Chapter Twelve.In a few minutes after Lionel’s return, which he had considerably postponed, until Monsieur Gironac’s dinner hour had all but arrived, my good host first, and then kind, merry little madame, made their appearance, and a little while was consumed in introductions, exclamations, admirations, and congratulations, all tinctured not a little by that national vivacity, which other folks are in the habit of calling extravagance, and which, as my readers well know already, the good Gironacs had by no means got rid of, even in the course of a longséjourin the matter-of-fact metropolis of England.Fortunately, my friends were for the most part,au faitto the leading circumstances of my life, so that little explanation was needed.And more fortunately yet, like tide and time, dinner waits for no man; nor have I ever observed, in all my adventurous life, that the sympathy of the most sentimental, the grief of the most woe-begone, or the joy of the happiest, ever induces them to neglect the summons of the dinner-bell, and the calls of the responsive appetite.In the midst of the delight of madame, at having at last to receive the brother ofcette chère Valerie, and that brother, too,si bel homme et brave officier, et d’une ressemblance si parfaite à la charmante soeur, dinner was luckily announced; and the torrent-tide of madame’s hospitality was cut short, by her husband’s declaration that we were all, like himself, dying of hunger; and that not a word more must be spoken, touching sympathies or sentiments, until we had partaken of something nutritiousde quoi soutenir l’épuisement des emotions si déchirantes.Madame laughed, declared that he wasun barbare, un malheureux sans grandeur de l’âme, and taking possession of Auguste, led him away into the dining-room: where, though she told me afterwards that she wasau comble de désespoirat having to sit us down to so everyday a meal, we found an excellent dinner, and spent a very pleasant hour, until coffee was served; when, with it, not a little to my surprise, nor very much to my delight, Monsieur de Chavannes made his appearance.There was a quizzical look on Monsieur Gironac’s face, and a roguish twinkle in his eye, which led me to believe that what was really a matter of surprise to me, was none to my worthy host; for the Count de Chavannes had never visited the house before, in the evening; nor, from what I had understood, was he on terms of particular intimacy with the Gironacs.I was foolish enough to be, at first, a little put out at this; and, having manifested some slight embarrassment on his first entrance, which I learned afterwards, did not escape his eye, though he was far too well-bred to show it, I made the matter worse by calling my pride to my aid, incited thereto by Madame Gironac’s glance and smile at my blushing confusion, and certainly in no respect contributed to the gaiety of the evening. Nothing, however, I must admit, could have been more gentlemanly or in better taste, than the whole demeanour of Monsieur de Chavannes, and I could not help feeling this, and comparing it mentally with the inferior bearing of others I had seen, even in the midst of my fit ofhauteurand frigidity.He neither immediately withdrew himself on learning that my brother, whom I had not seen for many years, had but just arrived as any half-bred person would have done under the like circumstances, with an awkward apology for his presence, tending only to make every one else more awkward yet; nor made set speeches, nor foolish compliments, on a subject too important for such trifling.He did not trouble me with any attentions, which he perceived would be at that moment distasteful, but exhibited the most marked desire to cultivate the acquaintance of Auguste, to whom he showed a degree of deference, though himself somewhat the senior, as to a military man, that flattered hisesprit de corps, mingled with a sort of frank cordiality, which except from countryman to countryman in a foreign land, would perhaps have been a little overdone: but, under the actual circumstances, it could not have been improved.For the short time he remained, he conversed well, and wittily; yet with a strain of fancy and feeling, blended with his wit, which rendered it singularly original and attractive; and perfectly succeeded, though I know not whether he intended it or not, in directing the attention of the company from my altered and somewhat unamiable mood.Among other things I remember, that in the course of conversation, while tendering some civilities to Auguste, the use of his riding horses, his cabriolet, or his services in showing him some of the lions of London, he observed that Monsieur de Chatenoeuf must not consider such an offer impertinent on his part, since he believed, if our genealogy were properly traced, some sort of cousinship could be established; as more than one of the De Chavannes had intermarried in old times with the Chatenoeufs of Gascony, when both the families, like their native provinces, had been acting in alliance with the English Plantagenets, against the French kings of the house of Valois.A few words were said, in connexion with this, touching the singularity of the fact, that it would seem as if England had something to do with the associations of the two families; but I do not think the remark was made by De Chavannes, and whatever it was, it was not sufficiently pointed to be in any way offensive or annoying.On the whole, hurt as I was in some sort by the idea which had taken hold of me, that the Gironacs, through a false and indelicate idea of advancing my welfare, were endeavouring to promote a liking between myself and the Count, I cannot deny, that the evening on the whole, was a pleasant one, and that, if at first it had been my impression that De Chavannes was agreeable, entertaining, and well-bred, I was now prepared to admit he had excellent taste, and delicate feelings into the bargain.Still I felt that I did not like him, or perhaps I should rather say his attentions—though in fact he had paid me none—and was rather relieved when he made his bow and retired.Shortly afterwards, Auguste observed that I seemed dull and tired, and Madame Gironac followed suit by saying that it was no wonder if the excitement and interest created by the unexpected arrival of so dear a brother had proved too much for my nerves.Thereupon, after promising to return early in the morning, so that we might have a long talk about the past, and a long consultation about the future, Lionel and Auguste bade us good-night also; but not before Lionel had said to me as he was taking leave, “I think, Mademoiselle, that it will be no more than proper, that I should drive down to Kew, to-morrow morning, and wait upon Judge Selwyn, who has always been so kind to me—have you any message for him?”“Oh! yes. I beg you will tell him that Auguste has come, and that I request he will let me know when we may wait on him?—”“And the answer will be, Mademoiselle, his waiting upon you. Is that what you desire?—”“I only desire what I state—to know when and how we may see him, for I know very little of Auguste’s heart, if he does not wish to return thanks to one who, except our dear friends here, has been poor Valerie’s surest confidant and protector. But you will find the Judge’s family increased since you saw him. His son has persuaded my pretty little friend, Caroline Stanhope, to become his wife, and she is living with the Judge’s family at present.”Lionel expressed his surprise and pleasure at the news, but I thought at the moment that the pleasure was not real, though I have since had reason to believe that the gravity which came over his face as he spoke, was the gravity of thought, rather than that, as I fancied at the time, of disappointment.Nothing more passed worthy of record, and, after shaking hands with Lionel, and kissing my long-lost brother, I was left alone with the Gironacs, half expectant of a playful scolding.“Well, Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf,” began Monsieur, as soon as the gentlemen had left us, “is it because you have found out that you have got a handsome brother, that you are determined to drive all other handsome young menau désespoir?—or is it that you wish to break the heart especially of thispauvre Monsieur de Chavannes, that you have treated us all with an airsi hautaine, si hautaine, that if you had been the Queen of France, it could not have been colder?”“I told you once before, Monsieur Gironac,” I replied, “that your Count de Chavannes does not care a straw how I treat him, or with what air. And if he did, I do not.—He is simply a civil, agreeable gentleman, who looks upon me as he would upon any other young lady, whom he is glad to talk to when she is in the humour to talk; and whom, when she is not, he leaves to herself, as all well-bred men do. But, I repeat, I do not care enough about him, to think for one moment, whether he ishautaineor not. And he feels just the same about me, I am certain.”“What brings him here then, eh?—where he never came before to-night? not for thebeaux yeuxof Madame, I believe,” with a quizzical bow to his wife, “or for thegrand espritof myself. I have an eye, I tell you, as well as other people, and I can see onepetit peu.”“I have no doubt you can, Monsieur,” I answered, rather pettishly; “for I suppose you asked him yourself; and, if you did so on my account, I must beg you will omit that proof of kindness in future, for I do not wish to see him.”“Oh! Monsieur Gironac, for shame, you have made her very angry with your ridiculous badinage—you have made her angry, really, and I do not wonder. Who ever heard of teasing a young lady about a gentleman she has never seen, only three times, and who has never declared any preference?”“Madame,” replied her husband, in great wrath, either real or simulated, “vous êtes une ingrate,—une,—une—words fail me, to express what I think of your enormous and unkind ingratitude. I amhomme incompris, and Mademoiselle here—Mademoiselle is eitherune enfant, or she does not know her own mind. Shall I give the Comte Chavannes his congé, or shall I not? I shall not,—for if she beune enfant, it is fit her friends look after her; if she does not know her own mind, it is good she have some one who do!—voilà tout. Here is why I shall not gocongédier monsieur le Comte. Why rather I shall request him to dine with me to-morrow, the next day, the day after. If he do not, I swear by my honour,foi de Gironac, I will dine at home again never more.”I could not help laughing at this tirade of the kind-hearted little man, on the strength of which he patted me on the head, and said I wasbonne enfant, if I were notsi diablement entêtée, and bade me go to bed, and sleep myself into a better humour; a piece of advice which appeared to mesojudicious, that I proceeded at once to obey it, and bidding them both a kind good-night, betook myself to my own room to ponder rather than to sleep. And, in truth, I felt that I had need of reflection, for with the return of Auguste, a tide of feelings, which had long lain dormant rather than dead within me had almost overwhelmed me; and the hardness which had its origin in the bitterness of conscious dependence, and which had gained strength from the pride of self-acquired independence, began to thaw in my heart, and to give way to milder and gentler feelings.The thoughts of home, the desire for my country, the love for my father who, though weak and almost imbecile, had ever been kind to me in person, the craving affection for my brothers and my sisters, nay! something approaching to pity or regret for the mother who had proved herself but a step-mother towards me, all revived in increased and re-invigorated force.By-and-bye, too, I began to feel that I should be very wretched after the parting with my beloved brother at the end of so brief a renewal of love and intimacy; to be aware of what I had scarcely felt before in the self-confidence of the position I had won—that it is a sad and lonely thing to be a sojourner in a foreign land, with no natural friends, no kind kindred on whom to rely in case of sickness or misfortune;—and, to consider, how dark and grave a thing must be solitary old age, and perhaps a solitary death-bed, far from the home of one’s youth, the friends of one’s childhood.Then there arose