by making a sign to Clotilde to follow her; she then led the way across the hall to a spacious apartment, and there left her. Clotilde would have repeated her questions, but she was too late, and on trying the door she found it locked.
The fact that the house must in some way be connected with a religious establishment of some kind allayed her fears, however, and she cast an anxious glance around the apartment, which was lighted by a handsome chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Her quick eye soon noticed more than one little accessory, which showed that the room was habitually occupied by a lady, and one moreover with wealth at her command, and apparently of refined taste. Any further speculations, however, were interrupted by the entrance of a personage whose dress and bearing seemed to indicate that she must be the Lady Superior of the place. The poor girl's first impulse was to spring towards her new protectress and pour out her troubles to her, but in spite of herself she felt the impulse checked, and her overflowing heart chilled by the cold and supercilious look that made still more repellant a face repulsively plain.
Clotilde could only clasp her hands together and gaze at her new hostess, as if she felt that any appeal for help or pity from such a quarter would be hopeless.
"I presume, mademoiselle," said the Lady Superior at last, "that we may begin by taking it for granted that you quite understand the reasons which have induced your friends, for your own good as well as in your own interests, to take the course they have done."
These words were spoken in a voice so sweet, and with an air of such high and courtly breeding, that for a moment Clotilde forgot everything else in her surprise that they could belong to one so hideously ugly. But the feeling was only momentary; the terrors of the night, which might well have beaten down the boldest spirit, had passed away; and once more, face to face with one of her own sex, Clotilde was herself again.
"I can indeed guess, madame," she answered, with almost her usual vivacity, "what reasons have induced those who should be dear to me to do this most wicked thing; but right glad am I to think that they have been foiled. By a strange mistake the bird they meant to catch has escaped, and I have for the moment fallen into the trap intended for another. I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance—a nearer acquaintance, indeed, I do not desire, if I am to understand that you are a willing party to this abominable plot—but I beg to introduce myself to you as the Baroness Clotilde de Valricour. May I beg the honour of your name and title?"
The lady's supercilious look gave place just for a few seconds to one of involuntary surprise, but it soon came back again as she replied, "Mademoiselle Lacroix will pardon me if I do not allow myself to be deceived by this little scheme. I have been made so far acquainted with the circumstances of the case as to know that much deceit has been already practised, in which I believe the young baroness you speak of has not been without her share, and this may be, for aught I know, some fresh and cleverly devised phase of it. I must be excused for believing that those who had the matter in hand would not make so very silly a mistake, and I have only to communicate to mademoiselle the object with which she has been brought hither."
It may well be imagined that Clotilde was not a little disconcerted both by the tone and tenor of this reply. Had she been able to frame any very definite wish during her journey, it would perhaps have been that she might meet with some such person as the Lady Superior of a religious house and claim her protection. Here she was in just such a position, yet with the clouds apparently gathering still more blackly over her. She would have been less surprised, however, had she known a little more about the antecedents of Madame de Varny, the Superior of the Ursuline Convent, the place to which she had been brought. Noble by birth, and pre-eminently lovely and accomplished, Madame de Varny had once been the proudest beauty of the court of King Louis, but having been attacked by that terrible scourge the small-pox, she had recovered only to find herself as hideous as she had once been beautiful. To be an object of loathing where she had formerly been courted and admired was more than her frivolous and worldly mind could bear, and she had retired to the seclusion of a nominally religious life, in which her rank and influence secured her the position she now enjoyed; but, like many of her class, she still clung to the world, and her intriguing disposition led her often enough to lend her aid, whenever those with whom she had been used to associate required it, to carry out some plot or scheme arising out of the debased and unscrupulous court life of that period. She was an old acquaintance of Madame de Valricour, and in her the baroness had found an able and willing confederate in the business now on hand.
"Madame," said Clotilde, after a short silence, "you will believe me or not, as you think best, and will make to me what communication you choose; it rests with me to decide how I shall act upon it."
