A STEP IRREVOCABLE.
There was war between the English governess and Emily Chandos. Emily
was excessively popular; with her beauty, her gaiety, and her generous
wilfulness; she did nearly what she liked in the school—except of
course with the Miss Barlieus. For myself, I had learnt to love her.
She had her faults—what girl is without them? She was vain, petulant,
haughty when displeased, and a little selfish. But she possessed one
great gift of attraction—that of taking hearts by storm. Miss Johnstone
began by a mistake: the striving to put down Miss Chandos. She was
over-strict besides with her lessons and exercises; and more than once
reported her to Miss Annette for some trifling fault, magnified by her
into a grave one. The girls espoused Emily's cause; and Miss Johnstone
grew to be regarded, and also treated, with contempt. It vexed her
greatly; and there were other things.
Her name was Margaret. But she had incautiously left an open letter
about, in which she was repeatedly called "Peg." Of course that was
quite enough for the girls, and they took to call her Peg, almost in
her hearing. A new English pupil, who entered as weekly boarder, went
up at the English dictation and addressed her as "Miss Pegg," believing
it to be her real name. You should have seen Miss Johnstone's dark and
angry face, and the dancing eyes of Emily Chandos.
Madame de Mellissie had left for Paris; but her son, Monsieur Alfred,
remained at Nulle—his attraction being, as the girls said openly, Emily
Chandos. Emily laughed as she listened: but denial she made none. They
said another thing—that the beautiful hearts-ease ring she wore had
been his love-gift: and still there was no express denial. "Have it so
if you like," was all Emily said.
"She cannot think _seriously_ of him, you know," Ellen Roper observed
one day. "It is a match that could never be allowed by her family. He
is quite a second-rate sort of Frenchman, and she is Miss Chandos of
Chandos. He is a bit of a jackanapes too, vain and silly."
"Ellen Roper, I am within hearing, I beg to inform you," said Miss
Chandos, from half way up the desk, her face in a lovely glow.
"That is just why I said it," returned Ellen Roper, who, however, had
not known Emily was near, and started at the sound of her voice. "I
daresay he has not above a thousand pounds or two a year; a very fair
patrimony for a Frenchman, you know; but only fancy it for one in the
position of Miss Chandos."
"Go on, Ellen Roper! I'll tell something of you by-and-by."
"And, setting aside everything else, there's another great barrier,"
went on Ellen Roper, making objections very strong in her spirit of
mischief. "The De Mellissies are Roman Catholics; cela va, you know;
while the Chandos family are staunch Conservative Protestants. Lady
Chandos would almost as soon give Emily to the Grand Turk as to Alfred
de Mellissie."
A sort of movement at the desk, and we looked round. Quietly seated on
the low chair in the corner, her ears drinking in all, for we had been
speaking in English, was Miss Johnstone. Had she been there all the
time? Emily Chandos's bright cheek paled a little, as if there had
fallen upon her a foreshadowing of ill.
I do not know that it would have come, but that circumstances worked
for it. On this afternoon, this very same afternoon as we sat there,
Emily was called out of the room by one of the maids, who said Mrs.
Trehern had called to see her.
"Trehern?—Trehern?" cried Emily, as she went. "I don't know the name
from Adam."
Back she soon came with a radiant face, and presented herself to
Mademoiselle Annette, who was in class.
"Oh, Mademoiselle, some friends are here, and they wish me to go out
with them. Will you give me permission? It is Mr. and Mrs. Trehern."
"Trehern? Trehern?" repeated Mademoiselle Annette. "I don't remember
that name on your visiting list."
Emily knew quite well it was not there, since this was the first time
she had seen either of the parties: but she had trusted to the good
luck of Mademoiselle Annette's believing that it was.
"Mamma will be so vexed if I do not go. She is very intimate with the
Treherns. They have only just arrived at the town, Mademoiselle, and
have descended at the Hotel du Lion d'Or."
Which concluding words gave us the clue to Emily's eagerness for the
visit. For it was at that renowned hotel that Mr. Alfred de Mellissie
had been sojourning since his mother's departure. Mademoiselle Annette
was firm.
"You know the rules of the school, my dear. We have heard nothing of
these gentlepeople from your mamma, and it is impossible that you can
be allowed to go."
Emily Chandos carried back her excuses to the salon, and after school
gave vent to her mortification in a private outburst to us.
"Such a dreadful shame, these horrid French rules! As if the Treherns
would have poisoned me! But I despatch a letter to mamma to-night to
get permission. They are going to stay a month at Nulle. It is the
bridal tour."
"Have they just come from England?"
"Not at all. She is French, and never was in England in her life. She
is a friend"—dropping her voice still lower—"of the De Mellissies; at
least her mother is: it was through Alfred they called upon me to-day."
"Then does Lady Chandos not know them?"
"She knows him. It is a Cornish family. This one, young Trehern, fell
in love with a French girl, and has married her. They were married last
Thursday, she told me. She had the most ravishing toilette on to-day: a
white and blue robe: you might have taken it for silver. She's nearly
as young as I am."