another thought connected with the preceding, by that extraordinary and inexplicable chain, which seems to run through the whole mind of man, linking together things apparently as far asunder as the poles, which have, however, in reality, a kindred origin. That thought was, wherefore should my life be solitary? Why should I stand apart and alone from my race, relying on myself only, and depriving myself, for the sake of a perhaps imaginary independence, of all the endearments of social life, all the sweet ties of family?Perhaps, the very presence of my brother had opened my eyes to the truth, that there is no such thing in the world as real independence. To realise that possession, most coveted, and most unattainable, one must be a Robinson Crusoe, alone on his desert island,—a sort of independence which no one, I should think, would practically desire to enjoy.Before sleep came, I believe that I began to muse about Monsieur de Chavannes; but it was only to think that I did not care in the least about him, nor he about me; and that, so far as he was concerned, I had seen no cause to change mydecidedresolution that I would never marry. All this was, perhaps, in reality, the best of proofs that I did already care something about him, and was very likely before long to care something more; for some one has said, and he, by the way, no ordinary judge of human nature, that if he desired to win a woman’s fancy or affection, his first step would be to make herthinkabout him—even if it were to hate him! anything before the absence of all thought, the blank void of real absolute indifference.Indeed, I believe it is nearly true, that a woman rarely begins to thinkoftenof a man, even if it be as she fancies in dislike, but when, however she may deceive herself, she is on the verge of loving him.Was such the case with me?At least, if it were so, I was then so far from knowing it, that I did not even ask myself the question. But I remember that when I fell asleep, I dreamed that I was standing at the altar with the Count de Chavannes, when a band of all those who had ever wronged me, my mother, Madame d’Albret, Madame Bathurst, the Stanhopes, Lady M—, rushed between us, and tore us forcibly asunder,—and I wept so loud that my sorrow awoke me, and it was some time before I was sure it was a dream.Early the next morning, Auguste came again to see me; and as Monsieur Gironac was abroad, giving lessons on the flute and guitar, while madame either was, or pretended to be, excessively busy with her wax-flowers, we had the whole day to ourselves until luncheon time, and we profited by it so well, that before we were interrupted, we had little to learn on either side concerning the passages of our lives, and the adventures, which both we and all our families had gone through. And if I had been a little inclined to be proud of myself before, and to give their full value to my energy and decision of character, I certainly now stood in no small danger of being spoiled by Auguste’s praises.For now half crying at my trials and troubles,—now laughing at Lady R—’s absurdities,—now bursting into vehement invective against my enemies,—he insisted that I was a perfect heroine—the bravest and most accomplished of women, as well as the dearest of sisters.But when I had finished my own story, which I did not begin until I had extracted from him every particle of information about my family—“Well, my little Valerie,” he said caressingly, as he put his arm about my waist, “you have told me everything—all your little sorrows, and trials, and troubles—all your little pleasures and successes—all your little schemings and manoeuvrings in the love-affairs of other people—and all about the great little fortune which you have accumulated—quite a millionaire, upon my word, with your twenty-five hundredlivres de rente—but not one word have you told me about your own littleaffaires de coeur. I am afraid, little sister mine, you are either a very great hypocrite, or very cold-hearted, which is it, dearest Valerie?”“Very cold-hearted, I believe, brother. At least I certainly have noaffaires de coeurto relate. I cannot pretend to say whether it is my fault or that of other people, but certainly no one ever fell in love with me, if it were not that odious Monsieur G—; and most certainly I have never fallen in love with any one at all.”Auguste gazed earnestly in my face for a moment, as if he would have read my heart, but I met his eyes with mine quite steadily and calmly, till at length I burst into a merry laugh, which I could not restrain.“Quite true, little sister?” he said, at last, after my manner had in some sort convinced him.“Quite true, Auguste, upon my honour,” I replied.“Well, Valerie, I suppose I must believe that earnest face, and that honest little laugh of yours.”“You may just as well do so, indeed,” I replied; “for no one was ever in love with me, I assure you. And I do not think,” I added, with a touch of the old pride, “that a de Chatenoeuf is likely to give away a heart that is not desired.”“It is all very strange,” he added. “And this Monsieur Lionel Dempster?”“Is a little older than poor Pierre, whom I used to pinch when I wanted to get out of my mother’s reach, and regards me very much as he would a much elder sister—almost, indeed, as a mother.”“A mother, indeed, Valerie!”“He once told me something of the kind! He is a very fine young man, certainly, full of talent and spirit, and will make you a very good and agreeable friend—but he is no husband for me, I assure you! He would do much better for Sophie, or Elisée, if he ever should see and like either of them.”“Always busy for others, Valerie! And for yourself—when will you think for yourself?”“I think Ihavethought, and done, too, for myself, pretty well. You forget my twenty-five hundredlivres de rente.”“But twenty-five hundredlivres de renteare not a husband, Valerie.”“I am not so sure about that. I daresay they would buy one at a pinch,” I replied, laughing; “at least, in ourpoorcountry, where everyone you meet in society is not a millionaire, like those cold islanders.”“I think you have grown almost as cold yourself, little sister, and as calculating.”“To be sure I have,” I made answer; “and to punish me, Monsieur Gironac swears that I shall die a sour old maid.”“And what do you say?”“An old maid very likely; but not a sour one, at all events. But, hark! there is a carriage at the door—let me see who it is.”And I jumped up, and running to the window, saw the Selwyn liveries, and Lionel,en cavalier, beside the carriage-window.In a moment, the steps were let down; and Caroline speedily made her appearance, commissioned, as she said, by her mother-in-law, to take immediate possession both of myself and Auguste, and to bring us down straightway to Kew. Her husband, she said, would certainly have called on Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, and the Judge also, but that the courts being all in session, they were both so completely occupied, that, except after dinner, they had not an hour of the twenty-four disengaged.She was commanded, moreover, she added, to invite Monsieur and Madame Gironac to dine at Kew on the following day. Me, moreover, and Auguste she was to carry down forthwith in the carriage.“So now,” she said, “get you gone, Valerie, and pack up as quickly as possible all that you require to make yourself beautiful for a week, at least.”“And what do you say to all this, messieurs?” said I, laughingly, to my brother and Lionel; “for there is much more necessity to consult you lords of the creation, as you call yourselves, who are in reality vainer by half, and care five times as much about your toilettes as we much calumniated women—what do you say about this summary packing up and taking flight—can it be accomplished?”“Itisaccomplished,” replied Lionel; “in so far at least that I have promised on my own part, and for Monsieur Auguste de Chatenoeuf in the bargain, to overlook the preparation of his kit as well as my own, and to bring them down in a cabriolet, while you and your brother are rolling smoothly along in the Judge’s venerable coach.”“All that is arranged, then,” said I, “and I will not detain you above ten minutes, during which time, I will send Madame Gironac to amuse you, and you can deliver your own message to her.”And then, without waiting for any answer, I hurried upstairs to make my travelling toilette, and to put up things for a week’s visit to my good friends.In the meantime, Madame Gironac, who had always been a great favourite of Caroline’s, had taken my place; and by the merriment which I could hear going on, I could not doubt that, on the whole, the party had been a gainer by the exchange.Before I was quite ready to make my reappearance, there came a smart double knock at the door; and then, after a minute or two, I could distinguish a gentleman’s footstep ascending the staircase to the dining-room.My own room looked towards the back of the house, so that I had no means of seeing for myself who the new comer was; and I did not choose to ask any questions of the servant girl, who was bustling in and out of the door with trunks and travelling-cases innumerable.So I finished my toilette with a heart that beat, I must confess, a little faster than usual, though I should certainly have been puzzled to explain why; put on my hat and shawl, perhaps a little coquettishly, and went down stairs, half impatient, half embarrassed, yet fully persuaded in my own mind that I had not the least expectation of seeing anybody in particular.I found all the company assembled round the luncheon-table when I entered, and busily engaged with thecotelettes a la Maintenonand green peas. Among those present was Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes, whom I certainly did not expect to see.He rose immediately from the table as I entered, and advanced a step or two to meet me, with a graceful inclination, and a few well-chosen words, to the intent that he had called in order to invite Monsieur de Chatenoeuf to go out and take apromenade à chevalwith him, in order to see the parks and the beauty of London.All this was said with the utmost frankness, and in the most unaffected manner in the world; and assuredly there was nothing either in the words, or in the manner in which they were uttered, which should have thrown me into a confusion of blushes, and rendered me for a moment almost incapable of answering him.It must be remembered, however, that I had been rallied very much concerning him of late by Monsieur Gironac, and I could scarcely avoid perceiving that this exceeding assiduity in doing the honours to Auguste could not but be attributed to some more potent cause than mere civility to a fellow-countryman.My confusion produced, for a second or two, a slight similar embarrassment in the Count, and the blood mounted highly to his forehead. Our eyes met, too, at the same instant; and though the encounter was but momentary, from that time a sort of secret consciousness was established between us.This scene passed in less time than it takes to describe it; and, becoming aware that every one’s eyes were upon us, I rallied instinctively, replied by a few civil words of thanks, and took a place at the table, which had been left vacant for me, between my brother and Lionel Dempster. This little interruption at an end, the conversation returned to the course it had taken before I came in, and there was a good deal of very agreeable talk; as is sure to be the case whenever four or five pleasant and clever people are thrown together under circumstances which create a sudden and unexpected familiarity, each person desirous of amusing and rendering himself pleasant to his companions of an hour; but not so anxious to make an impression, as to become stiff, stilted, or affected.Lionel, as I have said long ago, was remarkably witty and clever by nature, and had profited greatly by his opportunities in France; so much so, that I have rarely seen a young man of his age at all comparable to him. The Count was likewise a person of superior abilities and breeding, with a touch of English seriousness and soundness engrafted on the stock of French vivacity; and my brother Auguste was a young, ardent soldier, full of gay youth, high hopes, and brilliant aspirations, all kindled up by the excitement of thus