"Not altogether," replied the lady, with a smile that had nothing very pleasant in it. "Mademoiselle will not have much choice in the matter. I shall not waste time," she continued, "by any allusion to the family circumstances to which you owe your visit here; they are as well known to you as to me—perhaps better. I can pity your infatuation of course; it must have been very great indeed to allow you to suppose that a personage so exalted as the Marquis de Beaujardin could for one moment dream of permitting an alliance between his son and one like yourself. Such a thing would be absurd, and of course the marquis and his relatives must prevent it by all and any means. It has been therefore arranged that a gentleman of excellent family, who it seems has had some opportunity of meeting you, and has, I hear, been much taken with your modest manners, as some foolish young men occasionally are, shall make you his wife. The marriage will take place here this afternoon; and I am permitted to tell you that the Marquis de Beaujardin has most generously taken it upon him to provide a dowry for you, notwithstanding your ingratitude to that noble family. You are indeed fortunate, my young lady, in so happy an ending to so lamentable an affair." Here the lady paused as if to receive the acknowledgments befitting such kindness and consideration.
"Indeed!" answered Clotilde at last. "Indeed! And pray, madame, what if, in the new character thus forced upon me, I should decline to accept the gentleman, and should fling my uncle's dowry in his face, and tell him that he ought to be ashamed of degrading himself by taking part against a poor orphan girl, whom he and his are bound by all that is sacred to love and protect? What then?"
The lady seemed just for a minute or so rather bewildered by Clotilde's vehement sally, but as soon as she recovered herself she replied with ominous coldness and decision, "I can scarcely suppose that mademoiselle could do anything so very silly; but if such should be the case, why there will be another ride in the coach, perhaps a longer one than the last. It will certainly not be to Beaujardin nor to Valricour. Where it may stop I will not pretend to say. But did Mademoiselle Marguerite never hear of such a thing as alettre de cachet? Well, you will have some hours to think over it, and in the meanwhile you will be quite safe here; but pray do not cherish any foolish hope that you have any choice except between a ring and a ride to some place where you will not be less safe than here, but where you will most assuredly stay a good deal longer. Let us hope that you will be better advised, and accept the hand of Monsieur de Crillon."
The hand of Monsieur de Crillon! Yes, those were the words with which the imperious dame had swept out of the room, locking the door after her. Clotilde could scarcely believe her ears. Then he, too, who had allowed her, nay, led her to suppose that to win her hand was the object nearest to his heart, had consented for the sake of the promised dowry to wed one for whom he cared not a jot, well knowing that the union could only bring misery, not happiness, to the victim of his selfish covetousness! Never till this moment had Clotilde suspected how much she really cared for him; but that was now a thing of the past. Happily she had learned in time how mean and despicable he was, and in her indignation she rejoiced at the humiliation he would experience on finding that the wicked scheme was marred, and that he himself would have the task of proving who she was, and bringing about her release. But it was a bitter thing to find herself in such a position, and to know that her mother, and even the marquis, were concerned in such a plot. It is scarcely to be wondered at that she at length gave way to her grief; her only comfort was that, as it had turned out, Marguerite had escaped the present danger, and as she thought of this she could not help feeling thankful that there would yet be a delay of many hours before the shameless de Crillon would discover how they had been foiled.
Somewhat reassured by these reflections, she proceeded to examine a little more calmly the place where she was detained. She now observed for the first time a side-table, on which a repast that might serve either as a supper or a breakfast was laid out, and on looking timidly through an open door she found a sleeping apartment, evidently intended for the expected prisoner. She was too excited as yet to take either food or rest, and sat down to meditate on the prospect before her. It would, however, be as painful as it would be profitless to follow her through the long hours that ensued; let us see, then, what in the meanwhile was happening elsewhere.
Madame de Valricour had remained at Beaujardin for the night, perhaps not caring to have to answer the questions with which Clotilde might be expected to meet her on her return home. What was her surprise when, early in the forenoon, a messenger arrived from Valricour with a note from Madame de Bleury, informing her that immediately on the departure of the coach on the previous evening Isidore had left the chateau in company with Mademoiselle de Valricour, and that they had not since returned. Utterly at a loss to account for so strange a proceeding, the baroness prepared to hasten home at once, but finally resolved first to make sure that the plot against Marguerite, which she deemed of the greatest moment, had been successful; and she accordingly set out for the convent. It was a ride of some hours' length, and she did not arrive until the afternoon was well advanced. Imagine her amazement and anger when, after hearing from the Superior an account of her interview with the young lady, she satisfied herself beyond a doubt that Clotilde was really there, and that it must have been Marguerite with whom Isidore had escaped from Valricour.