The letter despatched to Lady Chandos by Emily set forth the praises of
Mrs. Trehern, and especially dwelt upon the fact that her mother was a
dear friend of Madame de Mellissie. Not a word said it, though, that
Mr. Alfred de Mellissie was sojourning at the Lion d'Or, or at Nulle.
And there came back permission from Lady Chandos for Emily to visit
them: she wrote herself to Miss Barlieu, desiring that it might be so.
Emily was in her glory.
A great apparent friendship sprang up between her and young Mrs.
Trehern, who was something like herself, inexperienced and thoughtless.
She was of good family, pleasing in manners, and quite won the hearts
of the Miss Barlieus. Relatives of hers, the De Rosnys, lived in their
château near Nulle—the cause of her passing sojourn there. We
schoolgirls remembered how Maximilian de Bethune, the young Baron de
Rosny, had been the envoy despatched by Henri le Grand to solicit
assistance of Queen Elizabeth, in the years subsequent to the great
slaughter of the Huguenots. We assumed that Mrs. Trehern might be of
the same family; but did not know it.
Often and often she arrived at the school to take out Emily Chandos. At
length the Miss Barlieus began to grumble: Mademoiselle Chandos went
out too frequently, and her studies were getting in arrear. Emily
protested it was her mamma's wish and pleasure that she should take
advantage of the sojourn of Mrs. Trehern to go out, and exhibited part
of a letter from Lady Chandos, in which the same appeared to be
intimated. Mademoiselle Annette shook her head, and said it was a good
thing the month of Mrs. Trehern's stay was drawing to its close.
Now it happened about this time that an uncle of Miss Johnstone's
passed through Nulle on his way to Paris, staying for a day at the
Hotel du Lion d'Or. He invited his niece to go to see him, saying she
might bring any one of the young ladies with her. She chose me, to my
own surprise: perhaps the reason was that I had never taken an active
part in annoying her as some of the rest had. The Miss Barlieus allowed
me to go; for they looked upon it, not that I was about to pay an
indiscriminate visit, but going out with one of the governesses, under
her safe convoy and companionship.
"Where are you off to, little Hereford," demanded Emily Chandos, who
was attiring herself before the one glass in the bedroom when I went
up, for she was to spend the afternoon with the Treherns.
"Miss Johnstone's uncle is at the Lion d'Or, and she has asked me to
dinner there. We are to dine at the table d'hôte."
"The Lion d'Or!" cried Emily, turning round. "What a chance! to have
that sharp-sighted duenna, Peg, dining at table with us!"
"What, do you—do the Treherns dine at the table d'hôte?"
"Where else should they dine? The hotel is too full, just now, to admit
of private dinners."
Mr. Johnstone came for us, and we walked about, looking at the old
town, until six o'clock, the dinner hour. A novel scene to me was that
crowded dining-room, with its array of company, of waiters, and of good
cheer; so novel that for some time I did not notice four seats,
immediately opposite to us, quite vacant. All eyes were raised at the
four who came in to fill them. Mr. and Mrs. Trehern; she dressed
elaborately, perfectly; not a fold of her robe out of place, not a hair
of her many braids; Alfred de Mellissie, with his airs of a petit
maître, but good-looking enough; and Emily Chandos, with her gay and
sparkling beauty.
"Just look there, Miss Hereford! Do you see that?"
Miss Johnstone's words were spoken in a low tone of consternation. I
_would not_ understand to whom she alluded.
"See what, Miss Johnstone?"
"Miss Chandos," she answered, devouring Emily with her eyes. "I wonder
if the Demoiselles Barlieu know that while she has been pretending to
visit the Treherns, it has been a cloak for her meeting that
Frenchman?"
"Oh, Miss Johnstone! she _has_ visited the Treherns?
"I can see through a mill-stone," was Miss Johnstone's cold answer.
Never were more defiant looks cast upon a governess than Emily Chandos
threw over the table at Miss Johnstone. That the latter provoked them
by her manner there was no doubt. I think—I always had thought—that she
was envious of Miss Chandos, though whence or why the feeling should
have arisen I cannot say. They were the most distinguished group at
table, Mr. Trehern—a fine, big, burly Cornishman—and his wife, Monsieur
de Mellissie and Emily: and the waiters treated them with marked
distinction. Even the appurtenances of their dinner were superior, for
none others within the range of my view ventured upon sparkling Moselle
and ice. They rose from table earlier than many, Emily throwing me a
laughing nod, as she took Mr. Trehern's arm, Alfred de Mellissie
following with Mrs. Trehern; but not vouchsafing the slightest notice
of Miss Johnstone.
"She may take her leave of it," I heard the latter whisper to herself.
Mr. Johnstone did not mend the matter, or his niece's temper. "What a
lovely girl that is!" he exclaimed. "She is English."
"Yes," answered Miss Johnstone, her lips parting with acrimony. "She is
one of my pupils."
"One of your pupils! How is it she took no notice of you?"