visiting a foreign country, and finding himself in the company of a long-lost and much-beloved sister.Caroline Selwyn was quick, bright, and lively; Madame Gironac was a perfect mine of life and vivacity; and I, desirous of atoning for my folly of the past evening, did my best to be agreeable.I suppose I was not wholly unsuccessful, and every time I raised my eyes, I was sure to find those of Monsieur de Chavannes riveted on my face with a deep, earnest gaze, which, though it was instantly averted even before our glances met, showed that he was in some sort interested either in myself, or in my words.Before luncheon was finished, Monsieur Gironac made hisentrée, and it was finally arranged that he and Madame should join us at Kew on the following evening; and, before we set off, Caroline expressed a hope to the Count de Chavannes that he would call upon his friend, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, while he was staying at the Judge’s, explaining that it was impossible for Mr Selwyn or the Judge to wait on him for some days, until the courts had done sitting, when she assured him that they would do so without fail.He promised immediately, without a moment’s hesitation, that he would do so; and I believe a riding party was made up on the spot between himself, Lionel, and Auguste, for the second or third day.As soon as everything was settled, Caroline hurried us away, saying that her mother-in-law would think she had run off; and a short, agreeable drive carried us down to the Judge’s pleasant villa, where I was received almost as one of the family; and Auguste, rather as an old friend, than as a stranger and a foreigner.The time passed away pleasantly, for it was the height of the loveliest spring weather; the situation of the villa on the banks of the Thames was in itself charming; and for once the English month of May was what its poets have described it—that is to say, what it is once in every hundred years.Every one wished to please and to be pleased, and the Selwyns were of that very rare class of people, whom you like the more, the more you see of them—the very reverse of the world, in general—nothing could be more delightful than the week which we passed there.From the Judge I had no concealments; and regarding him almost in the light of a second father, while Auguste was prepared to love him for his love to me, we had many long conversations and consultations concerning my affairs, and the propriety of disclosing my existence to my father.This I was resolved upon, and both the Judge and Auguste approving, it was decided that it should be done.The only question then, which remained to be disposed of, was how far my disclosures should be carried, and whether it would be practicable, and if practicable, safe, that I should return to France at present, or indeed at all, while in my present condition.Auguste gave me his opinion, as he had done repeatedly, that my mother never had laid aside, and never would lay aside, her rancour towards me; and that she would grasp at the first opportunity of taking any vengeance upon me, which my presence should afford her.He did not believe, he said, that my father would be able long to preserve from her the secret of my being alive, and of my having raised myself to a condition of comparative affluence; nor did he feel by any means assured that, while labouring under the revulsion of feelings which the happy tidings would work upon his mind, my mother would not recover her ascendancy over him.Beyond this, he could say nothing; for as a young Frenchman, and more especially a young French soldier, he knew even less about the laws of France, and the rights of parents over children, than did Judge Selwyn; only, like the Judge, he was inclined to the opinion that I had better not trust myself within the limits of any jurisdiction which might be called upon to hand me over to the parental authority, until such time as I should be completely my own mistress as regarded them, which probably could only be effected by ceasing to be my own mistress as regarded some one else.“For be assured, Valerie,” he added, “that the possession of your person for the purpose of annoying you, and avenging herself on you for all the sufferings she has undergone in consequence of your supposed suicide, will become the darling object of her life, so sure as she learns that you are in the land of the living; and the fact of your having secured to yourself a little fortune will not act as a check upon her inclinations.”I sighed deeply; for, although I felt and knew the truth of all he said, and expected that he would say it, his words seemed to extinguish the last spark of hope in my heart; and it is a bitter and painful thing in any case for a daughter to feel that she shall in all probability never again be permitted to see the authors of her life, or the companions and scenes of her childhood; but it is doubly so when she feels it to be the fault of the wickedness or weakness of those whom she would fain love and esteem, but cannot.The good Judge marked my emotion, and, laying his hand kindly on my shoulder, said, “You must not give way, my dear girl; you have done all that is right and true and honest; and the course which you have taken has been forced upon you. To yield now, and return home to be tortured and despoiled of the little all, which your own good sense and your own good conduct have procured you—for, apart from good sense and good conduct, there is no such thing in the world as good fortune—would not only be positive insanity, but positive ingratitude to the Giver of all good. My advice to you, therefore, is to remain altogether passive, to pursue the career which you have chosen, and, without yourself taking any steps to disclose your present situation, to authorise your brother fully to reveal to your father so much of it, as shall appear necessary and desirable to him when on the spot. I should not recommend that your place of residence, or exact circumstances should be communicated even to him, at least for the present; and should he desire to write to you, the letters should pass through your brother’s hands, and be forwarded under cover to me, which will prevent the gaining of intelligence through the post-office. The rest we must leave to the effects of time, and of that Providence, which has been displayed so singularly in your behalf already, and which never deserts those who believe humbly, and endeavour sincerely to deserve Divine favour. So this,” he added with a smile, “is the end and sum total of an old lawyer’s counsel, and an old man’s sermon. And now, think over what I have said between you; for I believe you will find it the best course, although it may now hardly suit your excited feelings, and, in the meantime, let us go on the lawn and join the ladies, who seem to have got some new metal of attraction.”“Indeed, Judge,” I replied, “I am quite convinced of the wisdom of what you propose, and I thank you sincerely for your advice as for all your other goodness towards me. No father could be kinder to an only daughter, than you have been to me; and God will bless you for it; but, to say the truth, I do feel very sad and downcast just at this moment, and am not equal to the joining that gay party. I will go up to my own room,” I added, “for a little while, and come down again so soon as I can conquer this foolish weakness.”“Do not call it foolish, Valerie,” returned the old man with a benignant smile. “Nothing that is natural can be foolish—least of all, anything of natural and kindly feeling. But do not yield to it—do not yield to it. The feelings are good slaves, but wretchedly poor masters. Do as you will, my dear child, but come to us again as soon as you can. In the meantime, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, let us go and see who are these new comers.”And with these words, he turned away, leaning familiarly upon my brother’s arm, and left me to collect myself, and recover from the perturbation of my feelings as well and as soon as I could; which was not perhaps the more quickly that I had easily recognised in the new arrival, the person of the Count de Chavannes.I have entered perhaps more fully into the detail of my sentiments at this period of my life, for two reasons—one, because of an eventful life, this was upon the whole the most eventful moment—the other, that having hitherto recorded facts and actions rather than feelings or principles, I am conscious that I have represented myself as a somewhat harder and more worldly person, than I feel myself in truth to be.But the hardness and the worldliness were produced, if they existed at all, by the hardness of the circumstances into which I was thrown, and the worldliness of the persons with whom I was brought into contact.Adversity had hardened my character, and perhaps in some sort my heart also. At least, it had aroused my pride to the utmost, had set me as it were upon the defensive, and led me to regard every stranger with suspicion, and to look in him for a future enemy.Good fortune had, however, altered all this. All who had been my enemies, who had injured, or misrepresented me, were disarmed, or subdued, or repentant; I had forgiven all the world—was at peace with all the world. I had achieved what to me was a little competence; I was loved and esteemed by those whom I could in return love and esteem, and of whose regard I could be honestly proud. I had recovered my brother—I still hoped to be reconciled to my parents—and—and—why should I conceal it—I was beginning to think it by far less improbable that I should one day marry—in a word, I was beginning to like, if not yet to love.All these things had been by degrees effecting a change in my thoughts and feelings. I had been gradually thawing, and was now completely melted, so that I felt the necessity of being alone—of giving way—of weeping.I went to my own chamber, threw myself on my bed, and wept long, and freely.But these were not tears of agony such as I shed when I first learned Madame d’Albret’s cruel conduct towards me—nor tears of injured pride such as Madame Bathurst had forced from me, by her effort to humiliate me in my own eyes—nor yet tears of wrathful indignation, such as burst from me when I detected Lady M—, in her base endeavour to destroy my character.These were tears of affection, of softness, almost of joy. They flowed noiselessly and gently, and they relieved me, for my heart was very full; and, when I was relieved, I bathed my face, and arranged my hair, and descended the staircase almost merrily to join the merry company in the garden.I found on my joining them, that the Count de Chavannes had already completely gained the good graces, not only of Caroline and her young sisters-in-law, but of Mr Selwyn and the Judge also.He had come down to Kew with the particular purpose of engaging my brother and Lionel to accompany him, on the next day but one, to Wormwood Scrubs, where there was to be a grand review, in honour of some foreign prince or other, of two or three regiments of light cavalry, with horse-artillery and rockets. It was to conclude with a sham fight, and which he thought would interest Auguste as a military man, and especially one who had commenced his service in the hussars, though he had been subsequently transferred into the line.This plan had been discussed and talked over, until the ladies, having expressed a laughing desire to see thespectacle, it was decided that Caroline, the two Miss Selwyns and myself, escorted by Lionel, in the rumble, should go down to the review in the Judge’s carriage, Auguste and the Count accompanying usen cavalier, and that after the order of the day should be concluded, the whole party, including the Count, should return to dinner at Kew.On the day following, as I did not think it either wise or correct to neglect my pupils, my chapel, or Mrs Bradshaw’s school, although I had sent satisfactory reasons for taking one week’s leave of absence, we were all to return to town; I to good Monsieur Gironac’s, Auguste and Lionel to the lodgings of the latter in Suffolk Street.Monsieur de Chavannes did not stay long after I made my appearance, not wishing either to be, or to appear,de tropon a first visit; nor had he any opportunity of addressing more than a few common-place observations to me, had he desired to do so. Still I observed the same peculiarity in his manner towards me, as distinct as possible from the sort of proud humility, half badinage, half earnest, which he put on in talking with other ladies.To me he observed a tone of serious softness, with something of earnest deference to everything that fell from my lips, however light or casual, for which he seemed to watch with the utmost eagerness.He never joked withme, though he was doing so continually with the others; not that he was in the least degree grave or formal, much less stiff or affected; but rather that he seemed desirous of proving to me that he was not a mere butterfly of society, but had deeper ideas, and higher aspirations, than the every day world around us.When he was going away, he for the first time put out his hand to meà l’anglaise, and as I shook hands with him, our eyes met once more, and I believe I again blushed a little; for though he dropped his gaze instantly, and bowed low, taking off his hat, he pressed my fingers very gently, ere he let them fall, and then turning to take his leave of the Judge and Mr Selwyn, who had just joined us, mounted his horse—a very fine hunter, by the way, which he sat admirably—again bowed low, and cantered off, followed by his groom, as well mounted as himself.He was not well out of sight, before, as usual, he became the topic of general discussion.