"Bid Monsieur de Crillon wait for me when he arrives," said she. "I shall want his help more than ever. In the meanwhile I will go and inform the curé that his services will not be required at present. I will then see my daughter, and take her home."
The little dwelling of Père Hypolite was at no great distance from the convent, and the baroness soon reached the small but exquisite garden, in which she found the priest busily engaged in planting out his choice flowers for the summer. A little later in the year and those flowers would outshine even the gay and splendid costume in which the baroness had hastily quitted the Chateau de Beaujardin. The unwonted appearance of a lady in such brilliant attire at once attracted the attention of Père Hypolite, who bowed respectfully as she approached him.
"You are Father Hypolite, the curé of St. Sulpice—is it not so?" said she. The old man bowed assent. "I have come to tell you that the marriage you were to have solemnised cannot take place to-day."
Père Hypolite looked somewhat surprised.
"The marriage!" said he. "I do not quite understand your ladyship."
"I mean the marriage of Mademoiselle Lacroix and a gentleman of rank who was to come here for the purpose," rejoined the lady. "The Lady Superior told me that you had been directed to hold yourself in readiness to perform the rite."
"The marriage of Mademoiselle Lacroix!" replied the priest, apparently amazed. "There must be some mistake. I did receive the directions of the Lady Superior, and the marriage took place this morning."
"This morning! Are you mad?" retorted the baroness. "What marriage?"
"The marriage of Mademoiselle Lacroix with the young Marquis de Beaujardin, who came here to St. Sulpice for the purpose."
"Fool! idiot! do you know what you are saying? There has been no marriage at the convent to-day. Are you mad?"
"Pardon me, madame," replied the priest, with dignity. "Even your ladyship's rank, whoever you may be, cannot excuse such expressions towards one of my holy calling. What I have told you is the simple truth. Little as I like these hasty and irregular proceedings, you must be well aware that one in my humble position must needs do the bidding of those who have a right to dictate to him in such matters. The persons I have named to you were married by me this morning soon after daybreak at the chapel of St. Sulpice."
For a little while Madame de Valricour seemed utterly confounded. As soon as she regained her self-control she demanded of the priest a full account of what had occurred.
"It was simply thus," said he. "Quite early this morning Colonel de Beaujardin, whom I know of course by sight, came to me, and, not without some agitation, told me that he wished to speak to me as to the possibility of his being united to Mademoiselle Lacroix, who had come to the village under circumstances of peculiar difficulty arising out of some family differences. I told him that I had already received directions respecting the marriage of Mademoiselle Lacroix on her arrival here, though of course I knew nothing of the private matters to which he alluded, and that it was not for me to enter into them. He seemed somewhat astonished."
"No doubt. I should think so indeed," muttered the baroness between her teeth. "What next?"
"I assumed, as a matter of course, that the family desired the marriage to be kept secret on account of the disparity in the rank of the young people; but this was no business of mine, and I simply asked him whether I should repair to the convent, and at what hour. He then told me that it was his wish that the marriage should be solemnised, not at the convent, but at our little chapel here, adding that he would arrange, if possible, to meet me there in an hour's time. He did so, and the marriage took place in the presence of Michel Greboeuf and his wife. I have nothing more to add."
"You have said enough, in all conscience," ejaculated the baroness, passionately. "But you shall pay dearly for this, miserable creature!" and with these words the enraged lady hurried away, leaving the good old priest as thunderstruck as she herself had been but a few short minutes since.
Inquiring of the first person whom she met the way to Michel Greboeuf's house, Madame de Valricour at once bent her steps thither, and soon reached the spot. Anything more miserable and dilapidated than Greboeuf's cottage could hardly be conceived, though it was perhaps no worse than the dwellings of most people of his class in France at that time. Michel was standing at the door, and a very small exercise of Madame de Valricour's powers was required in order to obtain from him the fullest corroboration of all she had heard from Father Hypolite.