Miss Johnstone made no reply, but the acrimony on her lips grew
sharper: very sharp indeed when she saw Emily escorted home by M. de
Mellissie, with Mrs. Trehern's maid in attendance.
The explosion came next day. Miss Johnstone lodged a formal complaint
in private before the Miss Barlieus. Miss Chandos, she felt perfectly
certain, was being made clandestine love to by Monsieur Alfred de
Mellissie!
"Seated at the table d'hôte with the young man!—accompanied by him home
afterwards!" cried Mademoiselle Annette. "It is not to be believed."
Miss Johnstone said it was, and called me as a witness. Emily Chandos
was commanded to the salon, and questioned.
She could not deny it; she did not attempt it: rather braved it out.
"Where was the harm of it, Mademoiselle Annette? Monsieur de Mellissie
did not attempt to eat me."
"You know that the customs and ideas of our country are against this
kind of thing," emphatically pronounced Miss Barlieu. "I am surprised
at you, Mademoiselle Emily; you have deceived us. I shall write to
Miladi your mother to-day. If she sanctions this public visiting, I
cannot. I cannot possibly allow any young lady in my establishment to
run the risk of being talked of as imprudent. You will not go to Mrs.
Trehern again; she has shown herself little capable of taking care of
you."
"Do you mean, Mademoiselle, that I am not to go out in future when
invited?" asked Emily, her heart beating visibly.
"I shall very unmistakeably point out to your mamma the desirability of
your not again going out to visit; certainly you will not while
Monsieur de Mellissie remains at Nulle," was the pointed reply of Miss
Barlieu.
And Emily Chandos knew that her liberty was over. But for this, would
she have taken the irrevocable step she did take? Alas! it was soon too
late to speculate.
An immediate reply came from Lady Chandos, interdicting all
indiscriminate visiting for Emily; and saying that she must make good
use of her time in study, as she would leave school early in the
spring.
Did the arrival of that letter expedite the catastrophe? I cannot tell.
It was known that Madame de Mellissie, the mother, was at Nulle again,
and a very short while went on.
We were doing English with Miss Johnstone one afternoon, when Mrs.
Trehern called. Emily was allowed to see her, but Mademoiselle Barlieu
accompanied her to the salon. Some sort of explanation took place, and
Mrs. Trehern was informed that Miss Chandos could not visit her again.
She left, and Emily returned to the class, but the English lesson was
over then. Over in disgrace, for none of us had done well; at least,
Miss Johnstone said we had not. By way of punishment, she protested she
should make us finish it after supper.
We had bread-and-butter and shrimps for supper that night—I shall
always remember it; and we prolonged it as much as we could, drinking
three cups of tea each, and eating as many shrimps as we could get.
Emily Chandos did not appear, and Mademoiselle Caroline—who had viewed
the scandal, touching Alfred de Mellissie, with shocked
displeasure—would not allow her to be called, saying she was 'sulking.'
But the supper, spin it out as we would, could not last all night, and
Miss Johnstone, as good as her word, called us up with our English
books.
"Go and find Miss Chandos," she said to me. "She has chosen to go
without her supper, but she shall not escape her lesson."
Emily was not to be found. Amidst a search of commotion, the like of
which I had never seen, it was discovered that she had quitted the
house. The De Mellissies, the next inquired for, had quitted the town.
A telegraphic message went to Chandos, and Mademoiselle Barlieu took to
her bed with chagrin.
The despatch brought back Mr. Chandos, Emily's brother. About the same
hour that he arrived, a letter was received from London from M. Alfred
de Mellissie, saying that he and Miss Chandos had just been married by
special licence, and also by the rites of the Romish Church. That his
English mother had aided and abetted the step, although she did not
accompany them in their flight to England, there was no question of.
Miss Barlieu saw Mr. Chandos in her chamber; the affair had made her
really ill. Afterwards, as I was passing down the stairs, he came forth
from the drawing-room from an interview with Miss Annette. She was
talking very fast, her eyes streaming with grief, and Mr. Chandos
strove to soothe her.
"It all comes of that indiscriminate visiting, sir, that was allowed to
Mademoiselle Chandos," she said, with bitter tears. "I told my sister
ten times that Miladi Chandos was wrong to permit it. Ah! sir, we shall
not ever get over the blow. Nothing of the kind has ever happened to
us."
"Do not distress yourself," Mr. Chandos answered. "I can see that no
shadow of blame rests with you. That lies with Emily and the De
Mellissies: my sister's fortune is a great prize to a Frenchman."
What made me gather myself into a nook of the wall, and gaze upon Mr.
Chandos, as he passed out in the dusk of the evening? Not the deep,
mellow tones—not the sweet accent of voice in which his words were
spoken. That they were all that, my ear told me; but something else had
struck upon me—his face and form. Where had I seen him?
Somewhere, I felt certain. The contour of the pale face, with its fine
and delicate features; something in the tall, slim figure, even in the
manner of turning his head as he spoke: all seemed to touch on a chord
of my memory. Where, where could I have seen Mr. Chandos?
The question was not solved, and time went steadily on again.