“What a charming person,” said Caroline. “So full of spirit and vivacity, and yet so evidently a man of mind and good feeling. Where did you pick him up, Valerie?”“He is an old friend, I told you, of Monsieur Gironac’s, and was calling there by accident when he met Auguste, and since that he has been exceedingly kind and civil to him. That is the whole I know about him.”“Well, he is very handsome,” said Caroline; “don’t you think so, Valerie?”“Yes,” I answered, quite composedly, “very handsome, a little effeminate-looking, perhaps.”“Oh! no, not in the least,” said Caroline; “or if he is, so quick and clever and spirited-looking that it quite takes all that away.”“Caroline,” said Selwyn, laughing, “you have no right to have eyes to see, or ears to hear, or mind to comprehend beauty, or wit, or any other good quality, in any one save me, your lord and master.”“You, you monster!” she replied, laughing gaily, “I never thought you one bit handsome, or witty, or dreamed that you had one good quality. I only married you, you know as well as I do, to get away from school, and from the atrocious tyranny of my music-mistress there. You need not look fie! at me, Valerie, for I’m too big to be put in the corner, now, and he won’t let you whip me.”“I think he ought to whip you, himself, baby,” replied the Judge, who had grown very fond of her; and, in truth, she was a very loveable little person in her way, and made her husband a very happy man.“Now, Judge Selwyn,” interposed I, “do you remember a conversation we once had together, in which you endeavoured to force me to believe that men in general, and you in particular, were not tyrants to your wives and families, and now do I hear you giving your son such advice as that? Alas! what can make women so insane?”“Don’t you know? Can’t you guess? Mademoiselle Valerie?” asked the old Judge, smiling slily, and with the least possible wink of his eye, when some of the others were looking at us, and then he added in a lower voice, “perhaps it will be your turn soon. I think you will soon be able to go to France without much fear of your mother’s persecution. Come,” he continued, offering me his arm, as the others had now moved a little way apart, “come and take a turn with me in the cedar-walk till dinner’s ready; I want to talk to you, for who knows when one will get another opportunity.”I took his arm without reply, though my heart beat very fast, and I felt uncomfortable, knowing as I did perfectly well beforehand what he was going to say to me.We turned into the cedar-walk, which was a long shadowy aisle, or bower, overhung with magnificent cedars of Lebanon, running parallel with the banks of the noble river, and so still and secluded that no more proper place could be found for a private consultation.“Well,” said the old man, speaking gently, but not looking at me, perhaps for fear of embarrassing me by his eye, “you know I am in some sort, not only your legal adviser, but your self-constituted guardian, and father confessor—so now, without farther preamble, who is he, Valerie?”“I will not affect to misunderstand you, Judge, though, upon my word, you are entirely mistaken in your conjecture.”“Upon your word! entirely mistaken! I think, not—I am sure, not.”“You are, indeed. I have not seen him above four times, nor spoken fifty words to him.”“Never mind, never mind—who is he?”“An acquaintance of Monsieur Gironac’s, Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes. His father emigrated hither during the revolution, engaged in commerce, and made a fortune of some 40,000 pounds. At the restoration, the old Count returned to France, and was made by Louis XVIII a Colonel of the Legion of Honour, and died shortly afterwards. There is an estate, I believe, in Brittany, but Monsieur de Chavannes, who was at school here, and has passed all his younger days in this country, is more an Englishman than a Frenchman, and only visits France at rare intervals. That is all I know about him, and that only by accident, Monsieur Gironac having told me, in his lively way, what I should not have dreamed of inquiring.”“Very proper, indeed—and very good so far, but one would like to know something definite about a man before taking him for one’s husband.”“I should think so, indeed, Judge; but as I am not going to take him for my husband, I am quite contented with knowing what I do know of him.”“And what do you know?—of yourself,—I speak of your own knowledge? No hearsay evidence in the case.”“Nothing more than that he is lively and agreeable, that he has very good manners, and seems very good-natured—I might say, he has been very good-natured to Auguste, poor fellow.”“Poor fellow! Yes,” answered the Judge. “But men are very apt to be good-natured to poor fellows, who have got nice sisters, with whom they are in love.”“I dare say, Judge. But to reply in your own phraseology—that is no case in point; for granting that Auguste’s sister isnice, which I will not be so modest as to gainsay, Monsieur de Chavannes is not the least in love with her.”“Perhaps, not.”“Certainly, not.”“Well, be it so? What else do you know about him?”“Nothing, Judge Selwyn.”“Nothing of his character, his principles, his morals, or his habits?”“Really, Judge, one would think, to hear you, that I was going to hire a footman—which I am much too poor to do—and that Monsieur de Chavannes had applied for the place. What on earth have I to do with the young gentleman’s character or principles? I know that he is very gentlemanlike, and is neither a coxcomb nor a pedant, which is refreshing in these days.”“And, as Caroline says, very handsome, eh?”“Yes, I think he is handsome,” I replied. “But that has nothing to do with it.”“Not much, truly,” said the Judge drily. “And this is all you know?”“Or desire to know. It seems to me quite enough to know of an acquaintance of a few days’ standing.”“Well—well,” he answered, shaking his head a little.“Well. Heisall that you say. A very fine young man, he seems. I like him. Well, I will make inquiries.”“Not on my account, I intreat, Judge Selwyn,”—said I, interrupting him eagerly.“Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf,” he said drily, though half in jest, “my head is an old one, yours a very young one. I know young folks are apt to think old heads good for nothing.”“I do not, I am sure,” interrupted I, again. “I do not, indeed.”“Nor I, Valerie,”—he answered, interrupting me in his turn, with a good-natured smile. “So you shall let me have my way in this matter. But, to relieve you, my dear, permit me to observe that I have two daughters of my own, and one young son, besides Charles, who is old enough to take care of himself; and, though I am very glad to ask a young man to dine in my house who has, as you observe, very good manners, and is neither a fool nor a coxcomb, I am not at all willing that he should become what you call anhabitué, until I know something of his character and principles. And now, as the dressing-bell has rung these ten minutes, and it will take you at least half-an-hour to beautify your little person, I advise you to make the most of your time. And by all means, Valerie, stick to your resolution—never marry, my dear, never marry; for all men are tyrants.”One might be very sure that I profited by this dismissal, and ran across the lawn as fast as I could, glad to escape the far-sighted experience of the shrewd old lawyer.“He has seen it, then,” I thought to myself. “He has observed it even in this little space; even in this one interview, and he has read it, even as I read it. I wonder if he has read my heart, too. No, no,” I continued, communing with myself, “that he cannot have done, for I know not yet myself how to interpret it.”Little thought I then, that whenever our feelings are deeply interested, or when strong passions are at work, even in embryo, we are for the most part the last persons who discover the secrets which are transparent enough, Heaven knows, to all persons but ourselves.I do not know, nor did I inquire whether the Judge pursued his inquiries concerning the Count as he had promised to do; much less did I learn what was their result. But I do know that the following morning the young gentleman called again at the gate with a led horse for my brother; but did not ask if we were at home, merely sending his compliments to the ladies, and requesting Monsieur de Chatenoeuf to accompany him for a ride.Lionel was absent in the city on business; so that Auguste and the Count rode out alone, and did not return until it was growing dark, when there was scarcely time to dress for dinner, the latter again sending in an apology for detaining my brother so long, and retiring without getting off his horse.This gave me, I confess, more pleasure than it would have done to see him, though that would have given me pleasure, too; for I saw in it a proof of something more than mere tact, of mental delicacy, I mean; and an anxiety not to obtrude either upon the hospitality of the Selwyns, or upon my feelings.Auguste, on his return, was in amazing spirits, and did nothing all dinner-time, but expatiate upon the companionable and amiable qualities of de Chavannes, whom he already liked, he said, more than any person he had ever seen for so short a time—so clever, so high-spirited, so gallant. Everything, in a word, that a man could desire for a friend, or a lady for a lover.“Heyday!” said the Judge, laughing at this tirade. “This fine Count with his black moustaches seems to have made one conquest mighty quickly. I hope it will not run in the company, or we shall have more elopements,”—with a sly glance at Caroline. “Mademoiselle Valerie here,” he continued, “is a terrible person for promoting elopements, too. But we must have none from my house.”We continued to be very gay all dinner-time. After dinner we had some music, and the Judge was just pressing me to sing, when Lionel’s servant came into the room, having hurried down from London, in pursuit of his master, in consequence of the sudden arrival of a large package of letters from Paris, endorsed “immediate, and to be delivered with all speed.”This incident broke up the party for the moment; and indeed threw a chill over us all for the whole evening, when it appeared that the principal letter was one to my brother from the Commandant of Paris, of which city his regiment formed a part of the garrison, reluctantly revoking his leave of absence, in consequence of some expectedémeute, and intimating that his presence would be expected at head-quarters on or before the third day of June; an order which it was, of course, impossible to think of neglecting or disobeying, while it would leave him at the furthest but a single week to give to us in London.It was a bitter disappointment to be separated after so brief a communion, but we consoled ourselves by the recollection that the Straits of Dover are not the Pacific Ocean, and that Paris and London are not a thousand leagues asunder.