"Though, to be sure," continued the simple-hearted peasant, who was quite won over by the gracious condescension of so grand a personage, "I think the young gentleman did not come here intending at first to marry the lady, but only to leave her for a time under our poor roof; but when they saw what a place it was they were in a great taking, as you may suppose, and he went down to Father Hypolite to talk about it, as I told him that the good man was always ready to help anybody in distress; and sure enough he came back presently and said they were to be married at once. The poor young lady was in a terrible way about it, I can tell you, madame. However, we all went down together to the chapel, and that is how it came about."
"What! are they still here then?" asked Madame de Valricour, eagerly.
"O dear, no!" replied Greboeuf. "Our poor place is not fit for the like of them, for I assure you, madame, I think they be quite gentle folks."
"Poor place indeed! I should think so. What on earth could ever have brought them here?"
"Why, you see, madame, a cousin of mine, a M. Perigord, who is employed at the Chateau de Beaujardin, sent them here to me, and asked me to do anything I could to help them; and I would give the last drop of my blood to serve my cousin Perigord, for we should all have perished long ago but for his kindness. He kept us alive all last winter, when things were so bad. Ah, madame, you great folks don't know what the poor people suffer. We had no fuel and had to lie a-bed to warm ourselves, till we were obliged to get rid even of our beds and last bits of furniture for a mouthful of bread. But my cousin heard of it and helped us. As for those who haven't got such a friend, what with crown taxes, duties, fines, tolls, and forced labour on the roads, manorial dues, seigneurial rights, and I don't know how many more heart-vexing imposts and exactions besides, there's nothing left to subsist upon; and that's hard when one hears how grandly all the great folks live, and never lift a finger to keep the poor from starving."
"But where have they gone?" inquired the lady, eagerly.
"Well, madame, I took them on to the next village, where the gentleman got a good horse, and presently rode away with his young wife on a pillion behind him. They have gone to Nantes, where a brother of my cousin Perigord keeps an inn on the Quai La Fosse."
It was not long before Madame de Valricour was closeted with de Crillon, who had by this time arrived at the convent.
"We have come too late," said she, bitterly, after describing her interviews with the curé and Greboeuf.
De Crillon shrugged his shoulders. "I presume, then," said he, "that there is nothing more to be done."
"Nothing more!" retorted the lady, impetuously. "We have all the clue we want, and you have with you the king'slettre de cachet. I care not what becomes of her, so long as she is safely placed where she will not trouble us any more; but mind, M. de Crillon, no harm is to come to my nephew."
De Crillon smiled. "Ah," said he, "I am to dispose of the young lady, so that Monsieur Isidore may come back and some day marry Mademoiselle Clotilde?"
"That was not spoken with M. de Crillon's usual acuteness," replied the baroness. "Isidore is more likely in his anger and disappointment to betake himself anywhere else than to Beaujardin, and in any case you know that he is now married, and cannot wed Clotilde."
"Well, then," said he, "I fail to see the drift of madame's proposal."
"What!" exclaimed the baroness; "do you know so little what a woman is as to suppose that I could ever brook seeing this upstart come to Beaujardin as Isidore's wife, to lord it over me, after I have had every one there at my beck and call for a score of years past? Think you I could live to be tolerated by that child when she came to be mistress of Beaujardin? Never! Listen to me," said she. "You have played your part well enough till now, and I engage that, on my return to Beaujardin, I will obtain for you from the marquis the dowry you would have had with Mademoiselle Lacroix but for the accident which you could not help. That is but fair. But it must be on the condition that this hateful girl shall trouble me no more. I know well enough, monsieur, that it will be no disappointment to you to touch the dowry without being obliged to take the bride with it. Nay, more, I will add that, if things should so fall out that Isidore should fail to inherit Beaujardin, and Clotilde should become her uncle's heiress, it will be for you to win her hand if you can, and thus some day become the owner of that noble inheritance. Of course, not a word must be breathed at Beaujardin about this marriage. I have nothing more to say; it is for you to do the rest."
Within an hour Monsieur de Crillon had started off in pursuit of the fugitives, and the great unwieldy family coach, with Clotilde and her mother inside of it, and two of de Crillon's myrmidons acting as escort, was rolling along, like some great ship at sea, and ploughing up the miry roads, on its way back to the Chateau of Valricour.