In a few minutes after Lionel’s return, which he had considerably postponed, until Monsieur Gironac’s dinner hour had all but arrived, my good host first, and then kind, merry little madame, made their appearance, and a little while was consumed in introductions, exclamations, admirations, and congratulations, all tinctured not a little by that national vivacity, which other folks are in the habit of calling extravagance, and which, as my readers well know already, the good Gironacs had by no means got rid of, even in the course of a longséjourin the matter-of-fact metropolis of England.
Fortunately, my friends were for the most part,au faitto the leading circumstances of my life, so that little explanation was needed.
And more fortunately yet, like tide and time, dinner waits for no man; nor have I ever observed, in all my adventurous life, that the sympathy of the most sentimental, the grief of the most woe-begone, or the joy of the happiest, ever induces them to neglect the summons of the dinner-bell, and the calls of the responsive appetite.
In the midst of the delight of madame, at having at last to receive the brother ofcette chère Valerie, and that brother, too,si bel homme et brave officier, et d’une ressemblance si parfaite à la charmante soeur, dinner was luckily announced; and the torrent-tide of madame’s hospitality was cut short, by her husband’s declaration that we were all, like himself, dying of hunger; and that not a word more must be spoken, touching sympathies or sentiments, until we had partaken of something nutritiousde quoi soutenir l’épuisement des emotions si déchirantes.
Madame laughed, declared that he wasun barbare, un malheureux sans grandeur de l’âme, and taking possession of Auguste, led him away into the dining-room: where, though she told me afterwards that she wasau comble de désespoirat having to sit us down to so everyday a meal, we found an excellent dinner, and spent a very pleasant hour, until coffee was served; when, with it, not a little to my surprise, nor very much to my delight, Monsieur de Chavannes made his appearance.
There was a quizzical look on Monsieur Gironac’s face, and a roguish twinkle in his eye, which led me to believe that what was really a matter of surprise to me, was none to my worthy host; for the Count de Chavannes had never visited the house before, in the evening; nor, from what I had understood, was he on terms of particular intimacy with the Gironacs.
I was foolish enough to be, at first, a little put out at this; and, having manifested some slight embarrassment on his first entrance, which I learned afterwards, did not escape his eye, though he was far too well-bred to show it, I made the matter worse by calling my pride to my aid, incited thereto by Madame Gironac’s glance and smile at my blushing confusion, and certainly in no respect contributed to the gaiety of the evening. Nothing, however, I must admit, could have been more gentlemanly or in better taste, than the whole demeanour of Monsieur de Chavannes, and I could not help feeling this, and comparing it mentally with the inferior bearing of others I had seen, even in the midst of my fit ofhauteurand frigidity.
He neither immediately withdrew himself on learning that my brother, whom I had not seen for many years, had but just arrived as any half-bred person would have done under the like circumstances, with an awkward apology for his presence, tending only to make every one else more awkward yet; nor made set speeches, nor foolish compliments, on a subject too important for such trifling.
He did not trouble me with any attentions, which he perceived would be at that moment distasteful, but exhibited the most marked desire to cultivate the acquaintance of Auguste, to whom he showed a degree of deference, though himself somewhat the senior, as to a military man, that flattered hisesprit de corps, mingled with a sort of frank cordiality, which except from countryman to countryman in a foreign land, would perhaps have been a little overdone: but, under the actual circumstances, it could not have been improved.
For the short time he remained, he conversed well, and wittily; yet with a strain of fancy and feeling, blended with his wit, which rendered it singularly original and attractive; and perfectly succeeded, though I know not whether he intended it or not, in directing the attention of the company from my altered and somewhat unamiable mood.
Among other things I remember, that in the course of conversation, while tendering some civilities to Auguste, the use of his riding horses, his cabriolet, or his services in showing him some of the lions of London, he observed that Monsieur de Chatenoeuf must not consider such an offer impertinent on his part, since he believed, if our genealogy were properly traced, some sort of cousinship could be established; as more than one of the De Chavannes had intermarried in old times with the Chatenoeufs of Gascony, when both the families, like their native provinces, had been acting in alliance with the English Plantagenets, against the French kings of the house of Valois.
A few words were said, in connexion with this, touching the singularity of the fact, that it would seem as if England had something to do with the associations of the two families; but I do not think the remark was made by De Chavannes, and whatever it was, it was not sufficiently pointed to be in any way offensive or annoying.
On the whole, hurt as I was in some sort by the idea which had taken hold of me, that the Gironacs, through a false and indelicate idea of advancing my welfare, were endeavouring to promote a liking between myself and the Count, I cannot deny, that the evening on the whole, was a pleasant one, and that, if at first it had been my impression that De Chavannes was agreeable, entertaining, and well-bred, I was now prepared to admit he had excellent taste, and delicate feelings into the bargain.
Still I felt that I did not like him, or perhaps I should rather say his attentions—though in fact he had paid me none—and was rather relieved when he made his bow and retired.
Shortly afterwards, Auguste observed that I seemed dull and tired, and Madame Gironac followed suit by saying that it was no wonder if the excitement and interest created by the unexpected arrival of so dear a brother had proved too much for my nerves.
Thereupon, after promising to return early in the morning, so that we might have a long talk about the past, and a long consultation about the future, Lionel and Auguste bade us good-night also; but not before Lionel had said to me as he was taking leave, “I think, Mademoiselle, that it will be no more than proper, that I should drive down to Kew, to-morrow morning, and wait upon Judge Selwyn, who has always been so kind to me—have you any message for him?”
“Oh! yes. I beg you will tell him that Auguste has come, and that I request he will let me know when we may wait on him?—”
“And the answer will be, Mademoiselle, his waiting upon you. Is that what you desire?—”
“I only desire what I state—to know when and how we may see him, for I know very little of Auguste’s heart, if he does not wish to return thanks to one who, except our dear friends here, has been poor Valerie’s surest confidant and protector. But you will find the Judge’s family increased since you saw him. His son has persuaded my pretty little friend, Caroline Stanhope, to become his wife, and she is living with the Judge’s family at present.”
Lionel expressed his surprise and pleasure at the news, but I thought at the moment that the pleasure was not real, though I have since had reason to believe that the gravity which came over his face as he spoke, was the gravity of thought, rather than that, as I fancied at the time, of disappointment.
Nothing more passed worthy of record, and, after shaking hands with Lionel, and kissing my long-lost brother, I was left alone with the Gironacs, half expectant of a playful scolding.
“Well, Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf,” began Monsieur, as soon as the gentlemen had left us, “is it because you have found out that you have got a handsome brother, that you are determined to drive all other handsome young menau désespoir?—or is it that you wish to break the heart especially of thispauvre Monsieur de Chavannes, that you have treated us all with an airsi hautaine, si hautaine, that if you had been the Queen of France, it could not have been colder?”
“I told you once before, Monsieur Gironac,” I replied, “that your Count de Chavannes does not care a straw how I treat him, or with what air. And if he did, I do not.—He is simply a civil, agreeable gentleman, who looks upon me as he would upon any other young lady, whom he is glad to talk to when she is in the humour to talk; and whom, when she is not, he leaves to herself, as all well-bred men do. But, I repeat, I do not care enough about him, to think for one moment, whether he ishautaineor not. And he feels just the same about me, I am certain.”
“What brings him here then, eh?—where he never came before to-night? not for thebeaux yeuxof Madame, I believe,” with a quizzical bow to his wife, “or for thegrand espritof myself. I have an eye, I tell you, as well as other people, and I can see onepetit peu.”
“I have no doubt you can, Monsieur,” I answered, rather pettishly; “for I suppose you asked him yourself; and, if you did so on my account, I must beg you will omit that proof of kindness in future, for I do not wish to see him.”
“Oh! Monsieur Gironac, for shame, you have made her very angry with your ridiculous badinage—you have made her angry, really, and I do not wonder. Who ever heard of teasing a young lady about a gentleman she has never seen, only three times, and who has never declared any preference?”
“Madame,” replied her husband, in great wrath, either real or simulated, “vous êtes une ingrate,—une,—une—words fail me, to express what I think of your enormous and unkind ingratitude. I amhomme incompris, and Mademoiselle here—Mademoiselle is eitherune enfant, or she does not know her own mind. Shall I give the Comte Chavannes his congé, or shall I not? I shall not,—for if she beune enfant, it is fit her friends look after her; if she does not know her own mind, it is good she have some one who do!—voilà tout. Here is why I shall not gocongédier monsieur le Comte. Why rather I shall request him to dine with me to-morrow, the next day, the day after. If he do not, I swear by my honour,foi de Gironac, I will dine at home again never more.”
I could not help laughing at this tirade of the kind-hearted little man, on the strength of which he patted me on the head, and said I wasbonne enfant, if I were notsi diablement entêtée, and bade me go to bed, and sleep myself into a better humour; a piece of advice which appeared to mesojudicious, that I proceeded at once to obey it, and bidding them both a kind good-night, betook myself to my own room to ponder rather than to sleep. And, in truth, I felt that I had need of reflection, for with the return of Auguste, a tide of feelings, which had long lain dormant rather than dead within me had almost overwhelmed me; and the hardness which had its origin in the bitterness of conscious dependence, and which had gained strength from the pride of self-acquired independence, began to thaw in my heart, and to give way to milder and gentler feelings.
The thoughts of home, the desire for my country, the love for my father who, though weak and almost imbecile, had ever been kind to me in person, the craving affection for my brothers and my sisters, nay! something approaching to pity or regret for the mother who had proved herself but a step-mother towards me, all revived in increased and re-invigorated force.
By-and-bye, too, I began to feel that I should be very wretched after the parting with my beloved brother at the end of so brief a renewal of love and intimacy; to be aware of what I had scarcely felt before in the self-confidence of the position I had won—that it is a sad and lonely thing to be a sojourner in a foreign land, with no natural friends, no kind kindred on whom to rely in case of sickness or misfortune;—and, to consider, how dark and grave a thing must be solitary old age, and perhaps a solitary death-bed, far from the home of one’s youth, the friends of one’s childhood.
Then there arose another thought connected with the preceding, by that extraordinary and inexplicable chain, which seems to run through the whole mind of man, linking together things apparently as far asunder as the poles, which have, however, in reality, a kindred origin. That thought was, wherefore should my life be solitary? Why should I stand apart and alone from my race, relying on myself only, and depriving myself, for the sake of a perhaps imaginary independence, of all the endearments of social life, all the sweet ties of family?
Perhaps, the very presence of my brother had opened my eyes to the truth, that there is no such thing in the world as real independence. To realise that possession, most coveted, and most unattainable, one must be a Robinson Crusoe, alone on his desert island,—a sort of independence which no one, I should think, would practically desire to enjoy.
Before sleep came, I believe that I began to muse about Monsieur de Chavannes; but it was only to think that I did not care in the least about him, nor he about me; and that, so far as he was concerned, I had seen no cause to change mydecidedresolution that I would never marry. All this was, perhaps, in reality, the best of proofs that I did already care something about him, and was very likely before long to care something more; for some one has said, and he, by the way, no ordinary judge of human nature, that if he desired to win a woman’s fancy or affection, his first step would be to make herthinkabout him—even if it were to hate him! anything before the absence of all thought, the blank void of real absolute indifference.
Indeed, I believe it is nearly true, that a woman rarely begins to thinkoftenof a man, even if it be as she fancies in dislike, but when, however she may deceive herself, she is on the verge of loving him.
Was such the case with me?
At least, if it were so, I was then so far from knowing it, that I did not even ask myself the question. But I remember that when I fell asleep, I dreamed that I was standing at the altar with the Count de Chavannes, when a band of all those who had ever wronged me, my mother, Madame d’Albret, Madame Bathurst, the Stanhopes, Lady M—, rushed between us, and tore us forcibly asunder,—and I wept so loud that my sorrow awoke me, and it was some time before I was sure it was a dream.
Early the next morning, Auguste came again to see me; and as Monsieur Gironac was abroad, giving lessons on the flute and guitar, while madame either was, or pretended to be, excessively busy with her wax-flowers, we had the whole day to ourselves until luncheon time, and we profited by it so well, that before we were interrupted, we had little to learn on either side concerning the passages of our lives, and the adventures, which both we and all our families had gone through. And if I had been a little inclined to be proud of myself before, and to give their full value to my energy and decision of character, I certainly now stood in no small danger of being spoiled by Auguste’s praises.
For now half crying at my trials and troubles,—now laughing at Lady R—’s absurdities,—now bursting into vehement invective against my enemies,—he insisted that I was a perfect heroine—the bravest and most accomplished of women, as well as the dearest of sisters.
But when I had finished my own story, which I did not begin until I had extracted from him every particle of information about my family—
“Well, my little Valerie,” he said caressingly, as he put his arm about my waist, “you have told me everything—all your little sorrows, and trials, and troubles—all your little pleasures and successes—all your little schemings and manoeuvrings in the love-affairs of other people—and all about the great little fortune which you have accumulated—quite a millionaire, upon my word, with your twenty-five hundredlivres de rente—but not one word have you told me about your own littleaffaires de coeur. I am afraid, little sister mine, you are either a very great hypocrite, or very cold-hearted, which is it, dearest Valerie?”
“Very cold-hearted, I believe, brother. At least I certainly have noaffaires de coeurto relate. I cannot pretend to say whether it is my fault or that of other people, but certainly no one ever fell in love with me, if it were not that odious Monsieur G—; and most certainly I have never fallen in love with any one at all.”
Auguste gazed earnestly in my face for a moment, as if he would have read my heart, but I met his eyes with mine quite steadily and calmly, till at length I burst into a merry laugh, which I could not restrain.
“Quite true, little sister?” he said, at last, after my manner had in some sort convinced him.
“Quite true, Auguste, upon my honour,” I replied.
“Well, Valerie, I suppose I must believe that earnest face, and that honest little laugh of yours.”
“You may just as well do so, indeed,” I replied; “for no one was ever in love with me, I assure you. And I do not think,” I added, with a touch of the old pride, “that a de Chatenoeuf is likely to give away a heart that is not desired.”
“It is all very strange,” he added. “And this Monsieur Lionel Dempster?”
“Is a little older than poor Pierre, whom I used to pinch when I wanted to get out of my mother’s reach, and regards me very much as he would a much elder sister—almost, indeed, as a mother.”
“A mother, indeed, Valerie!”
“He once told me something of the kind! He is a very fine young man, certainly, full of talent and spirit, and will make you a very good and agreeable friend—but he is no husband for me, I assure you! He would do much better for Sophie, or Elisée, if he ever should see and like either of them.”
“Always busy for others, Valerie! And for yourself—when will you think for yourself?”
“I think Ihavethought, and done, too, for myself, pretty well. You forget my twenty-five hundredlivres de rente.”
“But twenty-five hundredlivres de renteare not a husband, Valerie.”
“I am not so sure about that. I daresay they would buy one at a pinch,” I replied, laughing; “at least, in ourpoorcountry, where everyone you meet in society is not a millionaire, like those cold islanders.”
“I think you have grown almost as cold yourself, little sister, and as calculating.”
“To be sure I have,” I made answer; “and to punish me, Monsieur Gironac swears that I shall die a sour old maid.”
“And what do you say?”
“An old maid very likely; but not a sour one, at all events. But, hark! there is a carriage at the door—let me see who it is.”
And I jumped up, and running to the window, saw the Selwyn liveries, and Lionel,en cavalier, beside the carriage-window.
In a moment, the steps were let down; and Caroline speedily made her appearance, commissioned, as she said, by her mother-in-law, to take immediate possession both of myself and Auguste, and to bring us down straightway to Kew. Her husband, she said, would certainly have called on Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, and the Judge also, but that the courts being all in session, they were both so completely occupied, that, except after dinner, they had not an hour of the twenty-four disengaged.
She was commanded, moreover, she added, to invite Monsieur and Madame Gironac to dine at Kew on the following day. Me, moreover, and Auguste she was to carry down forthwith in the carriage.
“So now,” she said, “get you gone, Valerie, and pack up as quickly as possible all that you require to make yourself beautiful for a week, at least.”
“And what do you say to all this, messieurs?” said I, laughingly, to my brother and Lionel; “for there is much more necessity to consult you lords of the creation, as you call yourselves, who are in reality vainer by half, and care five times as much about your toilettes as we much calumniated women—what do you say about this summary packing up and taking flight—can it be accomplished?”
“Itisaccomplished,” replied Lionel; “in so far at least that I have promised on my own part, and for Monsieur Auguste de Chatenoeuf in the bargain, to overlook the preparation of his kit as well as my own, and to bring them down in a cabriolet, while you and your brother are rolling smoothly along in the Judge’s venerable coach.”
“All that is arranged, then,” said I, “and I will not detain you above ten minutes, during which time, I will send Madame Gironac to amuse you, and you can deliver your own message to her.”
And then, without waiting for any answer, I hurried upstairs to make my travelling toilette, and to put up things for a week’s visit to my good friends.
In the meantime, Madame Gironac, who had always been a great favourite of Caroline’s, had taken my place; and by the merriment which I could hear going on, I could not doubt that, on the whole, the party had been a gainer by the exchange.
Before I was quite ready to make my reappearance, there came a smart double knock at the door; and then, after a minute or two, I could distinguish a gentleman’s footstep ascending the staircase to the dining-room.
My own room looked towards the back of the house, so that I had no means of seeing for myself who the new comer was; and I did not choose to ask any questions of the servant girl, who was bustling in and out of the door with trunks and travelling-cases innumerable.
So I finished my toilette with a heart that beat, I must confess, a little faster than usual, though I should certainly have been puzzled to explain why; put on my hat and shawl, perhaps a little coquettishly, and went down stairs, half impatient, half embarrassed, yet fully persuaded in my own mind that I had not the least expectation of seeing anybody in particular.
I found all the company assembled round the luncheon-table when I entered, and busily engaged with thecotelettes a la Maintenonand green peas. Among those present was Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes, whom I certainly did not expect to see.
He rose immediately from the table as I entered, and advanced a step or two to meet me, with a graceful inclination, and a few well-chosen words, to the intent that he had called in order to invite Monsieur de Chatenoeuf to go out and take apromenade à chevalwith him, in order to see the parks and the beauty of London.
All this was said with the utmost frankness, and in the most unaffected manner in the world; and assuredly there was nothing either in the words, or in the manner in which they were uttered, which should have thrown me into a confusion of blushes, and rendered me for a moment almost incapable of answering him.
It must be remembered, however, that I had been rallied very much concerning him of late by Monsieur Gironac, and I could scarcely avoid perceiving that this exceeding assiduity in doing the honours to Auguste could not but be attributed to some more potent cause than mere civility to a fellow-countryman.
My confusion produced, for a second or two, a slight similar embarrassment in the Count, and the blood mounted highly to his forehead. Our eyes met, too, at the same instant; and though the encounter was but momentary, from that time a sort of secret consciousness was established between us.
This scene passed in less time than it takes to describe it; and, becoming aware that every one’s eyes were upon us, I rallied instinctively, replied by a few civil words of thanks, and took a place at the table, which had been left vacant for me, between my brother and Lionel Dempster. This little interruption at an end, the conversation returned to the course it had taken before I came in, and there was a good deal of very agreeable talk; as is sure to be the case whenever four or five pleasant and clever people are thrown together under circumstances which create a sudden and unexpected familiarity, each person desirous of amusing and rendering himself pleasant to his companions of an hour; but not so anxious to make an impression, as to become stiff, stilted, or affected.
Lionel, as I have said long ago, was remarkably witty and clever by nature, and had profited greatly by his opportunities in France; so much so, that I have rarely seen a young man of his age at all comparable to him. The Count was likewise a person of superior abilities and breeding, with a touch of English seriousness and soundness engrafted on the stock of French vivacity; and my brother Auguste was a young, ardent soldier, full of gay youth, high hopes, and brilliant aspirations, all kindled up by the excitement of thus visiting a foreign country, and finding himself in the company of a long-lost and much-beloved sister.
Caroline Selwyn was quick, bright, and lively; Madame Gironac was a perfect mine of life and vivacity; and I, desirous of atoning for my folly of the past evening, did my best to be agreeable.
I suppose I was not wholly unsuccessful, and every time I raised my eyes, I was sure to find those of Monsieur de Chavannes riveted on my face with a deep, earnest gaze, which, though it was instantly averted even before our glances met, showed that he was in some sort interested either in myself, or in my words.
Before luncheon was finished, Monsieur Gironac made hisentrée, and it was finally arranged that he and Madame should join us at Kew on the following evening; and, before we set off, Caroline expressed a hope to the Count de Chavannes that he would call upon his friend, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, while he was staying at the Judge’s, explaining that it was impossible for Mr Selwyn or the Judge to wait on him for some days, until the courts had done sitting, when she assured him that they would do so without fail.
He promised immediately, without a moment’s hesitation, that he would do so; and I believe a riding party was made up on the spot between himself, Lionel, and Auguste, for the second or third day.
As soon as everything was settled, Caroline hurried us away, saying that her mother-in-law would think she had run off; and a short, agreeable drive carried us down to the Judge’s pleasant villa, where I was received almost as one of the family; and Auguste, rather as an old friend, than as a stranger and a foreigner.
The time passed away pleasantly, for it was the height of the loveliest spring weather; the situation of the villa on the banks of the Thames was in itself charming; and for once the English month of May was what its poets have described it—that is to say, what it is once in every hundred years.
Every one wished to please and to be pleased, and the Selwyns were of that very rare class of people, whom you like the more, the more you see of them—the very reverse of the world, in general—nothing could be more delightful than the week which we passed there.
From the Judge I had no concealments; and regarding him almost in the light of a second father, while Auguste was prepared to love him for his love to me, we had many long conversations and consultations concerning my affairs, and the propriety of disclosing my existence to my father.
This I was resolved upon, and both the Judge and Auguste approving, it was decided that it should be done.
The only question then, which remained to be disposed of, was how far my disclosures should be carried, and whether it would be practicable, and if practicable, safe, that I should return to France at present, or indeed at all, while in my present condition.
Auguste gave me his opinion, as he had done repeatedly, that my mother never had laid aside, and never would lay aside, her rancour towards me; and that she would grasp at the first opportunity of taking any vengeance upon me, which my presence should afford her.
He did not believe, he said, that my father would be able long to preserve from her the secret of my being alive, and of my having raised myself to a condition of comparative affluence; nor did he feel by any means assured that, while labouring under the revulsion of feelings which the happy tidings would work upon his mind, my mother would not recover her ascendancy over him.
Beyond this, he could say nothing; for as a young Frenchman, and more especially a young French soldier, he knew even less about the laws of France, and the rights of parents over children, than did Judge Selwyn; only, like the Judge, he was inclined to the opinion that I had better not trust myself within the limits of any jurisdiction which might be called upon to hand me over to the parental authority, until such time as I should be completely my own mistress as regarded them, which probably could only be effected by ceasing to be my own mistress as regarded some one else.
“For be assured, Valerie,” he added, “that the possession of your person for the purpose of annoying you, and avenging herself on you for all the sufferings she has undergone in consequence of your supposed suicide, will become the darling object of her life, so sure as she learns that you are in the land of the living; and the fact of your having secured to yourself a little fortune will not act as a check upon her inclinations.”
I sighed deeply; for, although I felt and knew the truth of all he said, and expected that he would say it, his words seemed to extinguish the last spark of hope in my heart; and it is a bitter and painful thing in any case for a daughter to feel that she shall in all probability never again be permitted to see the authors of her life, or the companions and scenes of her childhood; but it is doubly so when she feels it to be the fault of the wickedness or weakness of those whom she would fain love and esteem, but cannot.
The good Judge marked my emotion, and, laying his hand kindly on my shoulder, said, “You must not give way, my dear girl; you have done all that is right and true and honest; and the course which you have taken has been forced upon you. To yield now, and return home to be tortured and despoiled of the little all, which your own good sense and your own good conduct have procured you—for, apart from good sense and good conduct, there is no such thing in the world as good fortune—would not only be positive insanity, but positive ingratitude to the Giver of all good. My advice to you, therefore, is to remain altogether passive, to pursue the career which you have chosen, and, without yourself taking any steps to disclose your present situation, to authorise your brother fully to reveal to your father so much of it, as shall appear necessary and desirable to him when on the spot. I should not recommend that your place of residence, or exact circumstances should be communicated even to him, at least for the present; and should he desire to write to you, the letters should pass through your brother’s hands, and be forwarded under cover to me, which will prevent the gaining of intelligence through the post-office. The rest we must leave to the effects of time, and of that Providence, which has been displayed so singularly in your behalf already, and which never deserts those who believe humbly, and endeavour sincerely to deserve Divine favour. So this,” he added with a smile, “is the end and sum total of an old lawyer’s counsel, and an old man’s sermon. And now, think over what I have said between you; for I believe you will find it the best course, although it may now hardly suit your excited feelings, and, in the meantime, let us go on the lawn and join the ladies, who seem to have got some new metal of attraction.”
“Indeed, Judge,” I replied, “I am quite convinced of the wisdom of what you propose, and I thank you sincerely for your advice as for all your other goodness towards me. No father could be kinder to an only daughter, than you have been to me; and God will bless you for it; but, to say the truth, I do feel very sad and downcast just at this moment, and am not equal to the joining that gay party. I will go up to my own room,” I added, “for a little while, and come down again so soon as I can conquer this foolish weakness.”
“Do not call it foolish, Valerie,” returned the old man with a benignant smile. “Nothing that is natural can be foolish—least of all, anything of natural and kindly feeling. But do not yield to it—do not yield to it. The feelings are good slaves, but wretchedly poor masters. Do as you will, my dear child, but come to us again as soon as you can. In the meantime, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, let us go and see who are these new comers.”
And with these words, he turned away, leaning familiarly upon my brother’s arm, and left me to collect myself, and recover from the perturbation of my feelings as well and as soon as I could; which was not perhaps the more quickly that I had easily recognised in the new arrival, the person of the Count de Chavannes.
I have entered perhaps more fully into the detail of my sentiments at this period of my life, for two reasons—one, because of an eventful life, this was upon the whole the most eventful moment—the other, that having hitherto recorded facts and actions rather than feelings or principles, I am conscious that I have represented myself as a somewhat harder and more worldly person, than I feel myself in truth to be.
But the hardness and the worldliness were produced, if they existed at all, by the hardness of the circumstances into which I was thrown, and the worldliness of the persons with whom I was brought into contact.
Adversity had hardened my character, and perhaps in some sort my heart also. At least, it had aroused my pride to the utmost, had set me as it were upon the defensive, and led me to regard every stranger with suspicion, and to look in him for a future enemy.
Good fortune had, however, altered all this. All who had been my enemies, who had injured, or misrepresented me, were disarmed, or subdued, or repentant; I had forgiven all the world—was at peace with all the world. I had achieved what to me was a little competence; I was loved and esteemed by those whom I could in return love and esteem, and of whose regard I could be honestly proud. I had recovered my brother—I still hoped to be reconciled to my parents—and—and—why should I conceal it—I was beginning to think it by far less improbable that I should one day marry—in a word, I was beginning to like, if not yet to love.
All these things had been by degrees effecting a change in my thoughts and feelings. I had been gradually thawing, and was now completely melted, so that I felt the necessity of being alone—of giving way—of weeping.
I went to my own chamber, threw myself on my bed, and wept long, and freely.
But these were not tears of agony such as I shed when I first learned Madame d’Albret’s cruel conduct towards me—nor tears of injured pride such as Madame Bathurst had forced from me, by her effort to humiliate me in my own eyes—nor yet tears of wrathful indignation, such as burst from me when I detected Lady M—, in her base endeavour to destroy my character.
These were tears of affection, of softness, almost of joy. They flowed noiselessly and gently, and they relieved me, for my heart was very full; and, when I was relieved, I bathed my face, and arranged my hair, and descended the staircase almost merrily to join the merry company in the garden.
I found on my joining them, that the Count de Chavannes had already completely gained the good graces, not only of Caroline and her young sisters-in-law, but of Mr Selwyn and the Judge also.
He had come down to Kew with the particular purpose of engaging my brother and Lionel to accompany him, on the next day but one, to Wormwood Scrubs, where there was to be a grand review, in honour of some foreign prince or other, of two or three regiments of light cavalry, with horse-artillery and rockets. It was to conclude with a sham fight, and which he thought would interest Auguste as a military man, and especially one who had commenced his service in the hussars, though he had been subsequently transferred into the line.
This plan had been discussed and talked over, until the ladies, having expressed a laughing desire to see thespectacle, it was decided that Caroline, the two Miss Selwyns and myself, escorted by Lionel, in the rumble, should go down to the review in the Judge’s carriage, Auguste and the Count accompanying usen cavalier, and that after the order of the day should be concluded, the whole party, including the Count, should return to dinner at Kew.
On the day following, as I did not think it either wise or correct to neglect my pupils, my chapel, or Mrs Bradshaw’s school, although I had sent satisfactory reasons for taking one week’s leave of absence, we were all to return to town; I to good Monsieur Gironac’s, Auguste and Lionel to the lodgings of the latter in Suffolk Street.
Monsieur de Chavannes did not stay long after I made my appearance, not wishing either to be, or to appear,de tropon a first visit; nor had he any opportunity of addressing more than a few common-place observations to me, had he desired to do so. Still I observed the same peculiarity in his manner towards me, as distinct as possible from the sort of proud humility, half badinage, half earnest, which he put on in talking with other ladies.
To me he observed a tone of serious softness, with something of earnest deference to everything that fell from my lips, however light or casual, for which he seemed to watch with the utmost eagerness.
He never joked withme, though he was doing so continually with the others; not that he was in the least degree grave or formal, much less stiff or affected; but rather that he seemed desirous of proving to me that he was not a mere butterfly of society, but had deeper ideas, and higher aspirations, than the every day world around us.
When he was going away, he for the first time put out his hand to meà l’anglaise, and as I shook hands with him, our eyes met once more, and I believe I again blushed a little; for though he dropped his gaze instantly, and bowed low, taking off his hat, he pressed my fingers very gently, ere he let them fall, and then turning to take his leave of the Judge and Mr Selwyn, who had just joined us, mounted his horse—a very fine hunter, by the way, which he sat admirably—again bowed low, and cantered off, followed by his groom, as well mounted as himself.
He was not well out of sight, before, as usual, he became the topic of general discussion.
“What a charming person,” said Caroline. “So full of spirit and vivacity, and yet so evidently a man of mind and good feeling. Where did you pick him up, Valerie?”
“He is an old friend, I told you, of Monsieur Gironac’s, and was calling there by accident when he met Auguste, and since that he has been exceedingly kind and civil to him. That is the whole I know about him.”
“Well, he is very handsome,” said Caroline; “don’t you think so, Valerie?”
“Yes,” I answered, quite composedly, “very handsome, a little effeminate-looking, perhaps.”
“Oh! no, not in the least,” said Caroline; “or if he is, so quick and clever and spirited-looking that it quite takes all that away.”
“Caroline,” said Selwyn, laughing, “you have no right to have eyes to see, or ears to hear, or mind to comprehend beauty, or wit, or any other good quality, in any one save me, your lord and master.”
“You, you monster!” she replied, laughing gaily, “I never thought you one bit handsome, or witty, or dreamed that you had one good quality. I only married you, you know as well as I do, to get away from school, and from the atrocious tyranny of my music-mistress there. You need not look fie! at me, Valerie, for I’m too big to be put in the corner, now, and he won’t let you whip me.”
“I think he ought to whip you, himself, baby,” replied the Judge, who had grown very fond of her; and, in truth, she was a very loveable little person in her way, and made her husband a very happy man.
“Now, Judge Selwyn,” interposed I, “do you remember a conversation we once had together, in which you endeavoured to force me to believe that men in general, and you in particular, were not tyrants to your wives and families, and now do I hear you giving your son such advice as that? Alas! what can make women so insane?”
“Don’t you know? Can’t you guess? Mademoiselle Valerie?” asked the old Judge, smiling slily, and with the least possible wink of his eye, when some of the others were looking at us, and then he added in a lower voice, “perhaps it will be your turn soon. I think you will soon be able to go to France without much fear of your mother’s persecution. Come,” he continued, offering me his arm, as the others had now moved a little way apart, “come and take a turn with me in the cedar-walk till dinner’s ready; I want to talk to you, for who knows when one will get another opportunity.”
I took his arm without reply, though my heart beat very fast, and I felt uncomfortable, knowing as I did perfectly well beforehand what he was going to say to me.
We turned into the cedar-walk, which was a long shadowy aisle, or bower, overhung with magnificent cedars of Lebanon, running parallel with the banks of the noble river, and so still and secluded that no more proper place could be found for a private consultation.
“Well,” said the old man, speaking gently, but not looking at me, perhaps for fear of embarrassing me by his eye, “you know I am in some sort, not only your legal adviser, but your self-constituted guardian, and father confessor—so now, without farther preamble, who is he, Valerie?”
“I will not affect to misunderstand you, Judge, though, upon my word, you are entirely mistaken in your conjecture.”
“Upon your word! entirely mistaken! I think, not—I am sure, not.”
“You are, indeed. I have not seen him above four times, nor spoken fifty words to him.”
“Never mind, never mind—who is he?”
“An acquaintance of Monsieur Gironac’s, Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes. His father emigrated hither during the revolution, engaged in commerce, and made a fortune of some 40,000 pounds. At the restoration, the old Count returned to France, and was made by Louis XVIII a Colonel of the Legion of Honour, and died shortly afterwards. There is an estate, I believe, in Brittany, but Monsieur de Chavannes, who was at school here, and has passed all his younger days in this country, is more an Englishman than a Frenchman, and only visits France at rare intervals. That is all I know about him, and that only by accident, Monsieur Gironac having told me, in his lively way, what I should not have dreamed of inquiring.”
“Very proper, indeed—and very good so far, but one would like to know something definite about a man before taking him for one’s husband.”
“I should think so, indeed, Judge; but as I am not going to take him for my husband, I am quite contented with knowing what I do know of him.”
“And what do you know?—of yourself,—I speak of your own knowledge? No hearsay evidence in the case.”
“Nothing more than that he is lively and agreeable, that he has very good manners, and seems very good-natured—I might say, he has been very good-natured to Auguste, poor fellow.”
“Poor fellow! Yes,” answered the Judge. “But men are very apt to be good-natured to poor fellows, who have got nice sisters, with whom they are in love.”
“I dare say, Judge. But to reply in your own phraseology—that is no case in point; for granting that Auguste’s sister isnice, which I will not be so modest as to gainsay, Monsieur de Chavannes is not the least in love with her.”
“Perhaps, not.”
“Certainly, not.”
“Well, be it so? What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing, Judge Selwyn.”
“Nothing of his character, his principles, his morals, or his habits?”
“Really, Judge, one would think, to hear you, that I was going to hire a footman—which I am much too poor to do—and that Monsieur de Chavannes had applied for the place. What on earth have I to do with the young gentleman’s character or principles? I know that he is very gentlemanlike, and is neither a coxcomb nor a pedant, which is refreshing in these days.”
“And, as Caroline says, very handsome, eh?”
“Yes, I think he is handsome,” I replied. “But that has nothing to do with it.”
“Not much, truly,” said the Judge drily. “And this is all you know?”
“Or desire to know. It seems to me quite enough to know of an acquaintance of a few days’ standing.”
“Well—well,” he answered, shaking his head a little.
“Well. Heisall that you say. A very fine young man, he seems. I like him. Well, I will make inquiries.”
“Not on my account, I intreat, Judge Selwyn,”—said I, interrupting him eagerly.
“Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf,” he said drily, though half in jest, “my head is an old one, yours a very young one. I know young folks are apt to think old heads good for nothing.”
“I do not, I am sure,” interrupted I, again. “I do not, indeed.”
“Nor I, Valerie,”—he answered, interrupting me in his turn, with a good-natured smile. “So you shall let me have my way in this matter. But, to relieve you, my dear, permit me to observe that I have two daughters of my own, and one young son, besides Charles, who is old enough to take care of himself; and, though I am very glad to ask a young man to dine in my house who has, as you observe, very good manners, and is neither a fool nor a coxcomb, I am not at all willing that he should become what you call anhabitué, until I know something of his character and principles. And now, as the dressing-bell has rung these ten minutes, and it will take you at least half-an-hour to beautify your little person, I advise you to make the most of your time. And by all means, Valerie, stick to your resolution—never marry, my dear, never marry; for all men are tyrants.”
One might be very sure that I profited by this dismissal, and ran across the lawn as fast as I could, glad to escape the far-sighted experience of the shrewd old lawyer.
“He has seen it, then,” I thought to myself. “He has observed it even in this little space; even in this one interview, and he has read it, even as I read it. I wonder if he has read my heart, too. No, no,” I continued, communing with myself, “that he cannot have done, for I know not yet myself how to interpret it.”
Little thought I then, that whenever our feelings are deeply interested, or when strong passions are at work, even in embryo, we are for the most part the last persons who discover the secrets which are transparent enough, Heaven knows, to all persons but ourselves.
I do not know, nor did I inquire whether the Judge pursued his inquiries concerning the Count as he had promised to do; much less did I learn what was their result. But I do know that the following morning the young gentleman called again at the gate with a led horse for my brother; but did not ask if we were at home, merely sending his compliments to the ladies, and requesting Monsieur de Chatenoeuf to accompany him for a ride.
Lionel was absent in the city on business; so that Auguste and the Count rode out alone, and did not return until it was growing dark, when there was scarcely time to dress for dinner, the latter again sending in an apology for detaining my brother so long, and retiring without getting off his horse.
This gave me, I confess, more pleasure than it would have done to see him, though that would have given me pleasure, too; for I saw in it a proof of something more than mere tact, of mental delicacy, I mean; and an anxiety not to obtrude either upon the hospitality of the Selwyns, or upon my feelings.
Auguste, on his return, was in amazing spirits, and did nothing all dinner-time, but expatiate upon the companionable and amiable qualities of de Chavannes, whom he already liked, he said, more than any person he had ever seen for so short a time—so clever, so high-spirited, so gallant. Everything, in a word, that a man could desire for a friend, or a lady for a lover.
“Heyday!” said the Judge, laughing at this tirade. “This fine Count with his black moustaches seems to have made one conquest mighty quickly. I hope it will not run in the company, or we shall have more elopements,”—with a sly glance at Caroline. “Mademoiselle Valerie here,” he continued, “is a terrible person for promoting elopements, too. But we must have none from my house.”
We continued to be very gay all dinner-time. After dinner we had some music, and the Judge was just pressing me to sing, when Lionel’s servant came into the room, having hurried down from London, in pursuit of his master, in consequence of the sudden arrival of a large package of letters from Paris, endorsed “immediate, and to be delivered with all speed.”
This incident broke up the party for the moment; and indeed threw a chill over us all for the whole evening, when it appeared that the principal letter was one to my brother from the Commandant of Paris, of which city his regiment formed a part of the garrison, reluctantly revoking his leave of absence, in consequence of some expectedémeute, and intimating that his presence would be expected at head-quarters on or before the third day of June; an order which it was, of course, impossible to think of neglecting or disobeying, while it would leave him at the furthest but a single week to give to us in London.
It was a bitter disappointment to be separated after so brief a communion, but we consoled ourselves by the recollection that the Straits of Dover are not the Pacific Ocean, and that Paris and London are not a thousand leagues asunder.